Page 1
Page 2
Page 3
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Memoirs of the Court of
Marie Antoinette, Queen of France, Complete
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: Memoirs of the Court of Marie Antoinette, Queen of France,
Complete
Author: Mme. Campan
Release date: August 25, 2004 [eBook #3891]
Most recently updated: January 9, 2021
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3891
Credits: Produced by David Widger
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEMOIRS OF
THE COURT OF MARIE ANTOINETTE, QUEEN OF FRANCE,
COMPLETE ***
Marie Antoinette, Queen of France, Complete
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: Memoirs of the Court of Marie Antoinette, Queen of France,
Complete
Author: Mme. Campan
Release date: August 25, 2004 [eBook #3891]
Most recently updated: January 9, 2021
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3891
Credits: Produced by David Widger
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEMOIRS OF
THE COURT OF MARIE ANTOINETTE, QUEEN OF FRANCE,
COMPLETE ***
Page 4
MEMOIRS OF THE COURT OF
MARIE ANTOINETTE,
QUEEN OF FRANCE
Being the Historic Memoirs of Madam Campan,
First Lady in Waiting to the Queen.
MARIE ANTOINETTE,
QUEEN OF FRANCE
Being the Historic Memoirs of Madam Campan,
First Lady in Waiting to the Queen.
Page 5
Page 6
CONTENTS
Book I.
Book II.
Book I.
Book II.
Page 7
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Duchesse du Barry
Princesse de Lamballe
The Parisian Bonne
Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette
Beaumarchais
The Reveille
Madame Adelaide as Diana
The Bastille
Opening of The States General
Louis XVI.
Marie Antoinette on the way to the Guillotine
Madame Campan
Duchesse du Barry
Princesse de Lamballe
The Parisian Bonne
Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette
Beaumarchais
The Reveille
Madame Adelaide as Diana
The Bastille
Opening of The States General
Louis XVI.
Marie Antoinette on the way to the Guillotine
Madame Campan
Page 8
PREFACE BY THE AUTHOR.
Louis XVI. possessed an immense crowd of confidants, advisers, and
guides; he selected them even from among the factions which attacked him.
Never, perhaps, did he make a full disclosure to any one of them, and
certainly he spoke with sincerity, to but very few. He invariably kept the
reins of all secret intrigues in his own hand; and thence, doubtless, arose the
want of cooperation and the weakness which were so conspicuous in his
measures. From these causes considerable chasms will be found in the
detailed history of the Revolution.
In order to become thoroughly acquainted with the latter years of the
reign of Louis XV., memoirs written by the Duc de Choiseul, the Duc
d’Aiguillon, the Marechal de Richelieu, and the Duc de La Vauguyon,
should be before us.
[I heard Le Marechal de Richelieu desire M. Campan,
who was librarian to the Queen, not to buy the Memoirs
which would certainly be attributed to him after his death,
declaring them false by anticipation; and adding that he was
ignorant of orthography, and had never amused himself with
writing. Shortly after the death of the Marshal, one Soulavie
put forth Memoirs of the Marechal de Richelieu.]
To give us a faithful portrait of the unfortunate reign of Louis XVI., the
Marechal du Muy, M. de Maurepas, M. de Vergennes, M. de Malesherbes,
the Duc d’Orleans, M. de La Fayette, the Abby de Vermond, the Abbe
Montesquiou, Mirabeau, the Duchesse de Polignac, and the Duchesse de
Luynes should have noted faithfully in writing all the transactions in which
they took decided parts. The secret political history of a later period has
been disseminated among a much greater number of persons; there are
Ministers who have published memoirs, but only when they had their own
measures to justify, and then they confined themselves to the vindication of
Louis XVI. possessed an immense crowd of confidants, advisers, and
guides; he selected them even from among the factions which attacked him.
Never, perhaps, did he make a full disclosure to any one of them, and
certainly he spoke with sincerity, to but very few. He invariably kept the
reins of all secret intrigues in his own hand; and thence, doubtless, arose the
want of cooperation and the weakness which were so conspicuous in his
measures. From these causes considerable chasms will be found in the
detailed history of the Revolution.
In order to become thoroughly acquainted with the latter years of the
reign of Louis XV., memoirs written by the Duc de Choiseul, the Duc
d’Aiguillon, the Marechal de Richelieu, and the Duc de La Vauguyon,
should be before us.
[I heard Le Marechal de Richelieu desire M. Campan,
who was librarian to the Queen, not to buy the Memoirs
which would certainly be attributed to him after his death,
declaring them false by anticipation; and adding that he was
ignorant of orthography, and had never amused himself with
writing. Shortly after the death of the Marshal, one Soulavie
put forth Memoirs of the Marechal de Richelieu.]
To give us a faithful portrait of the unfortunate reign of Louis XVI., the
Marechal du Muy, M. de Maurepas, M. de Vergennes, M. de Malesherbes,
the Duc d’Orleans, M. de La Fayette, the Abby de Vermond, the Abbe
Montesquiou, Mirabeau, the Duchesse de Polignac, and the Duchesse de
Luynes should have noted faithfully in writing all the transactions in which
they took decided parts. The secret political history of a later period has
been disseminated among a much greater number of persons; there are
Ministers who have published memoirs, but only when they had their own
measures to justify, and then they confined themselves to the vindication of
Page 9
their own characters, without which powerful motive they probably would
have written nothing. In general, those nearest to the Sovereign, either by
birth or by office, have left no memoirs; and in absolute monarchies the
mainsprings of great events will be found in particulars which the most
exalted persons alone could know. Those who have had but little under their
charge find no subject in it for a book; and those who have long borne the
burden of public business conceive themselves to be forbidden by duty, or
by respect for authority, to disclose all they know. Others, again, preserve
notes, with the intention of reducing them to order when they shall have
reached the period of a happy leisure; vain illusion of the ambitious, which
they cherish, for the most part, but as a veil to conceal from their sight the
hateful image of their inevitable downfall! and when it does at length take
place, despair or chagrin deprives them of fortitude to dwell upon the
dazzling period which they never cease to regret.
Louis XVI. meant to write his own memoirs; the manner in which his
private papers were arranged indicated this design. The Queen also had the
same intention; she long preserved a large correspondence, and a great
number of minute reports, made in the spirit and upon the event of the
moment. But after the 20th of June, 1792, she was obliged to burn the larger
portion of what she had so collected, and the remainder were conveyed out
of France.
Considering the rank and situations of the persons I have named as
capable of elucidating by their writings the history of our political storms, it
will not be imagined that I aim at placing myself on a level with them; but I
have spent half my life either with the daughters of Louis XV. or with Marie
Antoinette. I knew the characters of those Princesses; I became privy to
some extraordinary facts, the publication of which may be interesting, and
the truth of the details will form the merit of my work.
I was very young when I was placed about the Princesses, the daughters
of Louis XV., in the capacity of reader. I was acquainted with the Court of
Versailles before the time of the marriage of Louis XVI. with the
Archduchess Marie Antoinette.
have written nothing. In general, those nearest to the Sovereign, either by
birth or by office, have left no memoirs; and in absolute monarchies the
mainsprings of great events will be found in particulars which the most
exalted persons alone could know. Those who have had but little under their
charge find no subject in it for a book; and those who have long borne the
burden of public business conceive themselves to be forbidden by duty, or
by respect for authority, to disclose all they know. Others, again, preserve
notes, with the intention of reducing them to order when they shall have
reached the period of a happy leisure; vain illusion of the ambitious, which
they cherish, for the most part, but as a veil to conceal from their sight the
hateful image of their inevitable downfall! and when it does at length take
place, despair or chagrin deprives them of fortitude to dwell upon the
dazzling period which they never cease to regret.
Louis XVI. meant to write his own memoirs; the manner in which his
private papers were arranged indicated this design. The Queen also had the
same intention; she long preserved a large correspondence, and a great
number of minute reports, made in the spirit and upon the event of the
moment. But after the 20th of June, 1792, she was obliged to burn the larger
portion of what she had so collected, and the remainder were conveyed out
of France.
Considering the rank and situations of the persons I have named as
capable of elucidating by their writings the history of our political storms, it
will not be imagined that I aim at placing myself on a level with them; but I
have spent half my life either with the daughters of Louis XV. or with Marie
Antoinette. I knew the characters of those Princesses; I became privy to
some extraordinary facts, the publication of which may be interesting, and
the truth of the details will form the merit of my work.
I was very young when I was placed about the Princesses, the daughters
of Louis XV., in the capacity of reader. I was acquainted with the Court of
Versailles before the time of the marriage of Louis XVI. with the
Archduchess Marie Antoinette.
Page 10
Madame Campan
My father, who was employed in the department of Foreign Affairs,
enjoyed the reputation due to his talents and to his useful labours. He had
travelled much. Frenchmen, on their return home from foreign countries,
bring with them a love for their own, increased in warmth; and no man was
more penetrated with this feeling, which ought to be the first virtue of every
placeman, than my father. Men of high title, academicians, and learned
men, both natives and foreigners, sought my father’s acquaintance, and
were gratified by being admitted into his house.
Twenty years before the Revolution I often heard it remarked that the
imposing character of the power of Louis XIV. was no longer to be found in
My father, who was employed in the department of Foreign Affairs,
enjoyed the reputation due to his talents and to his useful labours. He had
travelled much. Frenchmen, on their return home from foreign countries,
bring with them a love for their own, increased in warmth; and no man was
more penetrated with this feeling, which ought to be the first virtue of every
placeman, than my father. Men of high title, academicians, and learned
men, both natives and foreigners, sought my father’s acquaintance, and
were gratified by being admitted into his house.
Twenty years before the Revolution I often heard it remarked that the
imposing character of the power of Louis XIV. was no longer to be found in
Page 11
the Palace of Versailles; that the institutions of the ancient monarchy were
rapidly sinking; and that the people, crushed beneath the weight of taxes,
were miserable, though silent; but that they began to give ear to the bold
speeches of the philosophers, who loudly proclaimed their sufferings and
their rights; and, in short, that the age would not pass away without the
occurrence of some great outburst, which would unsettle France, and
change the course of its progress.
Those who thus spoke were almost all partisans of M. Turgot’s system of
administration: they were Mirabeau the father, Doctor Quesnay, Abbe
Bandeau, and Abbe Nicoli, charge d’affaires to Leopold, Grand Duke of
Tuscany, and as enthusiastic an admirer of the maxims of the innovators as
his Sovereign.
My father sincerely respected the purity of intention of these politicians.
With them he acknowledged many abuses in the Government; but he did
not give these political sectarians credit for the talent necessary for
conducting a judicious reform. He told them frankly that in the art of
moving the great machine of Government, the wisest of them was inferior
to a good magistrate; and that if ever the helm of affairs should be put into
their hands, they would be speedily checked in the execution of their
schemes by the immeasurable difference existing between the most brilliant
theories and the simplest practice of administration.
Destiny having formerly placed me near crowned heads, I now amuse my
solitude when in retirement with collecting a variety of facts which may
prove interesting to my family when I shall be no more. The idea of
collecting all the interesting materials which my memory affords occurred
to me from reading the work entitled “Paris, Versailles, and the Provinces in
the Eighteenth Century.” That work, composed by a man accustomed to the
best society, is full of piquant anecdotes, nearly all of which have been
recognised as true by the contemporaries of the author. I have put together
all that concerned the domestic life of an unfortunate Princess, whose
reputation is not yet cleared of the stains it received from the attacks of
calumny, and who justly merited a different lot in life, a different place in
the opinion of mankind after her fall. These memoirs, which were finished
ten years ago, have met with the approbation of some persons; and my son
may, perhaps, think proper to print them after my decease.
J. L. H. C.
rapidly sinking; and that the people, crushed beneath the weight of taxes,
were miserable, though silent; but that they began to give ear to the bold
speeches of the philosophers, who loudly proclaimed their sufferings and
their rights; and, in short, that the age would not pass away without the
occurrence of some great outburst, which would unsettle France, and
change the course of its progress.
Those who thus spoke were almost all partisans of M. Turgot’s system of
administration: they were Mirabeau the father, Doctor Quesnay, Abbe
Bandeau, and Abbe Nicoli, charge d’affaires to Leopold, Grand Duke of
Tuscany, and as enthusiastic an admirer of the maxims of the innovators as
his Sovereign.
My father sincerely respected the purity of intention of these politicians.
With them he acknowledged many abuses in the Government; but he did
not give these political sectarians credit for the talent necessary for
conducting a judicious reform. He told them frankly that in the art of
moving the great machine of Government, the wisest of them was inferior
to a good magistrate; and that if ever the helm of affairs should be put into
their hands, they would be speedily checked in the execution of their
schemes by the immeasurable difference existing between the most brilliant
theories and the simplest practice of administration.
Destiny having formerly placed me near crowned heads, I now amuse my
solitude when in retirement with collecting a variety of facts which may
prove interesting to my family when I shall be no more. The idea of
collecting all the interesting materials which my memory affords occurred
to me from reading the work entitled “Paris, Versailles, and the Provinces in
the Eighteenth Century.” That work, composed by a man accustomed to the
best society, is full of piquant anecdotes, nearly all of which have been
recognised as true by the contemporaries of the author. I have put together
all that concerned the domestic life of an unfortunate Princess, whose
reputation is not yet cleared of the stains it received from the attacks of
calumny, and who justly merited a different lot in life, a different place in
the opinion of mankind after her fall. These memoirs, which were finished
ten years ago, have met with the approbation of some persons; and my son
may, perhaps, think proper to print them after my decease.
J. L. H. C.
Page 12
—When Madame Campan wrote these lines, she did not anticipate that
the death of her son would precede her own.
the death of her son would precede her own.
Page 13
HISTORIC COURT MEMOIRS.
MARIE ANTOINETTE.
MARIE ANTOINETTE.
Page 14
MEMOIR OF MADAME CAMPAN.
JEANNE LOUISE HENRIETTE GENET was born in Paris on the 6th of
October, 1752. M. Genet, her father, had obtained, through his own merit
and the influence of the Duc de Choiseul, the place of first clerk in the
Foreign Office.
Literature, which he had cultivated in his youth, was often the solace of
his leisure hours. Surrounded by a numerous family, he made the instruction
of his children his chief recreation, and omitted nothing which was
necessary to render them highly accomplished. His clever and precocious
daughter Henriette was very early accustomed to enter society, and to take
an intelligent interest in current topics and public events. Accordingly,
many of her relations being connected with the Court or holding official
positions, she amassed a fund of interesting recollections and characteristic
anecdotes, some gathered from personal experience, others handed down by
old friends of the family.
“The first event which made any impression on me in my childhood,” she
says in her reminiscences, “was the attempt of Damiens to assassinate Louis
XV. This occurrence struck me so forcibly that the most minute details
relating to the confusion and grief which prevailed at Versailles on that day
seem as present to my imagination as the most recent events. I had dined
with my father and mother, in company with one of their friends. The
drawing-room was lighted up with a number of candles, and four card-
tables were already occupied, when a friend of the gentleman of the house
came in, with a pale and terrified countenance, and said, in a voice scarcely
audible, ‘I bring you terrible news. The King has been assassinated!’ Two
ladies in the company fainted; a brigadier of the Body Guards threw down
his cards and cried out, ‘I do not wonder at it; it is those rascally
Jesuits.’—‘What are you saying, brother?’ cried a lady, flying to him;
‘would you get yourself arrested?’—‘Arrested! For what? For unmasking
those wretches who want a bigot for a King?’ My father came in; he
recommended circumspection, saying that the blow was not mortal, and that
JEANNE LOUISE HENRIETTE GENET was born in Paris on the 6th of
October, 1752. M. Genet, her father, had obtained, through his own merit
and the influence of the Duc de Choiseul, the place of first clerk in the
Foreign Office.
Literature, which he had cultivated in his youth, was often the solace of
his leisure hours. Surrounded by a numerous family, he made the instruction
of his children his chief recreation, and omitted nothing which was
necessary to render them highly accomplished. His clever and precocious
daughter Henriette was very early accustomed to enter society, and to take
an intelligent interest in current topics and public events. Accordingly,
many of her relations being connected with the Court or holding official
positions, she amassed a fund of interesting recollections and characteristic
anecdotes, some gathered from personal experience, others handed down by
old friends of the family.
“The first event which made any impression on me in my childhood,” she
says in her reminiscences, “was the attempt of Damiens to assassinate Louis
XV. This occurrence struck me so forcibly that the most minute details
relating to the confusion and grief which prevailed at Versailles on that day
seem as present to my imagination as the most recent events. I had dined
with my father and mother, in company with one of their friends. The
drawing-room was lighted up with a number of candles, and four card-
tables were already occupied, when a friend of the gentleman of the house
came in, with a pale and terrified countenance, and said, in a voice scarcely
audible, ‘I bring you terrible news. The King has been assassinated!’ Two
ladies in the company fainted; a brigadier of the Body Guards threw down
his cards and cried out, ‘I do not wonder at it; it is those rascally
Jesuits.’—‘What are you saying, brother?’ cried a lady, flying to him;
‘would you get yourself arrested?’—‘Arrested! For what? For unmasking
those wretches who want a bigot for a King?’ My father came in; he
recommended circumspection, saying that the blow was not mortal, and that
Page 15
all meetings ought to be suspended at so critical a moment. He had brought
the chaise for my mother, who placed me on her knees. We lived in the
Avenue de Paris, and throughout our drive I heard incessant cries and sobs
from the footpaths.
“At last I saw a man arrested; he was an usher of the King’s chamber,
who had gone mad, and was crying out, ‘Yes, I know them; the wretches!
the villains!’ Our chaise was stopped by this bustle. My mother recognised
the unfortunate man who had been seized; she gave his name to the trooper
who had stopped him. The poor usher was therefore merely conducted to
the gens d’armes’ guardroom, which was then in the avenue.
“I have often heard M. de Landsmath, equerry and master of the hounds,
who used to come frequently to my father’s, say that on the news of the
attempt on the King’s life he instantly repaired to his Majesty. I cannot
repeat the coarse expressions he made use of to encourage his Majesty; but
his account of the affair, long afterwards, amused the parties in which he
was prevailed on to relate it, when all apprehensions respecting the
consequences of the event had subsided. This M. de Landsmath was an old
soldier, who had given proofs of extraordinary valour; nothing had been
able to soften his manners or subdue his excessive bluntness to the
respectful customs of the Court. The King was very fond of him. He
possessed prodigious strength, and had often contended with Marechal
Saxe, renowned for his great bodily power, in trying the strength of their
respective wrists.
[One day when the King was hunting in the forest of St.
Germain, Landemath, riding before him, wanted a cart,
filled with the slime of a pond that had just been cleansed, to
draw up out of the way. The carter resisted, and even
answered with impertinence. Landsmath, without
dismounting, seized him by the breast of his coat, lifted him
up, and threw him into his cart.—MADAME CAMPAN.]
“M. de Landsmath had a thundering voice. When he came into the King’s
apartment he found the Dauphin and Mesdames, his Majesty’s daughters,
there; the Princesses, in tears, surrounded the King’s bed. Send out all these
weeping women, Sire,’ said the old equerry; ‘I want to speak to you alone:
The King made a sign to the Princesses to withdraw. ‘Come,’ said
the chaise for my mother, who placed me on her knees. We lived in the
Avenue de Paris, and throughout our drive I heard incessant cries and sobs
from the footpaths.
“At last I saw a man arrested; he was an usher of the King’s chamber,
who had gone mad, and was crying out, ‘Yes, I know them; the wretches!
the villains!’ Our chaise was stopped by this bustle. My mother recognised
the unfortunate man who had been seized; she gave his name to the trooper
who had stopped him. The poor usher was therefore merely conducted to
the gens d’armes’ guardroom, which was then in the avenue.
“I have often heard M. de Landsmath, equerry and master of the hounds,
who used to come frequently to my father’s, say that on the news of the
attempt on the King’s life he instantly repaired to his Majesty. I cannot
repeat the coarse expressions he made use of to encourage his Majesty; but
his account of the affair, long afterwards, amused the parties in which he
was prevailed on to relate it, when all apprehensions respecting the
consequences of the event had subsided. This M. de Landsmath was an old
soldier, who had given proofs of extraordinary valour; nothing had been
able to soften his manners or subdue his excessive bluntness to the
respectful customs of the Court. The King was very fond of him. He
possessed prodigious strength, and had often contended with Marechal
Saxe, renowned for his great bodily power, in trying the strength of their
respective wrists.
[One day when the King was hunting in the forest of St.
Germain, Landemath, riding before him, wanted a cart,
filled with the slime of a pond that had just been cleansed, to
draw up out of the way. The carter resisted, and even
answered with impertinence. Landsmath, without
dismounting, seized him by the breast of his coat, lifted him
up, and threw him into his cart.—MADAME CAMPAN.]
“M. de Landsmath had a thundering voice. When he came into the King’s
apartment he found the Dauphin and Mesdames, his Majesty’s daughters,
there; the Princesses, in tears, surrounded the King’s bed. Send out all these
weeping women, Sire,’ said the old equerry; ‘I want to speak to you alone:
The King made a sign to the Princesses to withdraw. ‘Come,’ said
Page 16
Landsmath, ‘your wound is nothing; you had plenty of waistcoats and
flannels on.’ Then uncovering his breast, ‘Look here,’ said he, showing four
or five great scars, ‘these are something like wounds; I received them thirty
years ago; now cough as loud as you can.’ The King did so. ‘‘Tis nothing at
all,’ said Landsmath; ‘you must laugh at it; we shall hunt a stag together in
four days.’—‘But suppose the blade was poisoned,’ said the King. ‘Old
grandams’ tales,’ replied Landsmath; ‘if it had been so, the waistcoats and
flannels would have rubbed the poison off.’ The King was pacified, and
passed a very good night.
“His Majesty one day asked M. de Landsmath how old he was. He was
aged, and by no means fond of thinking of his age; he evaded the question.
A fortnight later, Louis XV. took a paper out of his pocket and read aloud:
‘On such a day in the month of one thousand six hundred and eighty, was
baptised by me, rector of ———, the son of the high and mighty lord,’ etc.
‘What’s that?’ said Landsmath, angrily; ‘has your Majesty been procuring
the certificate of my baptism?’—‘There it is, you see, Landsmath,’ said the
King. ‘Well, Sire, hide it as fast as you can; a prince entrusted with the
happiness of twenty-five millions of people ought not wilfully to hurt the
feelings of a single individual.’
“The King learned that Landsmath had lost his confessor, a missionary
priest of the parish of Notre-Dame. It was the custom of the Lazarists to
expose their dead with the face uncovered. Louis XV. wished to try his
equerry’s firmness. ‘You have lost your confessor, I hear,’ said the King.
‘Yes, Sire.’—‘He will be exposed with his face bare?’—‘Such is the
custom.’—‘I command you to go and see him.’—‘Sire, my confessor was
my friend; it would be very painful to me.’—‘No matter; I command
you.’—‘Are you really in earnest, Sire?’—‘Quite so.’—‘It would be the
first time in my life that I had disobeyed my sovereign’s order. I will go.’
The next day the King at his levee, as soon as he perceived Landsmath,
said, ‘Have you done as I desired you, Landsmath?’—‘Undoubtedly,
Sire.’—‘Well, what did you see?’—‘Faith, I saw that your Majesty and I are
no great shakes!’
“At the death of Queen Maria Leczinska, M. Campan,—[Her father-in-
law, afterwards secretary to Marie Antoinette.]—then an officer of the
chamber, having performed several confidential duties, the King asked
Madame Adelaide how he should reward him. She requested him to create
flannels on.’ Then uncovering his breast, ‘Look here,’ said he, showing four
or five great scars, ‘these are something like wounds; I received them thirty
years ago; now cough as loud as you can.’ The King did so. ‘‘Tis nothing at
all,’ said Landsmath; ‘you must laugh at it; we shall hunt a stag together in
four days.’—‘But suppose the blade was poisoned,’ said the King. ‘Old
grandams’ tales,’ replied Landsmath; ‘if it had been so, the waistcoats and
flannels would have rubbed the poison off.’ The King was pacified, and
passed a very good night.
“His Majesty one day asked M. de Landsmath how old he was. He was
aged, and by no means fond of thinking of his age; he evaded the question.
A fortnight later, Louis XV. took a paper out of his pocket and read aloud:
‘On such a day in the month of one thousand six hundred and eighty, was
baptised by me, rector of ———, the son of the high and mighty lord,’ etc.
‘What’s that?’ said Landsmath, angrily; ‘has your Majesty been procuring
the certificate of my baptism?’—‘There it is, you see, Landsmath,’ said the
King. ‘Well, Sire, hide it as fast as you can; a prince entrusted with the
happiness of twenty-five millions of people ought not wilfully to hurt the
feelings of a single individual.’
“The King learned that Landsmath had lost his confessor, a missionary
priest of the parish of Notre-Dame. It was the custom of the Lazarists to
expose their dead with the face uncovered. Louis XV. wished to try his
equerry’s firmness. ‘You have lost your confessor, I hear,’ said the King.
‘Yes, Sire.’—‘He will be exposed with his face bare?’—‘Such is the
custom.’—‘I command you to go and see him.’—‘Sire, my confessor was
my friend; it would be very painful to me.’—‘No matter; I command
you.’—‘Are you really in earnest, Sire?’—‘Quite so.’—‘It would be the
first time in my life that I had disobeyed my sovereign’s order. I will go.’
The next day the King at his levee, as soon as he perceived Landsmath,
said, ‘Have you done as I desired you, Landsmath?’—‘Undoubtedly,
Sire.’—‘Well, what did you see?’—‘Faith, I saw that your Majesty and I are
no great shakes!’
“At the death of Queen Maria Leczinska, M. Campan,—[Her father-in-
law, afterwards secretary to Marie Antoinette.]—then an officer of the
chamber, having performed several confidential duties, the King asked
Madame Adelaide how he should reward him. She requested him to create
Page 17
an office in his household of master of the wardrobe, with a salary of a
thousand crowns. ‘I will do so,’ said the King; ‘it will be an honourable
title; but tell Campan not to add a single crown to his expenses, for you will
see they will never pay him.’
“Louis XV., by his dignified carriage, and the amiable yet majestic
expression of his features, was worthy to succeed to Louis the Great. But he
too frequently indulged in secret pleasures, which at last were sure to
become known. During several winters, he was passionately fond of
‘candles’ end balls’, as he called those parties amongst the very lowest
classes of society. He got intelligence of the picnics given by the tradesmen,
milliners, and sempstresses of Versailles, whither he repaired in a black
domino, and masked, accompanied by the captain of his Guards, masked
like himself. His great delight was to go ‘en brouette’—[In a kind of sedan-
chair, running on two wheels, and drawn by a chairman.]—Care was always
taken to give notice to five or six officers of the King’s or Queen’s chamber
to be there, in order that his Majesty might be surrounded by people on
whom he could depend, without finding it troublesome. Probably the
captain of the Guards also took other precautions of this description on his
part. My father-in-law, when the King and he were both young, has often
made one amongst the servants desired to attend masked at these parties,
assembled in some garret, or parlour of a public-house. In those times,
during the carnival, masked companies had a right to join the citizens’ balls;
it was sufficient that one of the party should unmask and name himself.
“These secret excursions, and his too habitual intercourse with ladies
more distinguished for their personal charms than for the advantages of
education, were no doubt the means by which the King acquired many
vulgar expressions which otherwise would never have reached his ears.
“Yet amidst the most shameful excesses the King sometimes suddenly
resumed the dignity of his rank in a very noble manner. The familiar
courtiers of Louis XV. had one day abandoned themselves to the
unrestrained gaiety, of a supper, after returning from the chase. Each
boasted of and described the beauty of his mistress. Some of them amused
themselves with giving a particular account of their wives’ personal defects.
An imprudent word, addressed to Louis XV., and applicable only to the
Queen, instantly dispelled all the mirth of the entertainment. The King
thousand crowns. ‘I will do so,’ said the King; ‘it will be an honourable
title; but tell Campan not to add a single crown to his expenses, for you will
see they will never pay him.’
“Louis XV., by his dignified carriage, and the amiable yet majestic
expression of his features, was worthy to succeed to Louis the Great. But he
too frequently indulged in secret pleasures, which at last were sure to
become known. During several winters, he was passionately fond of
‘candles’ end balls’, as he called those parties amongst the very lowest
classes of society. He got intelligence of the picnics given by the tradesmen,
milliners, and sempstresses of Versailles, whither he repaired in a black
domino, and masked, accompanied by the captain of his Guards, masked
like himself. His great delight was to go ‘en brouette’—[In a kind of sedan-
chair, running on two wheels, and drawn by a chairman.]—Care was always
taken to give notice to five or six officers of the King’s or Queen’s chamber
to be there, in order that his Majesty might be surrounded by people on
whom he could depend, without finding it troublesome. Probably the
captain of the Guards also took other precautions of this description on his
part. My father-in-law, when the King and he were both young, has often
made one amongst the servants desired to attend masked at these parties,
assembled in some garret, or parlour of a public-house. In those times,
during the carnival, masked companies had a right to join the citizens’ balls;
it was sufficient that one of the party should unmask and name himself.
“These secret excursions, and his too habitual intercourse with ladies
more distinguished for their personal charms than for the advantages of
education, were no doubt the means by which the King acquired many
vulgar expressions which otherwise would never have reached his ears.
“Yet amidst the most shameful excesses the King sometimes suddenly
resumed the dignity of his rank in a very noble manner. The familiar
courtiers of Louis XV. had one day abandoned themselves to the
unrestrained gaiety, of a supper, after returning from the chase. Each
boasted of and described the beauty of his mistress. Some of them amused
themselves with giving a particular account of their wives’ personal defects.
An imprudent word, addressed to Louis XV., and applicable only to the
Queen, instantly dispelled all the mirth of the entertainment. The King
Page 18
assumed his regal air, and knocking with his knife on the table twice or
thrice, ‘Gentlemen; said he, ‘here is the King!’
“Those men who are most completely abandoned to dissolute manners
are not, on that account, insensible to virtue in women. The Comtesse de
Perigord was as beautiful as virtuous. During some excursions she made to
Choisy, whither she had been invited, she perceived that the King took great
notice of her. Her demeanour of chilling respect, her cautious perseverance
in shunning all serious conversation with the monarch, were insufficient to
extinguish this rising flame, and he at length addressed a letter to her,
worded in the most passionate terms. This excellent woman instantly
formed her resolution: honour forbade her returning the King’s passion,
whilst her profound respect for the sovereign made her unwilling to disturb
his tranquillity. She therefore voluntarily banished herself to an estate she
possessed called Chalais, near Barbezieux, the mansion of which had been
uninhabited nearly a century; the porter’s lodge was the only place in a
condition to receive her. From this seat she wrote to his Majesty, explaining
her motives for leaving Court; and she remained there several years without
visiting Paris. Louis XV. was speedily attracted by other objects, and
regained the composure to which Madame de Perigord had thought it her
duty to sacrifice so much. Some years after, Mesdames’ lady of honour
died. Many great families solicited the place. The King, without answering
any of their applications, wrote to the Comtesse de Perigord: ‘My daughters
have just lost their lady of honour; this place, madame, is your due, as much
on account of your personal qualities as of the illustrious name of your
family.’
“Three young men of the college of St. Germain, who had just completed
their course of studies, knowing no person about the Court, and having
heard that strangers were always well treated there, resolved to dress
themselves completely in the Armenian costume, and, thus clad, to present
themselves to see the grand ceremony of the reception of several knights of
the Order of the Holy Ghost. Their stratagem met with all the success with
which they had flattered themselves. While the procession was passing
through the long mirror gallery, the Swiss of the apartments placed them in
the first row of spectators, recommending every one to pay all possible
attention to the strangers. The latter, however, were imprudent enough to
enter the ‘oeil-de-boeuf’ chamber, where, were Messieurs Cardonne and
Ruffin, interpreters of Oriental languages, and the first clerk of the consul’s
thrice, ‘Gentlemen; said he, ‘here is the King!’
“Those men who are most completely abandoned to dissolute manners
are not, on that account, insensible to virtue in women. The Comtesse de
Perigord was as beautiful as virtuous. During some excursions she made to
Choisy, whither she had been invited, she perceived that the King took great
notice of her. Her demeanour of chilling respect, her cautious perseverance
in shunning all serious conversation with the monarch, were insufficient to
extinguish this rising flame, and he at length addressed a letter to her,
worded in the most passionate terms. This excellent woman instantly
formed her resolution: honour forbade her returning the King’s passion,
whilst her profound respect for the sovereign made her unwilling to disturb
his tranquillity. She therefore voluntarily banished herself to an estate she
possessed called Chalais, near Barbezieux, the mansion of which had been
uninhabited nearly a century; the porter’s lodge was the only place in a
condition to receive her. From this seat she wrote to his Majesty, explaining
her motives for leaving Court; and she remained there several years without
visiting Paris. Louis XV. was speedily attracted by other objects, and
regained the composure to which Madame de Perigord had thought it her
duty to sacrifice so much. Some years after, Mesdames’ lady of honour
died. Many great families solicited the place. The King, without answering
any of their applications, wrote to the Comtesse de Perigord: ‘My daughters
have just lost their lady of honour; this place, madame, is your due, as much
on account of your personal qualities as of the illustrious name of your
family.’
“Three young men of the college of St. Germain, who had just completed
their course of studies, knowing no person about the Court, and having
heard that strangers were always well treated there, resolved to dress
themselves completely in the Armenian costume, and, thus clad, to present
themselves to see the grand ceremony of the reception of several knights of
the Order of the Holy Ghost. Their stratagem met with all the success with
which they had flattered themselves. While the procession was passing
through the long mirror gallery, the Swiss of the apartments placed them in
the first row of spectators, recommending every one to pay all possible
attention to the strangers. The latter, however, were imprudent enough to
enter the ‘oeil-de-boeuf’ chamber, where, were Messieurs Cardonne and
Ruffin, interpreters of Oriental languages, and the first clerk of the consul’s
Page 19
department, whose business it was to attend to everything which related to
the natives of the East who were in France. The three scholars were
immediately surrounded and questioned by these gentlemen, at first in
modern Greek. Without being disconcerted, they made signs that they did
not understand it. They were then addressed in Turkish and Arabic; at
length one of the interpreters, losing all patience, exclaimed, ‘Gentlemen,
you certainly must understand some of the languages in which you have
been addressed. What country can you possibly come from then?’—‘From
St. Germain-en-Laye, sir,’ replied the boldest among them; ‘this is the first
time you have put the question to us in French.’ They then confessed the
motive of their disguise; the eldest of them was not more than eighteen
years of age. Louis XV. was informed of the affair. He laughed heartily,
ordered them a few hours’ confinement and a good admonition, after which
they were to be set at liberty.
“Louis XV. liked to talk about death, though he was extremely
apprehensive of it; but his excellent health and his royal dignity probably
made him imagine himself invulnerable. He often said to people who had
very bad colds, ‘You’ve a churchyard cough there.’ Hunting one day in the
forest of Senard, in a year in which bread was extremely dear, he met a man
on horseback carrying a coffin. ‘Whither are you carrying that
coffin?’—‘To the village of ———,’ answered the peasant. ‘Is it for a man
or a woman?’—‘For a man.’—‘What did he die of?’—‘Of hunger,’ bluntly
replied the villager. The King spurred on his horse, and asked no more
questions.
“Weak as Louis XV. was, the Parliaments would never have obtained his
consent to the convocation of the States General. I heard an anecdote on
this subject from two officers attached to that Prince’s household. It was at
the period when the remonstrances of the Parliaments, and the refusals to
register the decrees for levying taxes, produced alarm with respect to the
state of the finances. This became the subject of conversation one evening
at the coucher of Louis XV. ‘You will see, Sire,’ said a courtier, whose
office placed him in close communication with the King, ‘that all this will
make it absolutely necessary to assemble the States General!’
“The King, roused by this speech from the habitual apathy of his
character, seized the courtier by the arm, and said to him, in a passion,
‘Never repeat, these words. I am not sanguinary; but had I a brother, and
the natives of the East who were in France. The three scholars were
immediately surrounded and questioned by these gentlemen, at first in
modern Greek. Without being disconcerted, they made signs that they did
not understand it. They were then addressed in Turkish and Arabic; at
length one of the interpreters, losing all patience, exclaimed, ‘Gentlemen,
you certainly must understand some of the languages in which you have
been addressed. What country can you possibly come from then?’—‘From
St. Germain-en-Laye, sir,’ replied the boldest among them; ‘this is the first
time you have put the question to us in French.’ They then confessed the
motive of their disguise; the eldest of them was not more than eighteen
years of age. Louis XV. was informed of the affair. He laughed heartily,
ordered them a few hours’ confinement and a good admonition, after which
they were to be set at liberty.
“Louis XV. liked to talk about death, though he was extremely
apprehensive of it; but his excellent health and his royal dignity probably
made him imagine himself invulnerable. He often said to people who had
very bad colds, ‘You’ve a churchyard cough there.’ Hunting one day in the
forest of Senard, in a year in which bread was extremely dear, he met a man
on horseback carrying a coffin. ‘Whither are you carrying that
coffin?’—‘To the village of ———,’ answered the peasant. ‘Is it for a man
or a woman?’—‘For a man.’—‘What did he die of?’—‘Of hunger,’ bluntly
replied the villager. The King spurred on his horse, and asked no more
questions.
“Weak as Louis XV. was, the Parliaments would never have obtained his
consent to the convocation of the States General. I heard an anecdote on
this subject from two officers attached to that Prince’s household. It was at
the period when the remonstrances of the Parliaments, and the refusals to
register the decrees for levying taxes, produced alarm with respect to the
state of the finances. This became the subject of conversation one evening
at the coucher of Louis XV. ‘You will see, Sire,’ said a courtier, whose
office placed him in close communication with the King, ‘that all this will
make it absolutely necessary to assemble the States General!’
“The King, roused by this speech from the habitual apathy of his
character, seized the courtier by the arm, and said to him, in a passion,
‘Never repeat, these words. I am not sanguinary; but had I a brother, and
Page 20
were he to dare to give me such advice, I would sacrifice him, within
twenty-four hours, to the duration of the monarchy and the tranquillity of
the kingdom.’
“Several years prior to his death the Dauphin, the father of Louis XVI.,
had confluent smallpox, which endangered his life; and after his
convalescence he was long troubled with a malignant ulcer under the nose.
He was injudiciously advised to get rid of it by the use of extract of lead,
which proved effectual; but from that time the Dauphin, who was corpulent,
insensibly grew thin, and a short, dry cough evinced that the humour, driven
in, had fallen on the lungs. Some persons also suspected him of having
taken acids in too great a quantity for the purpose of reducing his bulk. The
state of his health was not, however, such as to excite alarm. At the camp at
Compiegne, in July, 1764, the Dauphin reviewed the troops, and evinced
much activity in the performance of his duties; it was even observed that he
was seeking to gain the attachment of the army. He presented the
Dauphiness to the soldiers, saying, with a simplicity which at that time
made a great sensation, ‘Mes enfans, here is my wife.’ Returning late on
horseback to Compiegne, he found he had taken a chill; the heat of the day
had been excessive; the Prince’s clothes had been wet with perspiration. An
illness followed, in which the Prince began to spit blood. His principal
physician wished to have him bled; the consulting physicians insisted on
purgation, and their advice was followed. The pleurisy, being ill cured,
assumed and retained all the symptoms of consumption; the Dauphin
languished from that period until December, 1765, and died at
Fontainebleau, where the Court, on account of his condition, had prolonged
its stay, which usually ended on the 2d of November.
“The Dauphiness, his widow, was deeply afflicted; but the immoderate
despair which characterised her grief induced many to suspect that the loss
of the crown was an important part of the calamity she lamented. She long
refused to eat enough to support life; she encouraged her tears to flow by
placing portraits of the Dauphin in every retired part of her apartments. She
had him represented pale, and ready to expire, in a picture placed at the foot
of her bed, under draperies of gray cloth, with which the chambers of the
Princesses were always hung in court mournings. Their grand cabinet was
hung with black cloth, with an alcove, a canopy, and a throne, on which
they received compliments of condolence after the first period of the deep
mourning. The Dauphiness, some months before the end of her career,
twenty-four hours, to the duration of the monarchy and the tranquillity of
the kingdom.’
“Several years prior to his death the Dauphin, the father of Louis XVI.,
had confluent smallpox, which endangered his life; and after his
convalescence he was long troubled with a malignant ulcer under the nose.
He was injudiciously advised to get rid of it by the use of extract of lead,
which proved effectual; but from that time the Dauphin, who was corpulent,
insensibly grew thin, and a short, dry cough evinced that the humour, driven
in, had fallen on the lungs. Some persons also suspected him of having
taken acids in too great a quantity for the purpose of reducing his bulk. The
state of his health was not, however, such as to excite alarm. At the camp at
Compiegne, in July, 1764, the Dauphin reviewed the troops, and evinced
much activity in the performance of his duties; it was even observed that he
was seeking to gain the attachment of the army. He presented the
Dauphiness to the soldiers, saying, with a simplicity which at that time
made a great sensation, ‘Mes enfans, here is my wife.’ Returning late on
horseback to Compiegne, he found he had taken a chill; the heat of the day
had been excessive; the Prince’s clothes had been wet with perspiration. An
illness followed, in which the Prince began to spit blood. His principal
physician wished to have him bled; the consulting physicians insisted on
purgation, and their advice was followed. The pleurisy, being ill cured,
assumed and retained all the symptoms of consumption; the Dauphin
languished from that period until December, 1765, and died at
Fontainebleau, where the Court, on account of his condition, had prolonged
its stay, which usually ended on the 2d of November.
“The Dauphiness, his widow, was deeply afflicted; but the immoderate
despair which characterised her grief induced many to suspect that the loss
of the crown was an important part of the calamity she lamented. She long
refused to eat enough to support life; she encouraged her tears to flow by
placing portraits of the Dauphin in every retired part of her apartments. She
had him represented pale, and ready to expire, in a picture placed at the foot
of her bed, under draperies of gray cloth, with which the chambers of the
Princesses were always hung in court mournings. Their grand cabinet was
hung with black cloth, with an alcove, a canopy, and a throne, on which
they received compliments of condolence after the first period of the deep
mourning. The Dauphiness, some months before the end of her career,
Page 21
regretted her conduct in abridging it; but it was too late; the fatal blow had
been struck. It may also be presumed that living with a consumptive, man
had contributed to her complaint. This Princess had no opportunity of
displaying her qualities; living in a Court in which she was eclipsed by the
King and Queen, the only characteristics that could be remarked in her were
her extreme attachment to her husband, and her great piety.
“The Dauphin was little known, and his character has been much
mistaken. He himself, as he confessed to his intimate friends, sought to
disguise it. He one day asked one of his most familiar servants, ‘What do
they say in Paris of that great fool of a Dauphin?’ The person interrogated
seeming confused, the Dauphin urged him to express himself sincerely,
saying, ‘Speak freely; that is positively the idea which I wish people to
form of me.’
“As he died of a disease which allows the last moment to be anticipated
long beforehand, he wrote much, and transmitted his affections and his
prejudices to his son by secret notes.
“Madame de Pompadour’s brother received Letters of Nobility from his
Majesty, and was appointed superintendent of the buildings and gardens. He
often presented to her Majesty, through the medium of his sister, the rarest
flowers, pineapples, and early vegetables from the gardens of Trianon and
Choisy. One day, when the Marquise came into the Queen’s apartments,
carrying a large basket of flowers, which she held in her two beautiful arms,
without gloves, as a mark of respect, the Queen loudly declared her
admiration of her beauty; and seemed as if she wished to defend the King’s
choice, by praising her various charms in detail, in a manner that would
have been as suitable to a production of the fine arts as to a living being.
After applauding the complexion, eyes, and fine arms of the favourite, with
that haughty condescension which renders approbation more offensive than
flattering, the Queen at length requested her to sing, in the attitude in which
she stood, being desirous of hearing the voice and musical talent by which
the King’s Court had been charmed in the performances of the private
apartments, and thus combining the gratification of the ears with that of the
eyes. The Marquise, who still held her enormous basket, was perfectly
sensible of something offensive in this request, and tried to excuse herself
from singing. The Queen at last commanded her; she then exerted her fine
voice in the solo of Armida—‘At length he is in my power.’ The change in
been struck. It may also be presumed that living with a consumptive, man
had contributed to her complaint. This Princess had no opportunity of
displaying her qualities; living in a Court in which she was eclipsed by the
King and Queen, the only characteristics that could be remarked in her were
her extreme attachment to her husband, and her great piety.
“The Dauphin was little known, and his character has been much
mistaken. He himself, as he confessed to his intimate friends, sought to
disguise it. He one day asked one of his most familiar servants, ‘What do
they say in Paris of that great fool of a Dauphin?’ The person interrogated
seeming confused, the Dauphin urged him to express himself sincerely,
saying, ‘Speak freely; that is positively the idea which I wish people to
form of me.’
“As he died of a disease which allows the last moment to be anticipated
long beforehand, he wrote much, and transmitted his affections and his
prejudices to his son by secret notes.
“Madame de Pompadour’s brother received Letters of Nobility from his
Majesty, and was appointed superintendent of the buildings and gardens. He
often presented to her Majesty, through the medium of his sister, the rarest
flowers, pineapples, and early vegetables from the gardens of Trianon and
Choisy. One day, when the Marquise came into the Queen’s apartments,
carrying a large basket of flowers, which she held in her two beautiful arms,
without gloves, as a mark of respect, the Queen loudly declared her
admiration of her beauty; and seemed as if she wished to defend the King’s
choice, by praising her various charms in detail, in a manner that would
have been as suitable to a production of the fine arts as to a living being.
After applauding the complexion, eyes, and fine arms of the favourite, with
that haughty condescension which renders approbation more offensive than
flattering, the Queen at length requested her to sing, in the attitude in which
she stood, being desirous of hearing the voice and musical talent by which
the King’s Court had been charmed in the performances of the private
apartments, and thus combining the gratification of the ears with that of the
eyes. The Marquise, who still held her enormous basket, was perfectly
sensible of something offensive in this request, and tried to excuse herself
from singing. The Queen at last commanded her; she then exerted her fine
voice in the solo of Armida—‘At length he is in my power.’ The change in
Page 22
her Majesty’s countenance was so obvious that the ladies present at this
scene had the greatest difficulty to keep theirs.
“The Queen was affable and modest; but the more she was thankful in
her heart to Heaven for having placed her on the first throne in Europe, the
more unwilling she was to be reminded of her elevation. This sentiment
induced her to insist on the observation of all the forms of respect due to
royal birth; whereas in other princes the consciousness of that birth often
induces them to disdain the ceremonies of etiquette, and to prefer habits of
ease and simplicity. There was a striking contrast in this respect between
Maria Leczinska and Marie Antoinette, as has been justly and generally
observed. The latter unfortunate Queen, perhaps, carried her disregard of
everything belonging to the strict forms of etiquette too far. One day, when
the Marechale de Mouchy was teasing her with questions relative to the
extent to which she would allow the ladies the option of taking off or
wearing their cloaks, and of pinning up the lappets of their caps, or letting
them hang down, the Queen replied to her, in my presence: ‘Arrange all
those matters, madame, just as you please; but do not imagine that a queen,
born Archduchess of Austria, can attach that importance to them which
might be felt by a Polish princess who had become Queen of France.’
“The virtues and information of the great are always evinced by their
conduct; their accomplishments, coming within the scope of flattery, are
difficult to be ascertained by any authentic proofs, and those who have lived
near them may be excused for some degree of scepticism with regard to
their attainments of this kind. If they draw or paint, there is always an able
artist present, who, if he does not absolutely guide the pencil with his own
hand, directs it by his advice. If a princess attempt a piece of embroidery in
colours, of that description which ranks amongst the productions of the arts,
a skilful embroideress is employed to undo and repair whatever has been
spoilt. If the princess be a musician, there are no ears that will discover
when she is out of tune; at least there is no tongue that will tell her so. This
imperfection in the accomplishments of the great is but a slight misfortune.
It is sufficiently meritorious in them to engage in such pursuits, even with
indifferent success, because this taste and the protection it extends produce
abundance of talent on every side. Maria Leczinska delighted in the art of
painting, and imagined she herself could draw and paint. She had a
drawing-master, who passed all his time in her cabinet. She undertook to
paint four large Chinese pictures, with which she wished to ornament her
scene had the greatest difficulty to keep theirs.
“The Queen was affable and modest; but the more she was thankful in
her heart to Heaven for having placed her on the first throne in Europe, the
more unwilling she was to be reminded of her elevation. This sentiment
induced her to insist on the observation of all the forms of respect due to
royal birth; whereas in other princes the consciousness of that birth often
induces them to disdain the ceremonies of etiquette, and to prefer habits of
ease and simplicity. There was a striking contrast in this respect between
Maria Leczinska and Marie Antoinette, as has been justly and generally
observed. The latter unfortunate Queen, perhaps, carried her disregard of
everything belonging to the strict forms of etiquette too far. One day, when
the Marechale de Mouchy was teasing her with questions relative to the
extent to which she would allow the ladies the option of taking off or
wearing their cloaks, and of pinning up the lappets of their caps, or letting
them hang down, the Queen replied to her, in my presence: ‘Arrange all
those matters, madame, just as you please; but do not imagine that a queen,
born Archduchess of Austria, can attach that importance to them which
might be felt by a Polish princess who had become Queen of France.’
“The virtues and information of the great are always evinced by their
conduct; their accomplishments, coming within the scope of flattery, are
difficult to be ascertained by any authentic proofs, and those who have lived
near them may be excused for some degree of scepticism with regard to
their attainments of this kind. If they draw or paint, there is always an able
artist present, who, if he does not absolutely guide the pencil with his own
hand, directs it by his advice. If a princess attempt a piece of embroidery in
colours, of that description which ranks amongst the productions of the arts,
a skilful embroideress is employed to undo and repair whatever has been
spoilt. If the princess be a musician, there are no ears that will discover
when she is out of tune; at least there is no tongue that will tell her so. This
imperfection in the accomplishments of the great is but a slight misfortune.
It is sufficiently meritorious in them to engage in such pursuits, even with
indifferent success, because this taste and the protection it extends produce
abundance of talent on every side. Maria Leczinska delighted in the art of
painting, and imagined she herself could draw and paint. She had a
drawing-master, who passed all his time in her cabinet. She undertook to
paint four large Chinese pictures, with which she wished to ornament her
Page 23
private drawing-room, which was richly furnished with rare porcelain and
the finest marbles. This painter was entrusted with the landscape and
background of the pictures; he drew the figures with a pencil; the faces and
arms were also left by the Queen to his execution; she reserved to herself
nothing but the draperies, and the least important accessories. The Queen
every morning filled up the outline marked out for her, with a little red,
blue, or green colour, which the master prepared on the palette, and even
filled her brush with, constantly repeating, ‘Higher up, Madame—lower
down, Madame—a little to the right—more to the left.’ After an hour’s
work, the time for hearing mass, or some other family or pious duty, would
interrupt her Majesty; and the painter, putting the shadows into the
draperies she had painted, softening off the colour where she had laid too
much, etc., finished the small figures. When the work was completed the
private drawing-room was decorated with her Majesty’s work; and the firm
persuasion of this good Queen that she had painted it herself was so entire
that she left this cabinet, with all its furniture and paintings, to the Comtesse
de Noailles, her lady of honour. She added to the bequest: ‘The pictures in
my cabinet being my own work, I hope the Comtesse de Noailles will
preserve them for my sake.’ Madame de Noailles, afterwards Marechale de
Mouchy, had a new pavilion constructed in her hotel in the Faubourg St.
Germain, in order to form a suitable receptacle for the Queen’s legacy; and
had the following inscription placed over the door, in letters of gold: ‘The
innocent falsehood of a good princess.’
“Maria Leczinska could never look with cordiality on the Princess of
Saxony, who married the Dauphin; but the attentive behaviour of the
Dauphiness at length made her Majesty forget that the Princess was the
daughter of a king who wore her father’s crown. Nevertheless, although the
Queen now saw in the Princess of Saxony only a wife beloved by her son,
she never could forget that Augustus wore the crown of Stanislaus. One day
an officer of her chamber having undertaken to ask a private audience of
her for the Saxon minister, and the Queen being unwilling to grant it, he
ventured to add that he should not have presumed to ask this favour of the
Queen had not the minister been the ambassador of a member of the family.
‘Say of an enemy of the family,’ replied the Queen, angrily; ‘and let him
come in.’
“Comte de Tesse, father of the last Count of that name, who left no
children, was first equerry to Queen Maria Leczinska. She esteemed his
the finest marbles. This painter was entrusted with the landscape and
background of the pictures; he drew the figures with a pencil; the faces and
arms were also left by the Queen to his execution; she reserved to herself
nothing but the draperies, and the least important accessories. The Queen
every morning filled up the outline marked out for her, with a little red,
blue, or green colour, which the master prepared on the palette, and even
filled her brush with, constantly repeating, ‘Higher up, Madame—lower
down, Madame—a little to the right—more to the left.’ After an hour’s
work, the time for hearing mass, or some other family or pious duty, would
interrupt her Majesty; and the painter, putting the shadows into the
draperies she had painted, softening off the colour where she had laid too
much, etc., finished the small figures. When the work was completed the
private drawing-room was decorated with her Majesty’s work; and the firm
persuasion of this good Queen that she had painted it herself was so entire
that she left this cabinet, with all its furniture and paintings, to the Comtesse
de Noailles, her lady of honour. She added to the bequest: ‘The pictures in
my cabinet being my own work, I hope the Comtesse de Noailles will
preserve them for my sake.’ Madame de Noailles, afterwards Marechale de
Mouchy, had a new pavilion constructed in her hotel in the Faubourg St.
Germain, in order to form a suitable receptacle for the Queen’s legacy; and
had the following inscription placed over the door, in letters of gold: ‘The
innocent falsehood of a good princess.’
“Maria Leczinska could never look with cordiality on the Princess of
Saxony, who married the Dauphin; but the attentive behaviour of the
Dauphiness at length made her Majesty forget that the Princess was the
daughter of a king who wore her father’s crown. Nevertheless, although the
Queen now saw in the Princess of Saxony only a wife beloved by her son,
she never could forget that Augustus wore the crown of Stanislaus. One day
an officer of her chamber having undertaken to ask a private audience of
her for the Saxon minister, and the Queen being unwilling to grant it, he
ventured to add that he should not have presumed to ask this favour of the
Queen had not the minister been the ambassador of a member of the family.
‘Say of an enemy of the family,’ replied the Queen, angrily; ‘and let him
come in.’
“Comte de Tesse, father of the last Count of that name, who left no
children, was first equerry to Queen Maria Leczinska. She esteemed his
Page 24
virtues, but often diverted herself at the expense of his simplicity. One day,
when the conversation turned on the noble military, actions by which the
French nobility was distinguished, the Queen said to the Count: ‘And your
family, M. de Tesse, has been famous, too, in the field.’—‘Ah, Madame, we
have all been killed in our masters’ service!’—‘How rejoiced I am,’ replied
the Queen, ‘that you have revived to tell me of it.’ The son of this worthy
M. de Tesse was married to the amiable and highly gifted daughter of the
Duc d’Ayen, afterwards Marechale de Noailles. He was exceedingly fond of
his daughter-in-law, and never could speak of her without emotion. The
Queen, to please him, often talked to him about the young Countess, and
one day asked him which of her good qualities seemed to him most
conspicuous. ‘Her gentleness, Madame, her gentleness,’ said he, with tears
in his eyes; ‘she is so mild, so soft,—as soft as a good carriage.’—‘Well,’
said her Majesty, ‘that’s an excellent comparison for a first equerry.’
“In 1730 Queen Maria Leczinska, going to mass, met old Marechal
Villars, leaning on a wooden crutch not worth fifteen pence. She rallied him
about it, and the Marshal told her that he had used it ever since he had
received a wound which obliged him to add this article to the equipments of
the army. Her Majesty, smiling, said she thought this crutch so unworthy of
him that she hoped to induce him to give it up. On returning home she
despatched M. Campan to Paris with orders to purchase at the celebrated
Germain’s the handsomest cane, with a gold enamelled crutch, that he could
find, and carry it without delay to Marechal Villars’s hotel, and present it to
him from her. He was announced accordingly, and fulfilled his commission.
The Marshal, in attending him to the door, requested him to express his
gratitude to the Queen, and said that he had nothing fit to offer to an officer
who had the honour to belong to her Majesty; but he begged him to accept
of his old stick, saying that his grandchildren would probably some day be
glad to possess the cane with which he had commanded at Marchiennes and
Denain. The known frugality of Marechal Villars appears in this anecdote;
but he was not mistaken with respect to the estimation in which his stick
would be held. It was thenceforth kept with veneration by M. Campan’s
family. On the 10th of August, 1792, a house which I occupied on the
Carrousel, at the entrance of the Court of the Tuileries, was pillaged and
nearly burnt down. The cane of Marechal Villars was thrown into the
Carrousel as of no value, and picked up by my servant. Had its old master
when the conversation turned on the noble military, actions by which the
French nobility was distinguished, the Queen said to the Count: ‘And your
family, M. de Tesse, has been famous, too, in the field.’—‘Ah, Madame, we
have all been killed in our masters’ service!’—‘How rejoiced I am,’ replied
the Queen, ‘that you have revived to tell me of it.’ The son of this worthy
M. de Tesse was married to the amiable and highly gifted daughter of the
Duc d’Ayen, afterwards Marechale de Noailles. He was exceedingly fond of
his daughter-in-law, and never could speak of her without emotion. The
Queen, to please him, often talked to him about the young Countess, and
one day asked him which of her good qualities seemed to him most
conspicuous. ‘Her gentleness, Madame, her gentleness,’ said he, with tears
in his eyes; ‘she is so mild, so soft,—as soft as a good carriage.’—‘Well,’
said her Majesty, ‘that’s an excellent comparison for a first equerry.’
“In 1730 Queen Maria Leczinska, going to mass, met old Marechal
Villars, leaning on a wooden crutch not worth fifteen pence. She rallied him
about it, and the Marshal told her that he had used it ever since he had
received a wound which obliged him to add this article to the equipments of
the army. Her Majesty, smiling, said she thought this crutch so unworthy of
him that she hoped to induce him to give it up. On returning home she
despatched M. Campan to Paris with orders to purchase at the celebrated
Germain’s the handsomest cane, with a gold enamelled crutch, that he could
find, and carry it without delay to Marechal Villars’s hotel, and present it to
him from her. He was announced accordingly, and fulfilled his commission.
The Marshal, in attending him to the door, requested him to express his
gratitude to the Queen, and said that he had nothing fit to offer to an officer
who had the honour to belong to her Majesty; but he begged him to accept
of his old stick, saying that his grandchildren would probably some day be
glad to possess the cane with which he had commanded at Marchiennes and
Denain. The known frugality of Marechal Villars appears in this anecdote;
but he was not mistaken with respect to the estimation in which his stick
would be held. It was thenceforth kept with veneration by M. Campan’s
family. On the 10th of August, 1792, a house which I occupied on the
Carrousel, at the entrance of the Court of the Tuileries, was pillaged and
nearly burnt down. The cane of Marechal Villars was thrown into the
Carrousel as of no value, and picked up by my servant. Had its old master
Page 25
been living at that period we should not have witnessed such a deplorable
day.
“Before the Revolution there were customs and words in use at Versailles
with which few people were acquainted. The King’s dinner was called ‘The
King’s meat.’ Two of the Body Guard accompanied the attendants who
carried the dinner; every one rose as they passed through the halls, saying,
‘There is the King’s meat.’ All precautionary duties were distinguished by
the words ‘in case.’ One of the guards might be heard to say, ‘I am in case
in the forest of St. Germain.’ In the evening they always brought the Queen
a large bowl of broth, a cold roast fowl, one bottle of wine, one of orgeat,
one of lemonade, and some other articles, which were called the ‘in case’
for the night. An old medical gentleman, who had been physician in
ordinary to Louis XIV., and was still living at the time of the marriage of
Louis XV., told M. Campan’s father an anecdote which seems too
remarkable to have remained unknown; nevertheless he was a man of
honour, incapable of inventing this story. His name was Lafosse. He said
that Louis XIV. was informed that the officers of his table evinced, in the
most disdainful and offensive manner, the mortification they felt at being
obliged to eat at the table of the comptroller of the kitchen along with
Moliere, valet de chambre to his Majesty, because Moliere had performed
on the stage; and that this celebrated author consequently declined
appearing at that table. Louis XIV., determined to put an end to insults
which ought never to have been offered to one of the greatest geniuses of
the age, said to him one morning at the hour of his private levee, ‘They say
you live very poorly here, Moliere; and that the officers of my chamber do
not find you good enough to eat with them. Perhaps you are hungry; for my
part I awoke with a very good appetite this morning: sit down at this table.
Serve up my ‘in case’ for the night there.’ The King, then cutting up his
fowl, and ordering Moliere to sit down, helped him to a wing, at the same
time taking one for himself, and ordered the persons entitled to familiar
entrance, that is to say the most distinguished and favourite people at Court,
to be admitted. ‘You see me,’ said the King to them, ‘engaged in
entertaining Moliere, whom my valets de chambre do not consider
sufficiently good company for them.’ From that time Moliere never had
occasion to appear at the valets’ table; the whole Court was forward enough
to send him invitations.
day.
“Before the Revolution there were customs and words in use at Versailles
with which few people were acquainted. The King’s dinner was called ‘The
King’s meat.’ Two of the Body Guard accompanied the attendants who
carried the dinner; every one rose as they passed through the halls, saying,
‘There is the King’s meat.’ All precautionary duties were distinguished by
the words ‘in case.’ One of the guards might be heard to say, ‘I am in case
in the forest of St. Germain.’ In the evening they always brought the Queen
a large bowl of broth, a cold roast fowl, one bottle of wine, one of orgeat,
one of lemonade, and some other articles, which were called the ‘in case’
for the night. An old medical gentleman, who had been physician in
ordinary to Louis XIV., and was still living at the time of the marriage of
Louis XV., told M. Campan’s father an anecdote which seems too
remarkable to have remained unknown; nevertheless he was a man of
honour, incapable of inventing this story. His name was Lafosse. He said
that Louis XIV. was informed that the officers of his table evinced, in the
most disdainful and offensive manner, the mortification they felt at being
obliged to eat at the table of the comptroller of the kitchen along with
Moliere, valet de chambre to his Majesty, because Moliere had performed
on the stage; and that this celebrated author consequently declined
appearing at that table. Louis XIV., determined to put an end to insults
which ought never to have been offered to one of the greatest geniuses of
the age, said to him one morning at the hour of his private levee, ‘They say
you live very poorly here, Moliere; and that the officers of my chamber do
not find you good enough to eat with them. Perhaps you are hungry; for my
part I awoke with a very good appetite this morning: sit down at this table.
Serve up my ‘in case’ for the night there.’ The King, then cutting up his
fowl, and ordering Moliere to sit down, helped him to a wing, at the same
time taking one for himself, and ordered the persons entitled to familiar
entrance, that is to say the most distinguished and favourite people at Court,
to be admitted. ‘You see me,’ said the King to them, ‘engaged in
entertaining Moliere, whom my valets de chambre do not consider
sufficiently good company for them.’ From that time Moliere never had
occasion to appear at the valets’ table; the whole Court was forward enough
to send him invitations.
Page 26
“M. de Lafosse used also to relate that a brigade-major of the Body
Guard, being ordered to place the company in the little theatre at Versailles,
very roughly turned out one of the King’s comptrollers who had taken his
seat on one of the benches, a place to which his newly acquired office
entitled him. In vain he insisted on his quality and his right. The altercation
was ended by the brigade-major in these words: ‘Gentlemen Body Guards,
do your duty.’ In this case their duty was to turn the offender out at the door.
This comptroller, who had paid sixty or eighty thousand francs for his
appointment, was a man of a good family, and had had the honour of
serving his Majesty five and twenty years in one of his regiments; thus
ignominiously driven out of the hall, he placed himself in the King’s way in
the great hall of the Guards, and, bowing to his Majesty, requested him to
vindicate the honour of an old soldier who had wished to end his days in his
Prince’s civil employment, now that age had obliged him to relinquish his
military service. The King stopped, heard his story, and then ordered him to
follow him. His Majesty attended the representation in a sort of
amphitheatre, in which his armchair was placed; behind him was a row of
stools for the captain of the Guards, the first gentleman of the chamber, and
other great officers. The brigade-major was entitled to one of these places;
the King stopped opposite the seat which ought to have been occupied by
that officer and said to the comptroller, ‘Take, monsieur, for this evening,
the place near my person of him who has offended you, and let the
expression of my displeasure at this unjust affront satisfy you instead of any
other reparation:
“During the latter years of the reign of Louis XIV. he never went out but
in a chair carried by porters, and he showed a great regard for a man named
D’Aigremont, one of those porters who always went in front and opened the
door of the chair. The slightest preference shown by sovereigns, even to the
meanest of their servants, never fails to excite observation.
[People of the very first rank did not disdain to descend to
the level of D’Aigremont. “Lauzun,” said the Duchesse
d’Orleans in her “Memoirs,” “sometimes affects stupidity in
order to show people their own with impunity, for he is very
malicious. In order to make Marechal de Tease feel the
impropriety of his familiarity with people of the common
sort, he called out, in the drawing-room at Marly,
Guard, being ordered to place the company in the little theatre at Versailles,
very roughly turned out one of the King’s comptrollers who had taken his
seat on one of the benches, a place to which his newly acquired office
entitled him. In vain he insisted on his quality and his right. The altercation
was ended by the brigade-major in these words: ‘Gentlemen Body Guards,
do your duty.’ In this case their duty was to turn the offender out at the door.
This comptroller, who had paid sixty or eighty thousand francs for his
appointment, was a man of a good family, and had had the honour of
serving his Majesty five and twenty years in one of his regiments; thus
ignominiously driven out of the hall, he placed himself in the King’s way in
the great hall of the Guards, and, bowing to his Majesty, requested him to
vindicate the honour of an old soldier who had wished to end his days in his
Prince’s civil employment, now that age had obliged him to relinquish his
military service. The King stopped, heard his story, and then ordered him to
follow him. His Majesty attended the representation in a sort of
amphitheatre, in which his armchair was placed; behind him was a row of
stools for the captain of the Guards, the first gentleman of the chamber, and
other great officers. The brigade-major was entitled to one of these places;
the King stopped opposite the seat which ought to have been occupied by
that officer and said to the comptroller, ‘Take, monsieur, for this evening,
the place near my person of him who has offended you, and let the
expression of my displeasure at this unjust affront satisfy you instead of any
other reparation:
“During the latter years of the reign of Louis XIV. he never went out but
in a chair carried by porters, and he showed a great regard for a man named
D’Aigremont, one of those porters who always went in front and opened the
door of the chair. The slightest preference shown by sovereigns, even to the
meanest of their servants, never fails to excite observation.
[People of the very first rank did not disdain to descend to
the level of D’Aigremont. “Lauzun,” said the Duchesse
d’Orleans in her “Memoirs,” “sometimes affects stupidity in
order to show people their own with impunity, for he is very
malicious. In order to make Marechal de Tease feel the
impropriety of his familiarity with people of the common
sort, he called out, in the drawing-room at Marly,
Page 27
‘Marechal, give me a pinch of snuff; some of your best, such
as you take in the morning with Monsieur d’Aigremont, the
chairman.’”—NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
The King had done something for this man’s numerous family, and
frequently talked to him. An abbe belonging to the chapel thought proper to
request D’Aigremont to present a memorial to the King, in which he
requested his Majesty to grant him a benefice. Louis XIV. did not approve
of the liberty thus taken by his chairman, and said to him, in a very angry
tone, ‘D’Aigremont, you have been made to do a very unbecoming act, and
I am sure there must be simony in the case.’—‘No, Sire, there is not the
least ceremony in the case, I assure you,’ answered the poor man, in great
consternation; ‘the abbe only said he would give me a hundred
Louis.’—‘D’Aigremont,’ said the King, ‘I forgive you on account of your
ignorance and candour. I will give you the hundred Louis out of my privy
purse; but I will discharge you the very next time you venture to present a
memorial to me.’
“Louis XIV. was very kind to those of his servants who were nearest his
person; but the moment he assumed his royal deportment, those who were
most accustomed to see him in his domestic character were as much
intimidated as if they were appearing in his presence for the first time in
their lives. Some of the members of his Majesty’s civil household, then
called ‘commensalite’, enjoying the title of equerry, and the privileges
attached to officers of the King’s household, had occasion to claim some
prerogatives, the exercise of which the municipal body of St. Germain,
where they resided, disputed with them. Being assembled in considerable
numbers in that town, they obtained the consent of the minister of the
household to allow them to send a deputation to the King; and for that
purpose chose from amongst them two of his Majesty’s valets de chambre
named Bazire and Soulaigre. The King’s levee being over, the deputation of
the inhabitants of the town of St. Germain was called in. They entered with
confidence; the King looked at them, and assumed his imposing attitude.
Bazire, one of these valets de chambre, was about to speak, but Louis the
Great was looking on him. He no longer saw the Prince he was accustomed
to attend at home; he was intimidated, and could not find words; he
recovered, however, and began as usual with the word Sire. But timidity
again overpowered him, and finding himself unable to recollect the slightest
as you take in the morning with Monsieur d’Aigremont, the
chairman.’”—NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
The King had done something for this man’s numerous family, and
frequently talked to him. An abbe belonging to the chapel thought proper to
request D’Aigremont to present a memorial to the King, in which he
requested his Majesty to grant him a benefice. Louis XIV. did not approve
of the liberty thus taken by his chairman, and said to him, in a very angry
tone, ‘D’Aigremont, you have been made to do a very unbecoming act, and
I am sure there must be simony in the case.’—‘No, Sire, there is not the
least ceremony in the case, I assure you,’ answered the poor man, in great
consternation; ‘the abbe only said he would give me a hundred
Louis.’—‘D’Aigremont,’ said the King, ‘I forgive you on account of your
ignorance and candour. I will give you the hundred Louis out of my privy
purse; but I will discharge you the very next time you venture to present a
memorial to me.’
“Louis XIV. was very kind to those of his servants who were nearest his
person; but the moment he assumed his royal deportment, those who were
most accustomed to see him in his domestic character were as much
intimidated as if they were appearing in his presence for the first time in
their lives. Some of the members of his Majesty’s civil household, then
called ‘commensalite’, enjoying the title of equerry, and the privileges
attached to officers of the King’s household, had occasion to claim some
prerogatives, the exercise of which the municipal body of St. Germain,
where they resided, disputed with them. Being assembled in considerable
numbers in that town, they obtained the consent of the minister of the
household to allow them to send a deputation to the King; and for that
purpose chose from amongst them two of his Majesty’s valets de chambre
named Bazire and Soulaigre. The King’s levee being over, the deputation of
the inhabitants of the town of St. Germain was called in. They entered with
confidence; the King looked at them, and assumed his imposing attitude.
Bazire, one of these valets de chambre, was about to speak, but Louis the
Great was looking on him. He no longer saw the Prince he was accustomed
to attend at home; he was intimidated, and could not find words; he
recovered, however, and began as usual with the word Sire. But timidity
again overpowered him, and finding himself unable to recollect the slightest
Page 28
particle of what he came to say, he repeated the word Sire several times, and
at length concluded by paying, ‘Sire, here is Soulaigre.’ Soulaigre, who was
very angry with Bazire, and expected to acquit himself much better, then
began to speak; but he also, after repeating ‘Sire’ several times, found his
embarrassment increasing upon him, until his confusion equalled that of his
colleague; he therefore ended with ‘Sire, here is Bazire.’ The King smiled,
and answered, ‘Gentlemen, I have been informed of the business upon
which you have been deputed to wait on me, and I will take care that what
is right shall be done. I am highly satisfied with the manner in which you
have fulfilled your functions as deputies.’”
Mademoiselle Genet’s education was the object of her father’s particular
attention. Her progress in the study of music and of foreign languages was
surprising; Albaneze instructed her in singing, and Goldoni taught her
Italian. Tasso, Milton, Dante, and even Shakespeare, soon became familiar
to her. But her studies were particularly directed to the acquisition of a
correct and elegant style of reading. Rochon de Chabannes, Duclos, Barthe,
Marmontel, and Thomas took pleasure in hearing her recite the finest scenes
of Racine. Her memory and genius at the age of fourteen charmed them;
they talked of her talents in society, and perhaps applauded them too highly.
She was soon spoken of at Court. Some ladies of high rank, who took an
interest in the welfare of her family, obtained for her the place of Reader to
the Princesses. Her presentation, and the circumstances which preceded it,
left a strong impression on her mind. “I was then fifteen,” she says; “my
father felt some regret at yielding me up at so early an age to the jealousies
of the Court. The day on which I first put on my Court dress, and went to
embrace him in his study, tears filled his eyes, and mingled with the
expression of his pleasure. I possessed some agreeable talents, in addition to
the instruction which it had been his delight to bestow on me. He
enumerated all my little accomplishments, to convince me of the vexations
they would not fail to draw upon me.”
Mademoiselle Genet, at fifteen, was naturally less of a philosopher than
her father was at forty. Her eyes were dazzled by the splendour which
glittered at Versailles. “The Queen, Maria Leczinska, the wife of Louis XV.,
died,” she says, “just before I was presented at Court. The grand apartments
hung with black, the great chairs of state, raised on several steps, and
surmounted by a canopy adorned with Plumes; the caparisoned horses, the
at length concluded by paying, ‘Sire, here is Soulaigre.’ Soulaigre, who was
very angry with Bazire, and expected to acquit himself much better, then
began to speak; but he also, after repeating ‘Sire’ several times, found his
embarrassment increasing upon him, until his confusion equalled that of his
colleague; he therefore ended with ‘Sire, here is Bazire.’ The King smiled,
and answered, ‘Gentlemen, I have been informed of the business upon
which you have been deputed to wait on me, and I will take care that what
is right shall be done. I am highly satisfied with the manner in which you
have fulfilled your functions as deputies.’”
Mademoiselle Genet’s education was the object of her father’s particular
attention. Her progress in the study of music and of foreign languages was
surprising; Albaneze instructed her in singing, and Goldoni taught her
Italian. Tasso, Milton, Dante, and even Shakespeare, soon became familiar
to her. But her studies were particularly directed to the acquisition of a
correct and elegant style of reading. Rochon de Chabannes, Duclos, Barthe,
Marmontel, and Thomas took pleasure in hearing her recite the finest scenes
of Racine. Her memory and genius at the age of fourteen charmed them;
they talked of her talents in society, and perhaps applauded them too highly.
She was soon spoken of at Court. Some ladies of high rank, who took an
interest in the welfare of her family, obtained for her the place of Reader to
the Princesses. Her presentation, and the circumstances which preceded it,
left a strong impression on her mind. “I was then fifteen,” she says; “my
father felt some regret at yielding me up at so early an age to the jealousies
of the Court. The day on which I first put on my Court dress, and went to
embrace him in his study, tears filled his eyes, and mingled with the
expression of his pleasure. I possessed some agreeable talents, in addition to
the instruction which it had been his delight to bestow on me. He
enumerated all my little accomplishments, to convince me of the vexations
they would not fail to draw upon me.”
Mademoiselle Genet, at fifteen, was naturally less of a philosopher than
her father was at forty. Her eyes were dazzled by the splendour which
glittered at Versailles. “The Queen, Maria Leczinska, the wife of Louis XV.,
died,” she says, “just before I was presented at Court. The grand apartments
hung with black, the great chairs of state, raised on several steps, and
surmounted by a canopy adorned with Plumes; the caparisoned horses, the
Page 29
immense retinue in Court mourning, the enormous shoulder-knots,
embroidered with gold and silver spangles, which decorated the coats of the
pages and footmen,—all this magnificence had such an effect on my senses
that I could scarcely support myself when introduced to the Princesses. The
first day of my reading in the inner apartment of Madame Victoire I found it
impossible to pronounce more than two sentences; my heart palpitated, my
voice faltered, and my sight failed. How well understood was the potent
magic of the grandeur and dignity which ought to surround sovereigns!
Marie Antoinette, dressed in white, with a plain straw hat, and a little switch
in her hand, walking on foot, followed by a single servant, through the
walks leading to the Petit Trianon, would never have thus disconcerted me;
and I believe this extreme simplicity was the first and only real mistake of
all those with which she is reproached.”
When once her awe and confusion had subsided, Mademoiselle Genet
was enabled to form a more accurate judgment of her situation. It was by no
means attractive; the Court of the Princesses, far removed from the revels to
which Louie XV. was addicted, was grave, methodical, and dull. Madame
Adelaide, the eldest of the Princesses, lived secluded in the interior of her
apartments; Madame Sophie was haughty; Madame Louise a devotee.
Mademoiselle Genet never quitted the Princesses’ apartments; but she
attached herself most particularly to Madame Victoire. This Princess had
possessed beauty; her countenance bore an expression of benevolence, and
her conversation was kind, free, and unaffected. The young reader excited
in her that feeling which a woman in years, of an affectionate disposition,
readily extends to young people who are growing up in her sight, and who
possess some useful talents. Whole days were passed in reading to the
Princess, as she sat at work in her apartment. Mademoiselle Genet
frequently saw there Louis XV., of whom she has related the following
anecdote:
“One day, at the Chateau of Compiegne, the King came in whilst I was
reading to Madame. I rose and went into another room. Alone, in an
apartment from which there was no outlet, with no book but a Massillon,
which I had been reading to the Princess, happy in all the lightness and
gaiety of fifteen, I amused myself with turning swiftly round, with my court
hoop, and suddenly kneeling down to see my rose-coloured silk petticoat
swelled around me by the wind. In the midst of this grave employment
enters his Majesty, followed by one of the Princesses. I attempt to rise; my
embroidered with gold and silver spangles, which decorated the coats of the
pages and footmen,—all this magnificence had such an effect on my senses
that I could scarcely support myself when introduced to the Princesses. The
first day of my reading in the inner apartment of Madame Victoire I found it
impossible to pronounce more than two sentences; my heart palpitated, my
voice faltered, and my sight failed. How well understood was the potent
magic of the grandeur and dignity which ought to surround sovereigns!
Marie Antoinette, dressed in white, with a plain straw hat, and a little switch
in her hand, walking on foot, followed by a single servant, through the
walks leading to the Petit Trianon, would never have thus disconcerted me;
and I believe this extreme simplicity was the first and only real mistake of
all those with which she is reproached.”
When once her awe and confusion had subsided, Mademoiselle Genet
was enabled to form a more accurate judgment of her situation. It was by no
means attractive; the Court of the Princesses, far removed from the revels to
which Louie XV. was addicted, was grave, methodical, and dull. Madame
Adelaide, the eldest of the Princesses, lived secluded in the interior of her
apartments; Madame Sophie was haughty; Madame Louise a devotee.
Mademoiselle Genet never quitted the Princesses’ apartments; but she
attached herself most particularly to Madame Victoire. This Princess had
possessed beauty; her countenance bore an expression of benevolence, and
her conversation was kind, free, and unaffected. The young reader excited
in her that feeling which a woman in years, of an affectionate disposition,
readily extends to young people who are growing up in her sight, and who
possess some useful talents. Whole days were passed in reading to the
Princess, as she sat at work in her apartment. Mademoiselle Genet
frequently saw there Louis XV., of whom she has related the following
anecdote:
“One day, at the Chateau of Compiegne, the King came in whilst I was
reading to Madame. I rose and went into another room. Alone, in an
apartment from which there was no outlet, with no book but a Massillon,
which I had been reading to the Princess, happy in all the lightness and
gaiety of fifteen, I amused myself with turning swiftly round, with my court
hoop, and suddenly kneeling down to see my rose-coloured silk petticoat
swelled around me by the wind. In the midst of this grave employment
enters his Majesty, followed by one of the Princesses. I attempt to rise; my
Page 30
feet stumble, and down I fall in the midst of my robes, puffed out by the
wind. ‘Daughter,’ said Louis XV., laughing heartily, ‘I advise you to send
back to school a reader who makes cheeses.’” The railleries of Louis XV.
were often much more cutting, as Mademoiselle Genet experienced on
another occasion, which, thirty years afterwards, she could not relate
without an emotion of fear. “Louis XV.,” she said, “had the most imposing
presence. His eyes remained fixed upon you all the time he was speaking;
and, notwithstanding the beauty of his features, he inspired a sort of fear. I
was very young, it is true, when he first spoke to me; you shall judge
whether it was in a very gracious manner. I was fifteen. The King was going
out to hunt, and a numerous retinue followed him. As he stopped opposite
me he said, ‘Mademoiselle Genet, I am assured you are very learned, and
understand four or five foreign languages.’—‘I know only two, Sire,’ I
answered, trembling. ‘Which are they?’ English and Italian.’—‘Do you
speak them fluently?’ Yes, Sire, very fluently.’ ‘That is quite enough to
drive a husband mad.’ After this pretty compliment the King went on; the
retinue saluted me, laughing; and, for my part, I remained for some
moments motionless with surprise and confusion.”
At the time when the French alliance was proposed by the Duc de
Choiseul there was at Vienna a doctor named Gassner,—[Jean Joseph
Gassner, a pretender to miraculous powers.]—who had fled thither to seek
an asylum against the persecutions of his sovereign, one of the
ecclesiastical electors. Gassner, gifted with an extraordinary warmth of
imagination, imagined that he received inspirations. The Empress protected
him, saw him occasionally, rallied him on his visions, and, nevertheless,
heard them with a sort of interest. “Tell me,”—said she to him one day,
“whether my Antoinette will be happy.” Gassner turned pale, and remained
silent. Being still pressed by the Empress, and wishing to give a general
expression to the idea with which he seemed deeply occupied, “Madame,”
he replied, “there are crosses for all shoulders.”
The occurrences at the Place Louis XV. on the marriage festivities at
Paris are generally known. The conflagration of the scaffolds intended for
the fireworks, the want of foresight of the authorities, the avidity of robbers,
the murderous career of the coaches, brought about and aggravated the
disasters of that day; and the young Dauphiness, coming from Versailles, by
the Cours la Reine, elated with joy, brilliantly decorated, and eager to
witness the rejoicings of the whole people, fled, struck with consternation
wind. ‘Daughter,’ said Louis XV., laughing heartily, ‘I advise you to send
back to school a reader who makes cheeses.’” The railleries of Louis XV.
were often much more cutting, as Mademoiselle Genet experienced on
another occasion, which, thirty years afterwards, she could not relate
without an emotion of fear. “Louis XV.,” she said, “had the most imposing
presence. His eyes remained fixed upon you all the time he was speaking;
and, notwithstanding the beauty of his features, he inspired a sort of fear. I
was very young, it is true, when he first spoke to me; you shall judge
whether it was in a very gracious manner. I was fifteen. The King was going
out to hunt, and a numerous retinue followed him. As he stopped opposite
me he said, ‘Mademoiselle Genet, I am assured you are very learned, and
understand four or five foreign languages.’—‘I know only two, Sire,’ I
answered, trembling. ‘Which are they?’ English and Italian.’—‘Do you
speak them fluently?’ Yes, Sire, very fluently.’ ‘That is quite enough to
drive a husband mad.’ After this pretty compliment the King went on; the
retinue saluted me, laughing; and, for my part, I remained for some
moments motionless with surprise and confusion.”
At the time when the French alliance was proposed by the Duc de
Choiseul there was at Vienna a doctor named Gassner,—[Jean Joseph
Gassner, a pretender to miraculous powers.]—who had fled thither to seek
an asylum against the persecutions of his sovereign, one of the
ecclesiastical electors. Gassner, gifted with an extraordinary warmth of
imagination, imagined that he received inspirations. The Empress protected
him, saw him occasionally, rallied him on his visions, and, nevertheless,
heard them with a sort of interest. “Tell me,”—said she to him one day,
“whether my Antoinette will be happy.” Gassner turned pale, and remained
silent. Being still pressed by the Empress, and wishing to give a general
expression to the idea with which he seemed deeply occupied, “Madame,”
he replied, “there are crosses for all shoulders.”
The occurrences at the Place Louis XV. on the marriage festivities at
Paris are generally known. The conflagration of the scaffolds intended for
the fireworks, the want of foresight of the authorities, the avidity of robbers,
the murderous career of the coaches, brought about and aggravated the
disasters of that day; and the young Dauphiness, coming from Versailles, by
the Cours la Reine, elated with joy, brilliantly decorated, and eager to
witness the rejoicings of the whole people, fled, struck with consternation
Page 31
and drowned in tears, from the dreadful scene. This tragic opening of the
young Princess’s life in France seemed to bear out Gassner’s hint of
disaster, and to be ominous of the terrible future which awaited her.
In the same year in which Marie Antoinette was married to the Dauphin,
Henriette Genet married a son of M. Campan, already mentioned as holding
an office at the Court; and when the household of the Dauphiness was
formed, Madame Campan was appointed her reader, and received from
Marie Antoinette a consistent kindness and confidence to which by her
loyal service she was fully entitled. Madame Campan’s intelligence and
vivacity made her much more sympathetic to a young princess, gay and
affectionate in disposition, and reared in the simplicity of a German Court,
than her lady of honour, the Comtesse de Noailles. This respectable lady,
who was placed near her as a minister of the laws of etiquette, instead of
alleviating their weight, rendered their yoke intolerable to her.
“Madame de Noailles,” says Madame Campan, “abounded in virtues.
Her piety, charity, and irreproachable morals rendered her worthy of praise;
but etiquette was to her a sort of atmosphere; at the slightest derangement of
the consecrated order, one would have thought the principles of life would
forsake her frame.
“One day I unintentionally threw this poor lady into a terrible agony. The
Queen was receiving I know not whom,—some persons just presented, I
believe; the lady of honour, the Queen’s tirewoman, and the ladies of the
bedchamber, were behind the Queen. I was near the throne, with the two
women on duty. All was right,—at least I thought so. Suddenly I perceived
the eyes of Madame de Noailles fixed on mine. She made a sign with her
head, and then raised her eyebrows to the top of her forehead, lowered
them, raised them again, then began to make little signs with her hand.
From all this pantomime, I could easily perceive that something was not as
it should be; and as I looked about on all sides to find out what it was, the
agitation of the Countess kept increasing. The Queen, who perceived all
this, looked at me with a smile; I found means to approach her Majesty,
who said to me in a whisper, ‘Let down your lappets, or the Countess will
expire.’ All this bustle arose from two unlucky pins which fastened up my
lappets, whilst the etiquette of costume said ‘Lappets hanging down.’”
Her contempt of the vanities of etiquette became the pretext for the first
reproaches levelled at the Queen. What misconduct might not be dreaded
young Princess’s life in France seemed to bear out Gassner’s hint of
disaster, and to be ominous of the terrible future which awaited her.
In the same year in which Marie Antoinette was married to the Dauphin,
Henriette Genet married a son of M. Campan, already mentioned as holding
an office at the Court; and when the household of the Dauphiness was
formed, Madame Campan was appointed her reader, and received from
Marie Antoinette a consistent kindness and confidence to which by her
loyal service she was fully entitled. Madame Campan’s intelligence and
vivacity made her much more sympathetic to a young princess, gay and
affectionate in disposition, and reared in the simplicity of a German Court,
than her lady of honour, the Comtesse de Noailles. This respectable lady,
who was placed near her as a minister of the laws of etiquette, instead of
alleviating their weight, rendered their yoke intolerable to her.
“Madame de Noailles,” says Madame Campan, “abounded in virtues.
Her piety, charity, and irreproachable morals rendered her worthy of praise;
but etiquette was to her a sort of atmosphere; at the slightest derangement of
the consecrated order, one would have thought the principles of life would
forsake her frame.
“One day I unintentionally threw this poor lady into a terrible agony. The
Queen was receiving I know not whom,—some persons just presented, I
believe; the lady of honour, the Queen’s tirewoman, and the ladies of the
bedchamber, were behind the Queen. I was near the throne, with the two
women on duty. All was right,—at least I thought so. Suddenly I perceived
the eyes of Madame de Noailles fixed on mine. She made a sign with her
head, and then raised her eyebrows to the top of her forehead, lowered
them, raised them again, then began to make little signs with her hand.
From all this pantomime, I could easily perceive that something was not as
it should be; and as I looked about on all sides to find out what it was, the
agitation of the Countess kept increasing. The Queen, who perceived all
this, looked at me with a smile; I found means to approach her Majesty,
who said to me in a whisper, ‘Let down your lappets, or the Countess will
expire.’ All this bustle arose from two unlucky pins which fastened up my
lappets, whilst the etiquette of costume said ‘Lappets hanging down.’”
Her contempt of the vanities of etiquette became the pretext for the first
reproaches levelled at the Queen. What misconduct might not be dreaded
Page 32
from a princess who could absolutely go out without a hoop! and who, in
the salons of Trianon, instead of discussing the important rights to chairs
and stools, good-naturedly invited everybody to be seated.
[M. de Fresne Forget, being one day in company with the
Queen Marguerite, told her he was astonished how men and
women with such great ruffs could eat soup without spoiling
them; and still more how the ladies could be gallant with
their great fardingales. The Queen made no answer at that
time, but a few days after, having a very large ruff on, and
some ‘bouili’ to eat, she ordered a very long spoon to be
brought, and ate her ‘bouili’ with it, without soiling her ruff.
Upon which, addressing herself to M. de Fresne, she said,
laughing, “There now, you see, with a little ingenuity one
may manage anything.”—“Yes, faith, madame,” said the
good man, “as far as regards the soup I am satisfied.”—
LAPLACE’s “Collection,” vol. ii., p. 350.]
The anti-Austrian party, discontented and vindictive, became spies upon
her conduct, exaggerated her slightest errors, and calumniated her most
innocent proceedings. “What seems unaccountable at the first glance,” says
Montjoie, “is that the first attack on the reputation of the Queen proceeded
from the bosom of the Court. What interest could the courtiers have in
seeking her destruction, which involved that of the King? Was it not drying
up the source of all the advantages they enjoyed, or could hope for?”
[Madame Campan relates the following among many
anecdotes illustrative of the Queen’s kindness of heart: “A
petition was addressed to the Queen by a corporation in the
neighbourhood of Paris, praying for the destruction of the
game which destroyed their crops. I was the bearer of this
petition to her Majesty, who said, ‘I will undertake to have
these good people relieved from so great an annoyance.’ She
gave the document to M. de Vermond in my presence, saying,
‘I desire that immediate justice be done to this petition.’ An
assurance was given that her order should be attended to,
but six weeks afterwards a second petition was sent up, for
the salons of Trianon, instead of discussing the important rights to chairs
and stools, good-naturedly invited everybody to be seated.
[M. de Fresne Forget, being one day in company with the
Queen Marguerite, told her he was astonished how men and
women with such great ruffs could eat soup without spoiling
them; and still more how the ladies could be gallant with
their great fardingales. The Queen made no answer at that
time, but a few days after, having a very large ruff on, and
some ‘bouili’ to eat, she ordered a very long spoon to be
brought, and ate her ‘bouili’ with it, without soiling her ruff.
Upon which, addressing herself to M. de Fresne, she said,
laughing, “There now, you see, with a little ingenuity one
may manage anything.”—“Yes, faith, madame,” said the
good man, “as far as regards the soup I am satisfied.”—
LAPLACE’s “Collection,” vol. ii., p. 350.]
The anti-Austrian party, discontented and vindictive, became spies upon
her conduct, exaggerated her slightest errors, and calumniated her most
innocent proceedings. “What seems unaccountable at the first glance,” says
Montjoie, “is that the first attack on the reputation of the Queen proceeded
from the bosom of the Court. What interest could the courtiers have in
seeking her destruction, which involved that of the King? Was it not drying
up the source of all the advantages they enjoyed, or could hope for?”
[Madame Campan relates the following among many
anecdotes illustrative of the Queen’s kindness of heart: “A
petition was addressed to the Queen by a corporation in the
neighbourhood of Paris, praying for the destruction of the
game which destroyed their crops. I was the bearer of this
petition to her Majesty, who said, ‘I will undertake to have
these good people relieved from so great an annoyance.’ She
gave the document to M. de Vermond in my presence, saying,
‘I desire that immediate justice be done to this petition.’ An
assurance was given that her order should be attended to,
but six weeks afterwards a second petition was sent up, for
Page 33
the nuisance had not been abated after all. If the second
petition had reached the Queen, M. de Vermond would have
received a sharp reprimand. She was always so happy when
it was in her power to do good.”
The quick repartee, which was another of the Queen’s
characteristics, was less likely to promote her popularity.
“M. Brunier,” says Madame Campan, “was physician to the
royal children. During his visits to the palace, if the death of
any of his patients was alluded to, he never failed to say,
‘Ah! there I lost one of my best friends! ‘Well,’ said the
Queen, ‘if he loses all his patients who are his friends, what
will become of those who are not?’”]
When the terrible Danton exclaimed, “The kings of Europe menace us; it
behooves us to defy them; let us throw down to them the head of a king as
our gage!” these detestable words, followed by so cruel a result, formed,
however, a formidable stroke of policy. But the Queen! What urgent reasons
of state could Danton, Collot d’Herbois, and Robespierre allege against
her? What savage greatness did they discover in stirring up a whole nation
to avenge their quarrel on a woman? What remained of her former power?
She was a captive, a widow, trembling for her children! In those judges,
who at once outraged modesty and nature; in that people whose vilest scoffs
pursued her to the scaffold, who could have recognised the generous people
of France? Of all the crimes which disgraced the Revolution, none was
more calculated to show how the spirit of party can degrade the character of
a nation.
The news of this dreadful event reached Madame Campan in an obscure
retreat which she had chosen. She had not succeeded in her endeavours to
share the Queen’s captivity, and she expected every moment a similar fate.
After escaping, almost miraculously, from the murderous fury of the
Marseillais; after being denounced and pursued by Robespierre, and
entrusted, through the confidence of the King and Queen, with papers of the
utmost importance, Madame Campan went to Coubertin, in the valley of
Chevreuse. Madame Auguid, her sister, had just committed suicide, at the
very moment of her arrest.
petition had reached the Queen, M. de Vermond would have
received a sharp reprimand. She was always so happy when
it was in her power to do good.”
The quick repartee, which was another of the Queen’s
characteristics, was less likely to promote her popularity.
“M. Brunier,” says Madame Campan, “was physician to the
royal children. During his visits to the palace, if the death of
any of his patients was alluded to, he never failed to say,
‘Ah! there I lost one of my best friends! ‘Well,’ said the
Queen, ‘if he loses all his patients who are his friends, what
will become of those who are not?’”]
When the terrible Danton exclaimed, “The kings of Europe menace us; it
behooves us to defy them; let us throw down to them the head of a king as
our gage!” these detestable words, followed by so cruel a result, formed,
however, a formidable stroke of policy. But the Queen! What urgent reasons
of state could Danton, Collot d’Herbois, and Robespierre allege against
her? What savage greatness did they discover in stirring up a whole nation
to avenge their quarrel on a woman? What remained of her former power?
She was a captive, a widow, trembling for her children! In those judges,
who at once outraged modesty and nature; in that people whose vilest scoffs
pursued her to the scaffold, who could have recognised the generous people
of France? Of all the crimes which disgraced the Revolution, none was
more calculated to show how the spirit of party can degrade the character of
a nation.
The news of this dreadful event reached Madame Campan in an obscure
retreat which she had chosen. She had not succeeded in her endeavours to
share the Queen’s captivity, and she expected every moment a similar fate.
After escaping, almost miraculously, from the murderous fury of the
Marseillais; after being denounced and pursued by Robespierre, and
entrusted, through the confidence of the King and Queen, with papers of the
utmost importance, Madame Campan went to Coubertin, in the valley of
Chevreuse. Madame Auguid, her sister, had just committed suicide, at the
very moment of her arrest.
Page 34
[Maternal affection prevailed over her religious
sentiments; she wished to preserve the wreck of her fortune
for her children. Had she deferred this fatal act for one day
she would have been saved; the cart which conveyed
Robespierre to execution stopped her funeral procession!]
The scaffold awaited Madame Campan, when the 9th of Thermidor
restored her to life; but did not restore to her the most constant object of her
thoughts, her zeal, and her devotion.
A new career now opened to Madame Campan. At Coubertin, surrounded
by her nieces, she was fond of directing their studies. This occupation
caused her ideas to revert to the subject of education, and awakened once
more the inclinations of her youth. At the age of twelve years she could
never meet a school of young ladies passing through the streets without
feeling ambitious of the situation and authority of their mistress. Her abode
at Court had diverted but not altered her inclinations. “A month after the fall
of Robespierre,” she says, “I considered as to the means of providing for
myself, for a mother seventy years of age, my sick husband, my child nine
years old, and part of my ruined family. I now possessed nothing in the
world but an assignat of five hundred francs. I had become responsible for
my husband’s debts, to the amount of thirty thousand francs. I chose St.
Germain to set up a boarding-school, for that town did not remind me, as
Versailles did, both of happy times and of the misfortunes of France. I took
with me a nun of l’Enfant-Jesus, to give an unquestionable pledge of my
religious principles. The school of St. Germain was the first in which the
opening of an oratory was ventured on. The Directory was displeased at it,
and ordered it to be immediately shut up; and some time after
commissioners were sent to desire that the reading of the Scriptures should
be suppressed in my school. I inquired what books were to be substituted in
their stead. After some minutes’ conversation, they observed: ‘Citizeness,
you are arguing after the old fashion; no reflections. The nation commands;
we must have obedience, and no reasoning.’ Not having the means of
printing my prospectus, I wrote a hundred copies of it, and sent them to the
persons of my acquaintance who had survived the dreadful commotions. At
the year’s end I had sixty pupils; soon afterwards a hundred. I bought
furniture and paid my debts.”
sentiments; she wished to preserve the wreck of her fortune
for her children. Had she deferred this fatal act for one day
she would have been saved; the cart which conveyed
Robespierre to execution stopped her funeral procession!]
The scaffold awaited Madame Campan, when the 9th of Thermidor
restored her to life; but did not restore to her the most constant object of her
thoughts, her zeal, and her devotion.
A new career now opened to Madame Campan. At Coubertin, surrounded
by her nieces, she was fond of directing their studies. This occupation
caused her ideas to revert to the subject of education, and awakened once
more the inclinations of her youth. At the age of twelve years she could
never meet a school of young ladies passing through the streets without
feeling ambitious of the situation and authority of their mistress. Her abode
at Court had diverted but not altered her inclinations. “A month after the fall
of Robespierre,” she says, “I considered as to the means of providing for
myself, for a mother seventy years of age, my sick husband, my child nine
years old, and part of my ruined family. I now possessed nothing in the
world but an assignat of five hundred francs. I had become responsible for
my husband’s debts, to the amount of thirty thousand francs. I chose St.
Germain to set up a boarding-school, for that town did not remind me, as
Versailles did, both of happy times and of the misfortunes of France. I took
with me a nun of l’Enfant-Jesus, to give an unquestionable pledge of my
religious principles. The school of St. Germain was the first in which the
opening of an oratory was ventured on. The Directory was displeased at it,
and ordered it to be immediately shut up; and some time after
commissioners were sent to desire that the reading of the Scriptures should
be suppressed in my school. I inquired what books were to be substituted in
their stead. After some minutes’ conversation, they observed: ‘Citizeness,
you are arguing after the old fashion; no reflections. The nation commands;
we must have obedience, and no reasoning.’ Not having the means of
printing my prospectus, I wrote a hundred copies of it, and sent them to the
persons of my acquaintance who had survived the dreadful commotions. At
the year’s end I had sixty pupils; soon afterwards a hundred. I bought
furniture and paid my debts.”
Page 35
The rapid success of the establishment at St. Germain was undoubtedly
owing to the talents, experience, and excellent principles of Madame
Campan, seconded by public opinion. All property had changed hands; all
ranks found themselves confusedly jumbled by the shock of the Revolution:
the grand seigneur dined at the table of the opulent contractor; and the witty
and elegant marquise was present at the ball by the side of the clumsy
peasant lately grown rich. In the absence of the ancient distinctions, elegant
manners and polished language now formed a kind of aristocracy. The
house of St. Germain, conducted by a lady who possessed the deportment
and the habits of the best society, was not only a school of knowledge, but a
school of the world.
“A friend of Madame de Beauharnais,” continues Madame Campan,
“brought me her daughter Hortense de Beauharnais, and her niece Emilie de
Beauharnais. Six months afterwards she came to inform me of her marriage
with a Corsican gentleman, who had been brought up in the military school,
and was then a general. I was requested to communicate this information to
her daughter, who long lamented her mother’s change of name. I was also
desired to watch over the education of little Eugene de Beauharnais, who
was placed at St. Germain, in the same school with my son.
“A great intimacy sprang up between my nieces and these young people.
Madame de Beauharnaias set out for Italy, and left her children with me. On
her return, after the conquests of Bonaparte, that general, much pleased
with the improvement of his stepdaughter, invited me to dine at Malmaison,
and attended two representations of ‘Esther’ at my school.”
He also showed his appreciation of her talents by sending his sister
Caroline to St. Germain. Shortly before Caroline’s marriage to Murat, and
while she was yet at St. Germain, Napoleon observed to Madame Campan:
“I do not like those love matches between young people whose brains are
excited by the flames of the imagination. I had other views for my sister.
Who knows what high alliance I might have procured for her! She is
thoughtless, and does not form a just notion of my situation. The time will
come when, perhaps, sovereigns might dispute for her hand. She is about to
marry a brave man; but in my situation that is not enough. Fate should be
left to fulfil her decrees.”
[Madame Murat one day said to Madame Campan: “I am
astonished that you are not more awed in our presence; you
owing to the talents, experience, and excellent principles of Madame
Campan, seconded by public opinion. All property had changed hands; all
ranks found themselves confusedly jumbled by the shock of the Revolution:
the grand seigneur dined at the table of the opulent contractor; and the witty
and elegant marquise was present at the ball by the side of the clumsy
peasant lately grown rich. In the absence of the ancient distinctions, elegant
manners and polished language now formed a kind of aristocracy. The
house of St. Germain, conducted by a lady who possessed the deportment
and the habits of the best society, was not only a school of knowledge, but a
school of the world.
“A friend of Madame de Beauharnais,” continues Madame Campan,
“brought me her daughter Hortense de Beauharnais, and her niece Emilie de
Beauharnais. Six months afterwards she came to inform me of her marriage
with a Corsican gentleman, who had been brought up in the military school,
and was then a general. I was requested to communicate this information to
her daughter, who long lamented her mother’s change of name. I was also
desired to watch over the education of little Eugene de Beauharnais, who
was placed at St. Germain, in the same school with my son.
“A great intimacy sprang up between my nieces and these young people.
Madame de Beauharnaias set out for Italy, and left her children with me. On
her return, after the conquests of Bonaparte, that general, much pleased
with the improvement of his stepdaughter, invited me to dine at Malmaison,
and attended two representations of ‘Esther’ at my school.”
He also showed his appreciation of her talents by sending his sister
Caroline to St. Germain. Shortly before Caroline’s marriage to Murat, and
while she was yet at St. Germain, Napoleon observed to Madame Campan:
“I do not like those love matches between young people whose brains are
excited by the flames of the imagination. I had other views for my sister.
Who knows what high alliance I might have procured for her! She is
thoughtless, and does not form a just notion of my situation. The time will
come when, perhaps, sovereigns might dispute for her hand. She is about to
marry a brave man; but in my situation that is not enough. Fate should be
left to fulfil her decrees.”
[Madame Murat one day said to Madame Campan: “I am
astonished that you are not more awed in our presence; you
Page 36
speak to us with as much familiarity as when we were your
pupils!”—“The best thing you can do,” replied Madame
Campan, “is to forget your titles when you are with me, for I
can never be afraid of queens whom I have held under the
rod.”]
Madame Campan dined at the Tuileries in company with the Pope’s
nuncio, at the period when the Concordat was in agitation. During dinner
the First Consul astonished her by the able manner in which he conversed
on the subject under discussion. She said he argued so logically that his
talent quite amazed her. During the consulate Napoleon one day said to her,
“If ever I establish a republic of women, I shall make you First Consul.”
Napoleon’s views as to “woman’s mission” are now well known.
Madame Campan said that she heard from him that when he founded the
convent of the Sisters of la Charite he was urgently solicited to permit
perpetual vows. He, however, refused to do so, on the ground that tastes
may change, and that he did not see the necessity of excluding from the
world women who might some time or other return to it, and become useful
members of society. “Nunneries,” he added, “assail the very roots of
population. It is impossible to calculate the loss which a nation sustains in
having ten thousand women shut up in cloisters. War does but little
mischief; for the number of males is at least one-twenty-fifth greater than
that of females. Women may, if they please, be allowed to make perpetual
vows at fifty years of age; for then their task is fulfilled.”
Napoleon once said to Madame Campan, “The old systems of education
were good for nothing; what do young women stand in need of, to be well
brought up in France?”—“Of mothers,” answered Madame Campan. “It is
well said,” replied Napoleon. “Well, madame, let the French be indebted to
you for bringing up mothers for their children.”—“Napoleon one day
interrupted Madame de Stael in the midst of a profound political argument
to ask her whether she had nursed her children.”
Never had the establishment at St. Germain been in a more flourishing
condition than in 1802-3. What more could Madame Campan wish? For ten
years absolute in her own house, she seemed also safe from the caprice of
power. But the man who then disposed of the fate of France and Europe was
soon to determine otherwise.
pupils!”—“The best thing you can do,” replied Madame
Campan, “is to forget your titles when you are with me, for I
can never be afraid of queens whom I have held under the
rod.”]
Madame Campan dined at the Tuileries in company with the Pope’s
nuncio, at the period when the Concordat was in agitation. During dinner
the First Consul astonished her by the able manner in which he conversed
on the subject under discussion. She said he argued so logically that his
talent quite amazed her. During the consulate Napoleon one day said to her,
“If ever I establish a republic of women, I shall make you First Consul.”
Napoleon’s views as to “woman’s mission” are now well known.
Madame Campan said that she heard from him that when he founded the
convent of the Sisters of la Charite he was urgently solicited to permit
perpetual vows. He, however, refused to do so, on the ground that tastes
may change, and that he did not see the necessity of excluding from the
world women who might some time or other return to it, and become useful
members of society. “Nunneries,” he added, “assail the very roots of
population. It is impossible to calculate the loss which a nation sustains in
having ten thousand women shut up in cloisters. War does but little
mischief; for the number of males is at least one-twenty-fifth greater than
that of females. Women may, if they please, be allowed to make perpetual
vows at fifty years of age; for then their task is fulfilled.”
Napoleon once said to Madame Campan, “The old systems of education
were good for nothing; what do young women stand in need of, to be well
brought up in France?”—“Of mothers,” answered Madame Campan. “It is
well said,” replied Napoleon. “Well, madame, let the French be indebted to
you for bringing up mothers for their children.”—“Napoleon one day
interrupted Madame de Stael in the midst of a profound political argument
to ask her whether she had nursed her children.”
Never had the establishment at St. Germain been in a more flourishing
condition than in 1802-3. What more could Madame Campan wish? For ten
years absolute in her own house, she seemed also safe from the caprice of
power. But the man who then disposed of the fate of France and Europe was
soon to determine otherwise.
Page 37
After the battle of Austerlitz the State undertook to bring up, at the public
expense, the sisters, daughters, or nieces of those who were decorated with
the Cross of Honour. The children of the warriors killed or wounded in
glorious battle were to find paternal care in the ancient abodes of the
Montmorencys and the Condes. Accustomed to concentrate around him all
superior talents, fearless himself of superiority, Napoleon sought for a
person qualified by experience and abilities to conduct the institution of
Ecouen; he selected Madame Campan.
Comte de Lacepede, the pupil, friend, and rival of Buffon, then Grand
Chancellor of the Legion of Honour, assisted her with his enlightened
advice. Napoleon, who could descend with ease from the highest political
subjects to the examination of the most minute details; who was as much at
home in inspecting a boarding-school for young ladies as in reviewing the
grenadiers of his guard; whom it was impossible to deceive, and who was
not unwilling to find fault when he visited the establishment at Ecouen,—
was forced to say, “It is all right.”
[Napoleon wished to be informed of every particular of
the furniture, government, and order of the house, the
instruction and education of the pupils. The internal
regulations were submitted to him. One of the intended
rules, drawn up by Madame Campan, proposed that the
children should hear mass on Sundays and Thursdays.
Napoleon himself wrote on the margin, “every day.”]
“In the summer of 1811,” relates Madame Campan, “Napoleon,
accompanied by Marie Louise and several personages of distinction, visited
the establishment at Ecouen. After inspecting the chapel and the refectories,
Napoleon desired that the three principal pupils might be presented to him.
‘Sire,’ said I, ‘I cannot select three; I must present six.’ He turned on his
heel and repaired to the platform, where, after seeing all the classes
assembled, he repeated his demand. ‘Sire,’ said I, ‘I beg leave to inform
your Majesty that I should commit an injustice towards several other pupils
who are as far advanced as those whom I might have the honour to present
to you.’
“Berthier and others intimated to me, in a low tone of voice, that I should
get into disgrace by my noncompliance. Napoleon looked over the whole of
expense, the sisters, daughters, or nieces of those who were decorated with
the Cross of Honour. The children of the warriors killed or wounded in
glorious battle were to find paternal care in the ancient abodes of the
Montmorencys and the Condes. Accustomed to concentrate around him all
superior talents, fearless himself of superiority, Napoleon sought for a
person qualified by experience and abilities to conduct the institution of
Ecouen; he selected Madame Campan.
Comte de Lacepede, the pupil, friend, and rival of Buffon, then Grand
Chancellor of the Legion of Honour, assisted her with his enlightened
advice. Napoleon, who could descend with ease from the highest political
subjects to the examination of the most minute details; who was as much at
home in inspecting a boarding-school for young ladies as in reviewing the
grenadiers of his guard; whom it was impossible to deceive, and who was
not unwilling to find fault when he visited the establishment at Ecouen,—
was forced to say, “It is all right.”
[Napoleon wished to be informed of every particular of
the furniture, government, and order of the house, the
instruction and education of the pupils. The internal
regulations were submitted to him. One of the intended
rules, drawn up by Madame Campan, proposed that the
children should hear mass on Sundays and Thursdays.
Napoleon himself wrote on the margin, “every day.”]
“In the summer of 1811,” relates Madame Campan, “Napoleon,
accompanied by Marie Louise and several personages of distinction, visited
the establishment at Ecouen. After inspecting the chapel and the refectories,
Napoleon desired that the three principal pupils might be presented to him.
‘Sire,’ said I, ‘I cannot select three; I must present six.’ He turned on his
heel and repaired to the platform, where, after seeing all the classes
assembled, he repeated his demand. ‘Sire,’ said I, ‘I beg leave to inform
your Majesty that I should commit an injustice towards several other pupils
who are as far advanced as those whom I might have the honour to present
to you.’
“Berthier and others intimated to me, in a low tone of voice, that I should
get into disgrace by my noncompliance. Napoleon looked over the whole of
Page 38
the house, entered into the most trivial details, and after addressing
questions to several of the pupils: ‘Well, madame,’ said he, ‘I am satisfied;
show me your six best pupils.’” Madame Campan presented them to him;
and as he stepped into his carriage, he desired that their names might be
sent to Berthier. On addressing the list to the Prince de Neufchatel, Madame
Campan added to it the names of four other pupils, and all the ten obtained
a pension of 300 francs. During the three hours which this visit occupied,
Marie Louise did not utter a single word.
M. de Beaumont, chamberlain to the Empress Josephine, one day at
Malmaison was expressing his regret that M. D——-, one of Napoleon’s
generals, who had recently been promoted, did not belong to a great family.
“You mistake, monsieur,” observed Madame Campan, “he is of very
ancient descent; he is one of the nephews of Charlemagne. All the heroes of
our army sprang from the elder branch of that sovereign’s family, who
never emigrated.”
When Madame Campan related this circumstance she added: “After the
30th of March, 1814, some officers of the army of Conde presumed to say
to certain French marshals that it was a pity they were not more nobly
connected. In answer to this, one of them said, ‘True nobility, gentlemen,
consists in giving proofs of it. The field of honour has witnessed ours; but
where are we to look for yours? Your swords have rusted in their scabbards.
Our laurels may well excite envy; we have earned them nobly, and we owe
them solely to our valour. You have merely inherited a name. This is the
distinction between us.”
[When one of the princes of the smaller German States
was showing Marechal Lannes, with a contemptuous
superiority of manner but ill concealed, the portraits of his
ancestors, and covertly alluding to the absence of Lannes’s,
that general turned the tables on him by haughtily
remarking, “But I am an ancestor.”]
Napoleon used to observe that if he had had two such field-marshals as
Suchet in Spain he would have not only conquered but kept the Peninsula.
Suchet’s sound judgment, his governing yet conciliating spirit, his military
tact, and his bravery, had procured him astonishing success. “It is to be
regretted,” added he, “that a sovereign cannot improvise men of his stamp.”
questions to several of the pupils: ‘Well, madame,’ said he, ‘I am satisfied;
show me your six best pupils.’” Madame Campan presented them to him;
and as he stepped into his carriage, he desired that their names might be
sent to Berthier. On addressing the list to the Prince de Neufchatel, Madame
Campan added to it the names of four other pupils, and all the ten obtained
a pension of 300 francs. During the three hours which this visit occupied,
Marie Louise did not utter a single word.
M. de Beaumont, chamberlain to the Empress Josephine, one day at
Malmaison was expressing his regret that M. D——-, one of Napoleon’s
generals, who had recently been promoted, did not belong to a great family.
“You mistake, monsieur,” observed Madame Campan, “he is of very
ancient descent; he is one of the nephews of Charlemagne. All the heroes of
our army sprang from the elder branch of that sovereign’s family, who
never emigrated.”
When Madame Campan related this circumstance she added: “After the
30th of March, 1814, some officers of the army of Conde presumed to say
to certain French marshals that it was a pity they were not more nobly
connected. In answer to this, one of them said, ‘True nobility, gentlemen,
consists in giving proofs of it. The field of honour has witnessed ours; but
where are we to look for yours? Your swords have rusted in their scabbards.
Our laurels may well excite envy; we have earned them nobly, and we owe
them solely to our valour. You have merely inherited a name. This is the
distinction between us.”
[When one of the princes of the smaller German States
was showing Marechal Lannes, with a contemptuous
superiority of manner but ill concealed, the portraits of his
ancestors, and covertly alluding to the absence of Lannes’s,
that general turned the tables on him by haughtily
remarking, “But I am an ancestor.”]
Napoleon used to observe that if he had had two such field-marshals as
Suchet in Spain he would have not only conquered but kept the Peninsula.
Suchet’s sound judgment, his governing yet conciliating spirit, his military
tact, and his bravery, had procured him astonishing success. “It is to be
regretted,” added he, “that a sovereign cannot improvise men of his stamp.”
Page 39
On the 19th of March, 1815, a number of papers were left in the King’s
closet. Napoleon ordered them to be examined, and among them was found
the letter written by Madame Campan to Louis XVIII., immediately after
the first restoration. In this letter she enumerated the contents of the
portfolio which Louis XVI. had placed under her care. When Napoleon read
this letter, he said, “Let it be sent to the office of Foreign Affairs; it is an
historical document.”
Madame Campan thus described a visit from the Czar of Russia: “A few
days after the battle of Paris the Emperor Alexander came to Ecouen, and
he did me the honour to breakfast with me. After showing him over the
establishment I conducted him to the park, the most elevated point of which
overlooked the plain of St. Denis. ‘Sire,’ said I, ‘from this point I saw the
battle of Paris’—‘If,’ replied the Emperor, ‘that battle had lasted two hours
longer we should not have had a single cartridge at our disposal. We feared
that we had been betrayed; for on arriving so precipitately before Paris all
our plans were laid, and we did not expect the firm resistance we
experienced.’ I next conducted the Emperor to the chapel, and showed him
the seats occupied by ‘le connetable’ (the constable) of Montmorency, and
‘la connetable’ (the constable’s lady), when they went to hear mass.
‘Barbarians like us,’ observed the Emperor, ‘would say la connetable and le
connetable.’
“The Czar inquired into the most minute particulars respecting the
establishment of Ecouen, and I felt great pleasure in answering his
questions. I recollect having dwelt on several points which appeared to me
to be very important, and which were in their spirit hostile to aristocratic
principles. For example, I informed his Majesty that the daughters of
distinguished and wealthy individuals and those of the humble and obscure
mingled indiscriminately in the establishment. ‘If,’ said I, ‘I were to observe
the least pretension on account of the rank or fortune of parents, I should
immediately put an end to it. The most perfect equality is preserved;
distinction is awarded only to merit and industry. The pupils are obliged to
cut out and make all their own clothes. They are taught to clean and mend
lace; and two at a time, they by turns, three times a week, cook and
distribute food to the poor of the village. The young girls who have been
brought up at Ecouen, or in my boarding-school at St. Germain, are
thoroughly acquainted with everything relating to household business, and
they are grateful to me for having made that a part of their education. In my
closet. Napoleon ordered them to be examined, and among them was found
the letter written by Madame Campan to Louis XVIII., immediately after
the first restoration. In this letter she enumerated the contents of the
portfolio which Louis XVI. had placed under her care. When Napoleon read
this letter, he said, “Let it be sent to the office of Foreign Affairs; it is an
historical document.”
Madame Campan thus described a visit from the Czar of Russia: “A few
days after the battle of Paris the Emperor Alexander came to Ecouen, and
he did me the honour to breakfast with me. After showing him over the
establishment I conducted him to the park, the most elevated point of which
overlooked the plain of St. Denis. ‘Sire,’ said I, ‘from this point I saw the
battle of Paris’—‘If,’ replied the Emperor, ‘that battle had lasted two hours
longer we should not have had a single cartridge at our disposal. We feared
that we had been betrayed; for on arriving so precipitately before Paris all
our plans were laid, and we did not expect the firm resistance we
experienced.’ I next conducted the Emperor to the chapel, and showed him
the seats occupied by ‘le connetable’ (the constable) of Montmorency, and
‘la connetable’ (the constable’s lady), when they went to hear mass.
‘Barbarians like us,’ observed the Emperor, ‘would say la connetable and le
connetable.’
“The Czar inquired into the most minute particulars respecting the
establishment of Ecouen, and I felt great pleasure in answering his
questions. I recollect having dwelt on several points which appeared to me
to be very important, and which were in their spirit hostile to aristocratic
principles. For example, I informed his Majesty that the daughters of
distinguished and wealthy individuals and those of the humble and obscure
mingled indiscriminately in the establishment. ‘If,’ said I, ‘I were to observe
the least pretension on account of the rank or fortune of parents, I should
immediately put an end to it. The most perfect equality is preserved;
distinction is awarded only to merit and industry. The pupils are obliged to
cut out and make all their own clothes. They are taught to clean and mend
lace; and two at a time, they by turns, three times a week, cook and
distribute food to the poor of the village. The young girls who have been
brought up at Ecouen, or in my boarding-school at St. Germain, are
thoroughly acquainted with everything relating to household business, and
they are grateful to me for having made that a part of their education. In my
Page 40
conversations with them I have always taught them that on domestic
management depends the preservation or dissipation of their fortunes.’
“The post-master of Ecouen was in the courtyard at the moment when the
Emperor, as he stepped into his carriage, told me he would send some
sweetmeats for the pupils. I immediately communicated to them the
intelligence, which was joyfully received; but the sweetmeats were looked
for in vain. When Alexander set out for England he changed horses at
Ecouen, and the post-master said to him: ‘Sire, the pupils of Ecouen are still
expecting the sweetmeats which your Majesty promised them.’ To which
the Emperor replied that he had directed Saken to send them. The Cossacks
had most likely devoured the sweetmeats, and the poor little girls, who had
been so highly flattered by the promise, never tasted them.”
“A second house was formed at St. Denis, on the model of that of
Ecouen. Perhaps Madame Campan might have hoped for a title to which
her long labours gave her a right; perhaps the superintendence of the two
houses would have been but the fair recompense of her services; but her
fortunate years had passed her fate was now to depend on the most
important events. Napoleon had accumulated such a mass of power as no
one but himself in Europe could overturn. France, content with thirty years
of victories, in vain asked for peace and repose. The army which had
triumphed in the sands of Egypt, on the summits of the Alps, and in the
marshes of Holland, was to perish amidst the snows of Russia. Nations
combined against a single man. The territory of France was invaded. The
orphans of Ecouen, from the windows of the mansion which served as their
asylum, saw in the distant plain the fires of the Russian bivouacs, and once
more wept the deaths of their fathers. Paris capitulated. France hailed the
return of the descendants of Henri IV.; they reascended the throne so long
filled by their ancestors, which the wisdom of an enlightened prince
established on the empire of the laws.
[A lady, connected with the establishment of St. Denis,
told Madame Campan that Napoleon visited it during the
Hundred Days, and that the pupils were so delighted to see
him that they crowded round him, endeavouring to touch his
clothes, and evincing the most extravagant joy. The matron
endeavoured to silence them; but Napoleon said, ‘Let them
management depends the preservation or dissipation of their fortunes.’
“The post-master of Ecouen was in the courtyard at the moment when the
Emperor, as he stepped into his carriage, told me he would send some
sweetmeats for the pupils. I immediately communicated to them the
intelligence, which was joyfully received; but the sweetmeats were looked
for in vain. When Alexander set out for England he changed horses at
Ecouen, and the post-master said to him: ‘Sire, the pupils of Ecouen are still
expecting the sweetmeats which your Majesty promised them.’ To which
the Emperor replied that he had directed Saken to send them. The Cossacks
had most likely devoured the sweetmeats, and the poor little girls, who had
been so highly flattered by the promise, never tasted them.”
“A second house was formed at St. Denis, on the model of that of
Ecouen. Perhaps Madame Campan might have hoped for a title to which
her long labours gave her a right; perhaps the superintendence of the two
houses would have been but the fair recompense of her services; but her
fortunate years had passed her fate was now to depend on the most
important events. Napoleon had accumulated such a mass of power as no
one but himself in Europe could overturn. France, content with thirty years
of victories, in vain asked for peace and repose. The army which had
triumphed in the sands of Egypt, on the summits of the Alps, and in the
marshes of Holland, was to perish amidst the snows of Russia. Nations
combined against a single man. The territory of France was invaded. The
orphans of Ecouen, from the windows of the mansion which served as their
asylum, saw in the distant plain the fires of the Russian bivouacs, and once
more wept the deaths of their fathers. Paris capitulated. France hailed the
return of the descendants of Henri IV.; they reascended the throne so long
filled by their ancestors, which the wisdom of an enlightened prince
established on the empire of the laws.
[A lady, connected with the establishment of St. Denis,
told Madame Campan that Napoleon visited it during the
Hundred Days, and that the pupils were so delighted to see
him that they crowded round him, endeavouring to touch his
clothes, and evincing the most extravagant joy. The matron
endeavoured to silence them; but Napoleon said, ‘Let them
Page 41
alone; let them alone. This may weaken the head, but it
strengthens the heart.‘]”
This moment, which diffused joy amongst the faithful servants of the
royal family, and brought them the rewards of their devotion, proved to
Madame Campan a period of bitter vexation. The hatred of her enemies had
revived. The suppression of the school at Ecouen had deprived her of her
position; the most absurd calumnies followed her into her retreat; her
attachment to the Queen was suspected; she was accused not only of
ingratitude but of perfidy. Slander has little effect on youth, but in the
decline of life its darts are envenomed with a mortal poison. The wounds
which Madame Campan had received were deep. Her sister, Madame
Auguie, had destroyed herself; M. Rousseau, her brother-in-law, had
perished, a victim of the reign of terror. In 1813 a dreadful accident had
deprived her of her niece, Madame de Broc, one of the most amiable and
interesting beings that ever adorned the earth. Madame Campan seemed
destined to behold those whom she loved go down to the grave before her.
Beyond the walls of the mansion of Ecouen, in the village which
surrounds it, Madame Campan had taken a small house where she loved to
pass a few hours in solitary retirement. There, at liberty to abandon herself
to the memory of the past, the superintendent of the imperial establishment
became, once more, for the moment, the first lady of the chamber to Marie
Antoinette. To the few friends whom she admitted into this retreat she
would show, with emotion, a plain muslin gown which the Queen had worn,
and which was made from a part of Tippoo Saib’s present. A cup, out of
which Marie Antoinette had drunk; a writing-stand, which she had long
used, were, in her eyes, of inestimable value; and she has often been
discovered sitting, in tears, before the portrait of her royal mistress.
After so many troubles Madame Campan sought a peaceful retreat. Paris
had become odious to her.
She paid a visit to one of her most beloved pupils, Mademoiselle
Crouzet, who had married a physician at Mantes, a man of talent,
distinguished for his intelligence, frankness, and cordiality.
[M. Maigne, physician to the infirmaries at Mantes.
Madame Campan found in him a friend and comforter, of
whose merit and affection she knew the value.]
strengthens the heart.‘]”
This moment, which diffused joy amongst the faithful servants of the
royal family, and brought them the rewards of their devotion, proved to
Madame Campan a period of bitter vexation. The hatred of her enemies had
revived. The suppression of the school at Ecouen had deprived her of her
position; the most absurd calumnies followed her into her retreat; her
attachment to the Queen was suspected; she was accused not only of
ingratitude but of perfidy. Slander has little effect on youth, but in the
decline of life its darts are envenomed with a mortal poison. The wounds
which Madame Campan had received were deep. Her sister, Madame
Auguie, had destroyed herself; M. Rousseau, her brother-in-law, had
perished, a victim of the reign of terror. In 1813 a dreadful accident had
deprived her of her niece, Madame de Broc, one of the most amiable and
interesting beings that ever adorned the earth. Madame Campan seemed
destined to behold those whom she loved go down to the grave before her.
Beyond the walls of the mansion of Ecouen, in the village which
surrounds it, Madame Campan had taken a small house where she loved to
pass a few hours in solitary retirement. There, at liberty to abandon herself
to the memory of the past, the superintendent of the imperial establishment
became, once more, for the moment, the first lady of the chamber to Marie
Antoinette. To the few friends whom she admitted into this retreat she
would show, with emotion, a plain muslin gown which the Queen had worn,
and which was made from a part of Tippoo Saib’s present. A cup, out of
which Marie Antoinette had drunk; a writing-stand, which she had long
used, were, in her eyes, of inestimable value; and she has often been
discovered sitting, in tears, before the portrait of her royal mistress.
After so many troubles Madame Campan sought a peaceful retreat. Paris
had become odious to her.
She paid a visit to one of her most beloved pupils, Mademoiselle
Crouzet, who had married a physician at Mantes, a man of talent,
distinguished for his intelligence, frankness, and cordiality.
[M. Maigne, physician to the infirmaries at Mantes.
Madame Campan found in him a friend and comforter, of
whose merit and affection she knew the value.]
Page 42
Mantes is a cheerful place of residence, and the idea of an abode there
pleased her. A few intimate friends formed a pleasant society, and she
enjoyed a little tranquillity after so many disturbances. The revisal of her
“Memoirs,” the arrangement of the interesting anecdotes of which her
“Recollections” were to consist, alone diverted her mind from the one
powerful sentiment which attached her to life. She lived only for her son.
M. Campan deserved the tenderness of, his mother. No sacrifice had been
spared for his education. After having pursued that course of study which,
under the Imperial Government, produced men of such distinguished merit,
he was waiting till time and circumstances should afford him an opportunity
of devoting his services to his country. Although the state of his health was
far from good, it did not threaten any rapid or premature decay; he was,
however, after a few days’ illness, suddenly taken from his family. “I never
witnessed so heartrending a scene,” M. Maigne says, “as that which took
place when Marechal Ney’s lady, her niece, and Madame Pannelier, her
sister, came to acquaint her with this misfortune.—[The wife of Marechal
Ney was a daughter of Madame Auguie, and had been an intimate friend of
Hortense Beauharnais.]—When they entered her apartment she was in bed.
All three at once uttered a piercing cry. The two ladies threw themselves on
their knees, and kissed her hands, which they bedewed with tears. Before
they could speak to her she read in their faces that she no longer possessed a
son. At that instant her large eyes, opening wildly, seemed to wander. Her
face grew pale, her features changed, her lips lost their colour, she struggled
to speak, but uttered only inarticulate sounds, accompanied by piercing
cries. Her gestures were wild, her reason was suspended. Every part of her
being was in agony. To this state of anguish and despair no calm succeeded,
until her tears began to flow. Friendship and the tenderest cares succeeded
for a moment in calming her grief, but not in diminishing its power.
“This violent crisis had disturbed her whole organisation. A cruel
disorder, which required a still more cruel operation, soon manifested itself.
The presence of her family, a tour which she made in Switzerland, a
residence at Baden, and, above all, the sight, the tender and charming
conversation of a person by whom she was affectionately beloved,
occasionally diverted her mind, and in a slight degree relieved her
suffering.” She underwent a serious operation, performed with
extraordinary promptitude and the most complete success. No unfavourable
symptoms appeared; Madame Campan was thought to be restored to her
pleased her. A few intimate friends formed a pleasant society, and she
enjoyed a little tranquillity after so many disturbances. The revisal of her
“Memoirs,” the arrangement of the interesting anecdotes of which her
“Recollections” were to consist, alone diverted her mind from the one
powerful sentiment which attached her to life. She lived only for her son.
M. Campan deserved the tenderness of, his mother. No sacrifice had been
spared for his education. After having pursued that course of study which,
under the Imperial Government, produced men of such distinguished merit,
he was waiting till time and circumstances should afford him an opportunity
of devoting his services to his country. Although the state of his health was
far from good, it did not threaten any rapid or premature decay; he was,
however, after a few days’ illness, suddenly taken from his family. “I never
witnessed so heartrending a scene,” M. Maigne says, “as that which took
place when Marechal Ney’s lady, her niece, and Madame Pannelier, her
sister, came to acquaint her with this misfortune.—[The wife of Marechal
Ney was a daughter of Madame Auguie, and had been an intimate friend of
Hortense Beauharnais.]—When they entered her apartment she was in bed.
All three at once uttered a piercing cry. The two ladies threw themselves on
their knees, and kissed her hands, which they bedewed with tears. Before
they could speak to her she read in their faces that she no longer possessed a
son. At that instant her large eyes, opening wildly, seemed to wander. Her
face grew pale, her features changed, her lips lost their colour, she struggled
to speak, but uttered only inarticulate sounds, accompanied by piercing
cries. Her gestures were wild, her reason was suspended. Every part of her
being was in agony. To this state of anguish and despair no calm succeeded,
until her tears began to flow. Friendship and the tenderest cares succeeded
for a moment in calming her grief, but not in diminishing its power.
“This violent crisis had disturbed her whole organisation. A cruel
disorder, which required a still more cruel operation, soon manifested itself.
The presence of her family, a tour which she made in Switzerland, a
residence at Baden, and, above all, the sight, the tender and charming
conversation of a person by whom she was affectionately beloved,
occasionally diverted her mind, and in a slight degree relieved her
suffering.” She underwent a serious operation, performed with
extraordinary promptitude and the most complete success. No unfavourable
symptoms appeared; Madame Campan was thought to be restored to her
Page 43
friends; but the disorder was in the blood; it took another course: the chest
became affected. “From that moment,” says M. Maigne, “I could never look
on Madame Campan as living; she herself felt that she belonged no more to
this world.”
“My friend,” she said to her physician the day before her death, “I am
attached to the simplicity of religion. I hate all that savours of fanaticism.”
When her codicil was presented for her signature, her hand trembled; “It
would be a pity,” she said, “to stop when so fairly on the road.”
Madame Campan died on the 16th of March, 1822. The cheerfulness she
displayed throughout her malady had nothing affected in it. Her character
was naturally powerful and elevated. At the approach of death she evinced
the soul of a sage, without abandoning for an instant her feminine character.
MEMOIRS OF THE COURT OF
MARIE ANTOINETTE,
QUEEN OF FRANCE
Being the Historic Memoirs of Madam Campan,
First Lady in Waiting to the Queen
became affected. “From that moment,” says M. Maigne, “I could never look
on Madame Campan as living; she herself felt that she belonged no more to
this world.”
“My friend,” she said to her physician the day before her death, “I am
attached to the simplicity of religion. I hate all that savours of fanaticism.”
When her codicil was presented for her signature, her hand trembled; “It
would be a pity,” she said, “to stop when so fairly on the road.”
Madame Campan died on the 16th of March, 1822. The cheerfulness she
displayed throughout her malady had nothing affected in it. Her character
was naturally powerful and elevated. At the approach of death she evinced
the soul of a sage, without abandoning for an instant her feminine character.
MEMOIRS OF THE COURT OF
MARIE ANTOINETTE,
QUEEN OF FRANCE
Being the Historic Memoirs of Madam Campan,
First Lady in Waiting to the Queen
Page 44
Page 45
CHAPTER I.
I was fifteen years of age when I was appointed reader to Mesdames. I
will begin by describing the Court at that period.
Maria Leczinska was just dead; the death of the Dauphin had preceded
hers by three years; the Jesuits were suppressed, and piety was to be found
at Court only in the apartments of Mesdames. The Duc de Choiseuil ruled.
Etiquette still existed at Court with all the forms it had acquired under
Louis XIV.; dignity alone was wanting. As to gaiety, there was none.
Versailles was not the place at which to seek for assemblies where French
spirit and grace were displayed. The focus of wit and intelligence was Paris.
The King thought of nothing but the pleasures of the chase: it might have
been imagined that the courtiers indulged themselves in making epigrams
by hearing them say seriously, on those days when the King did not hunt,
“The King does nothing to-day.”—[In sporting usance (see SOULAIRE, p.
316).]
The arrangement beforehand of his movements was also a matter of great
importance with Louis XV. On the first day of the year he noted down in his
almanac the days of departure for Compiegne, Fontainebleau, Choisy, etc.
The weightiest matters, the most serious events, never deranged this
distribution of his time.
Since the death of the Marquise de Pompadour, the King had no titled
mistress; he contented himself with his seraglio in the Parc-aux-Cerfs. It is
well known that the monarch found the separation of Louis de Bourbon
from the King of France the most animating feature of his royal existence.
“They would have it so; they thought it for the best,” was his way of
expressing himself when the measures of his ministers were unsuccessful.
The King delighted to manage the most disgraceful points of his private
expenses himself; he one day sold to a head clerk in the War Department a
house in which one of his mistresses had lodged; the contract ran in the
I was fifteen years of age when I was appointed reader to Mesdames. I
will begin by describing the Court at that period.
Maria Leczinska was just dead; the death of the Dauphin had preceded
hers by three years; the Jesuits were suppressed, and piety was to be found
at Court only in the apartments of Mesdames. The Duc de Choiseuil ruled.
Etiquette still existed at Court with all the forms it had acquired under
Louis XIV.; dignity alone was wanting. As to gaiety, there was none.
Versailles was not the place at which to seek for assemblies where French
spirit and grace were displayed. The focus of wit and intelligence was Paris.
The King thought of nothing but the pleasures of the chase: it might have
been imagined that the courtiers indulged themselves in making epigrams
by hearing them say seriously, on those days when the King did not hunt,
“The King does nothing to-day.”—[In sporting usance (see SOULAIRE, p.
316).]
The arrangement beforehand of his movements was also a matter of great
importance with Louis XV. On the first day of the year he noted down in his
almanac the days of departure for Compiegne, Fontainebleau, Choisy, etc.
The weightiest matters, the most serious events, never deranged this
distribution of his time.
Since the death of the Marquise de Pompadour, the King had no titled
mistress; he contented himself with his seraglio in the Parc-aux-Cerfs. It is
well known that the monarch found the separation of Louis de Bourbon
from the King of France the most animating feature of his royal existence.
“They would have it so; they thought it for the best,” was his way of
expressing himself when the measures of his ministers were unsuccessful.
The King delighted to manage the most disgraceful points of his private
expenses himself; he one day sold to a head clerk in the War Department a
house in which one of his mistresses had lodged; the contract ran in the
Page 46
name of Louis de Bourbon, and the purchaser himself took in a bag the
price of the house in gold to the King in his private closet.
[Until recently little was known about the Parc-aux-Cerfs,
and it was believed that a great number of young women
had been maintained there at enormous expense. The
investigations of M. J. A. Le Roi, given in his interesting
work, “Curiosites Historiques sur Louis XIII., Louis XIV.,
Louis XV.,” etc., Paris, Plon, 1864, have thrown fresh light
upon the matter. The result he arrives at (see page 229 of his
work) is that the house in question (No. 4 Rue St. Mederic,
on the site of the Parc-aux-Cerfs, or breeding-place for deer,
of Louis XIII) was very small, and could have held only one
girl, the woman in charge of her, and a servant. Most of the
girls left it only when about to be confined, and it sometimes
stood vacant for five or six months. It may have been rented
before the date of purchase, and other houses seem
sometimes to have been used also; but in any case, it is
evident that both the number of girls and the expense
incurred have been absurdly exaggerated. The system
flourished under Madame de Pompadour, but ceased as
soon as Madame du Barry obtained full power over the
King, and the house was then sold to M. J. B. Sevin for
16,000 livres, on 27th May, 1771, Louis not acting under the
name of Louis de Bourbon, but as King,—“Vente par le Roi,
notre Sire.” In 1755 he had also been declared its purchaser
in a similar manner. Thus, Madame Campan is in error in
saying that the King made the contract as Louis de
Bourbon.]—[And it also possible that Madam Campan was
correct and that the house she refers to as sold for a “bag of
gold” was another of the several of the seraglio
establishments of Louis XV. D.W.]
price of the house in gold to the King in his private closet.
[Until recently little was known about the Parc-aux-Cerfs,
and it was believed that a great number of young women
had been maintained there at enormous expense. The
investigations of M. J. A. Le Roi, given in his interesting
work, “Curiosites Historiques sur Louis XIII., Louis XIV.,
Louis XV.,” etc., Paris, Plon, 1864, have thrown fresh light
upon the matter. The result he arrives at (see page 229 of his
work) is that the house in question (No. 4 Rue St. Mederic,
on the site of the Parc-aux-Cerfs, or breeding-place for deer,
of Louis XIII) was very small, and could have held only one
girl, the woman in charge of her, and a servant. Most of the
girls left it only when about to be confined, and it sometimes
stood vacant for five or six months. It may have been rented
before the date of purchase, and other houses seem
sometimes to have been used also; but in any case, it is
evident that both the number of girls and the expense
incurred have been absurdly exaggerated. The system
flourished under Madame de Pompadour, but ceased as
soon as Madame du Barry obtained full power over the
King, and the house was then sold to M. J. B. Sevin for
16,000 livres, on 27th May, 1771, Louis not acting under the
name of Louis de Bourbon, but as King,—“Vente par le Roi,
notre Sire.” In 1755 he had also been declared its purchaser
in a similar manner. Thus, Madame Campan is in error in
saying that the King made the contract as Louis de
Bourbon.]—[And it also possible that Madam Campan was
correct and that the house she refers to as sold for a “bag of
gold” was another of the several of the seraglio
establishments of Louis XV. D.W.]
Page 47
Louis XV. saw very little of his family. He came every morning by a
private staircase into the apartment of Madame Adelaide.
[Louis XV. seemed to feel for Madame Adelaide the
tenderness he had had for the Duchesse de Bourgogne, his
mother, who perished so suddenly, under the eyes and almost
in the arms of Louis XIV. The birth of Madame Adelaide,
23d March, 1732, was followed by that of Madame Victoire
Louise Marie Therese on the 11th May, 1733. Louis had,
besides, six daughters: Mesdames Sophie and Louise, who
are mentioned in this chapter; the Princesses Marie and
Felicite, who died young; Madame Henriette died at
private staircase into the apartment of Madame Adelaide.
[Louis XV. seemed to feel for Madame Adelaide the
tenderness he had had for the Duchesse de Bourgogne, his
mother, who perished so suddenly, under the eyes and almost
in the arms of Louis XIV. The birth of Madame Adelaide,
23d March, 1732, was followed by that of Madame Victoire
Louise Marie Therese on the 11th May, 1733. Louis had,
besides, six daughters: Mesdames Sophie and Louise, who
are mentioned in this chapter; the Princesses Marie and
Felicite, who died young; Madame Henriette died at
Page 48
Versailles in 1752, aged twenty-four; and finally, Madame
the Duchess of Parma, who also died at the Court.]
He often brought and drank there coffee that he had made himself.
Madame Adelaide pulled a bell which apprised Madame Victoire of the
King’s visit; Madame Victoire, on rising to go to her sister’s apartment,
rang for Madame Sophie, who in her turn rang for Madame Louise. The
apartments of Mesdames were of very large dimensions. Madame Louise
occupied the farthest room. This latter lady was deformed and very short;
the poor Princess used to run with all her might to join the daily meeting,
but, having a number of rooms to cross, she frequently in spite of her haste,
had only just time to embrace her father before he set out for the chase.
Every evening, at six, Mesdames interrupted my reading to them to
accompany the princes to Louis XV.; this visit was called the King’s
‘debotter’,—[Debotter, meaning the time of unbooting.]—and was marked
by a kind of etiquette. Mesdames put on an enormous hoop, which set out a
petticoat ornamented with gold or embroidery; they fastened a long train
round their waists, and concealed the undress of the rest of their clothing by
a long cloak of black taffety which enveloped them up to the chin. The
chevaliers d’honneur, the ladies in waiting, the pages, the equerries, and the
ushers bearing large flambeaux, accompanied them to the King. In a
moment the whole palace, generally so still, was in motion; the King kissed
each Princess on the forehead, and the visit was so short that the reading
which it interrupted was frequently resumed at the end of a quarter of an
hour; Mesdames returned to their apartments, and untied the strings of their
petticoats and trains; they resumed their tapestry, and I my book.
During the summer season the King sometimes came to the residence of
Mesdames before the hour of his ‘debotter’. One day he found me alone in
Madame Victoire’s closet, and asked me where ‘Coche’[Piggy] was; I
started, and he repeated his question, but without being at all the more
understood. When the King was gone I asked Madame of whom he spoke.
She told me that it was herself, and very coolly explained to me, that, being
the fattest of his daughters, the King had given her the familiar name of
‘Coche’; that he called Madame Adelaide, ‘Logue’ [Tatters], Madame
Sophie, ‘Graille’[Mite], and Madame Louise, ‘Chiffie’[Rubbish]. The
people of the King’s household observed that he knew a great number of
such words; possibly he had amused himself with picking them out from
the Duchess of Parma, who also died at the Court.]
He often brought and drank there coffee that he had made himself.
Madame Adelaide pulled a bell which apprised Madame Victoire of the
King’s visit; Madame Victoire, on rising to go to her sister’s apartment,
rang for Madame Sophie, who in her turn rang for Madame Louise. The
apartments of Mesdames were of very large dimensions. Madame Louise
occupied the farthest room. This latter lady was deformed and very short;
the poor Princess used to run with all her might to join the daily meeting,
but, having a number of rooms to cross, she frequently in spite of her haste,
had only just time to embrace her father before he set out for the chase.
Every evening, at six, Mesdames interrupted my reading to them to
accompany the princes to Louis XV.; this visit was called the King’s
‘debotter’,—[Debotter, meaning the time of unbooting.]—and was marked
by a kind of etiquette. Mesdames put on an enormous hoop, which set out a
petticoat ornamented with gold or embroidery; they fastened a long train
round their waists, and concealed the undress of the rest of their clothing by
a long cloak of black taffety which enveloped them up to the chin. The
chevaliers d’honneur, the ladies in waiting, the pages, the equerries, and the
ushers bearing large flambeaux, accompanied them to the King. In a
moment the whole palace, generally so still, was in motion; the King kissed
each Princess on the forehead, and the visit was so short that the reading
which it interrupted was frequently resumed at the end of a quarter of an
hour; Mesdames returned to their apartments, and untied the strings of their
petticoats and trains; they resumed their tapestry, and I my book.
During the summer season the King sometimes came to the residence of
Mesdames before the hour of his ‘debotter’. One day he found me alone in
Madame Victoire’s closet, and asked me where ‘Coche’[Piggy] was; I
started, and he repeated his question, but without being at all the more
understood. When the King was gone I asked Madame of whom he spoke.
She told me that it was herself, and very coolly explained to me, that, being
the fattest of his daughters, the King had given her the familiar name of
‘Coche’; that he called Madame Adelaide, ‘Logue’ [Tatters], Madame
Sophie, ‘Graille’[Mite], and Madame Louise, ‘Chiffie’[Rubbish]. The
people of the King’s household observed that he knew a great number of
such words; possibly he had amused himself with picking them out from
Page 49
dictionaries. If this style of speaking betrayed the habits and tastes of the
King, his manner savoured nothing of such vulgarity; his walk was easy and
noble, he had a dignified carriage of the head, and his aspect, with out being
severe, was imposing; he combined great politeness with a truly regal
demeanour, and gracefully saluted the humblest woman whom curiosity led
into his path.
He was very expert in a number of trifling matters which never occupy
attention but when there is a lack of something better to employ it; for
instance, he would knock off the top of an egg-shell at a single stroke of his
fork; he therefore always ate eggs when he dined in public, and the
Parisians who came on Sundays to see the King dine, returned home less
struck with his fine figure than with the dexterity with which he broke his
eggs.
Repartees of Louis XV., which marked the keenness of his wit and the
elevation of his sentiments, were quoted with pleasure in the assemblies of
Versailles.
This Prince was still beloved; it was wished that a style of life suitable to
his age and dignity should at length supersede the errors of the past, and
justify the love of his subjects. It was painful to judge him harshly. If he had
established avowed mistresses at Court, the uniform devotion of the Queen
was blamed for it. Mesdames were reproached for not seeking to prevent
the King’s forming an intimacy with some new favourite. Madame
Henriette, twin sister of the Duchess of Parma, was much regretted, for she
had considerable influence over the King’s mind, and it was remarked that
if she had lived she would have been assiduous in finding him amusements
in the bosom of his family, would have followed him in his short
excursions, and would have done the honours of the ‘petits soupers’ which
he was so fond of giving in his private apartments.
Mesdames too much neglected the means of pleasing the wing, but the
cause of that was obvious in the little attention he had paid them in their
youth.
In order to console the people under their sufferings, and to shut their
eyes to the real depredations on the treasury, the ministers occasionally
pressed the most extravagant measures of reform in the King’s household,
and even in his personal expenses.
King, his manner savoured nothing of such vulgarity; his walk was easy and
noble, he had a dignified carriage of the head, and his aspect, with out being
severe, was imposing; he combined great politeness with a truly regal
demeanour, and gracefully saluted the humblest woman whom curiosity led
into his path.
He was very expert in a number of trifling matters which never occupy
attention but when there is a lack of something better to employ it; for
instance, he would knock off the top of an egg-shell at a single stroke of his
fork; he therefore always ate eggs when he dined in public, and the
Parisians who came on Sundays to see the King dine, returned home less
struck with his fine figure than with the dexterity with which he broke his
eggs.
Repartees of Louis XV., which marked the keenness of his wit and the
elevation of his sentiments, were quoted with pleasure in the assemblies of
Versailles.
This Prince was still beloved; it was wished that a style of life suitable to
his age and dignity should at length supersede the errors of the past, and
justify the love of his subjects. It was painful to judge him harshly. If he had
established avowed mistresses at Court, the uniform devotion of the Queen
was blamed for it. Mesdames were reproached for not seeking to prevent
the King’s forming an intimacy with some new favourite. Madame
Henriette, twin sister of the Duchess of Parma, was much regretted, for she
had considerable influence over the King’s mind, and it was remarked that
if she had lived she would have been assiduous in finding him amusements
in the bosom of his family, would have followed him in his short
excursions, and would have done the honours of the ‘petits soupers’ which
he was so fond of giving in his private apartments.
Mesdames too much neglected the means of pleasing the wing, but the
cause of that was obvious in the little attention he had paid them in their
youth.
In order to console the people under their sufferings, and to shut their
eyes to the real depredations on the treasury, the ministers occasionally
pressed the most extravagant measures of reform in the King’s household,
and even in his personal expenses.
Page 50
Cardinal Fleury, who in truth had the merit of reestablishing the finances,
carried this system of economy so far as to obtain from the King the
suppression of the household of the four younger Princesses. They were
brought up as mere boarders in a convent eighty leagues distant from the
Court. Saint Cyr would have been more suitable for the reception of the
King’s daughters; but probably the Cardinal shared some of those
prejudices which will always attach to even the most useful institutions, and
which, since the death of Louis XIV., had been raised against the noble
establishment of Madame de Maintenon. Madame Louise often assured me
that at twelve years of age she was not mistress of the whole alphabet, and
never learnt to read fluently until after her return to Versailles.
Madame Victoire attributed certain paroxysms of terror, which she was
never able to conquer, to the violent alarms she experienced at the Abbey of
Fontevrault, whenever she was sent, by way of penance, to pray alone in the
vault where the sisters were interred.
A gardener belonging to the abbey died raving mad. His habitation,
without the walls, was near a chapel of the abbey, where Mesdames were
taken to repeat the prayers for those in the agonies of death. Their prayers
were more than once interrupted by the shrieks of the dying man.
When Mesdames, still very young, returned to Court, they enjoyed the
friendship of Monseigneur the Dauphin, and profited by his advice. They
devoted themselves ardently to study, and gave up almost the whole of their
time to it; they enabled themselves to write French correctly, and acquired a
good knowledge of history. Italian, English, the higher branches of
mathematics, turning and dialing, filled up in succession their leisure
moments. Madame Adelaide, in particular, had a most insatiable desire to
learn; she was taught to play upon all instruments, from the horn (will it be
believed!) to the Jew’s-harp.
Madame Adelaide was graced for a short time with a charming figure;
but never did beauty so quickly vanish. Madame Victoire was handsome
and very graceful; her address, mien, and smile were in perfect accordance
with the goodness of her heart. Madame Sophie was remarkably ugly; never
did I behold a person with so unprepossessing an appearance; she walked
with the greatest rapidity; and, in order to recognise the people who placed
themselves along her path without looking at them, she acquired the habit
of leering on one side, like a hare. This Princess was so exceedingly
carried this system of economy so far as to obtain from the King the
suppression of the household of the four younger Princesses. They were
brought up as mere boarders in a convent eighty leagues distant from the
Court. Saint Cyr would have been more suitable for the reception of the
King’s daughters; but probably the Cardinal shared some of those
prejudices which will always attach to even the most useful institutions, and
which, since the death of Louis XIV., had been raised against the noble
establishment of Madame de Maintenon. Madame Louise often assured me
that at twelve years of age she was not mistress of the whole alphabet, and
never learnt to read fluently until after her return to Versailles.
Madame Victoire attributed certain paroxysms of terror, which she was
never able to conquer, to the violent alarms she experienced at the Abbey of
Fontevrault, whenever she was sent, by way of penance, to pray alone in the
vault where the sisters were interred.
A gardener belonging to the abbey died raving mad. His habitation,
without the walls, was near a chapel of the abbey, where Mesdames were
taken to repeat the prayers for those in the agonies of death. Their prayers
were more than once interrupted by the shrieks of the dying man.
When Mesdames, still very young, returned to Court, they enjoyed the
friendship of Monseigneur the Dauphin, and profited by his advice. They
devoted themselves ardently to study, and gave up almost the whole of their
time to it; they enabled themselves to write French correctly, and acquired a
good knowledge of history. Italian, English, the higher branches of
mathematics, turning and dialing, filled up in succession their leisure
moments. Madame Adelaide, in particular, had a most insatiable desire to
learn; she was taught to play upon all instruments, from the horn (will it be
believed!) to the Jew’s-harp.
Madame Adelaide was graced for a short time with a charming figure;
but never did beauty so quickly vanish. Madame Victoire was handsome
and very graceful; her address, mien, and smile were in perfect accordance
with the goodness of her heart. Madame Sophie was remarkably ugly; never
did I behold a person with so unprepossessing an appearance; she walked
with the greatest rapidity; and, in order to recognise the people who placed
themselves along her path without looking at them, she acquired the habit
of leering on one side, like a hare. This Princess was so exceedingly
Page 51
diffident that a person might be with her daily for years together without
hearing her utter a single word. It was asserted, however, that she displayed
talent, and even amiability, in the society of some favourite ladies. She
taught herself a great deal, but she studied alone; the presence of a reader
would have disconcerted her very much. There were, however, occasions on
which the Princess, generally so intractable, became all at once affable and
condescending, and manifested the most communicative good-nature; this
would happen during a storm; so great was her alarm on such an occasion
that she then approached the most humble, and would ask them a thousand
obliging questions; a flash of lightning made her squeeze their hands; a peal
of thunder would drive her to embrace them, but with the return of the
calm, the Princess resumed her stiffness, her reserve, and her repellent air,
and passed all by without taking the slightest notice of any one, until a fresh
storm restored to her at once her dread and her affability. [Which reminds
one of the elder (and puritanic) Cato who said that he “embraced” his wife
only when it thundered, but added that he did enjoy a good thunderstorm.
D.W.]
Mesdames found in a beloved brother, whose rare attainments are known
to all Frenchmen, a guide in everything wanting to their education. In their
august mother, Maria Leczinska, they possessed the noblest example of
every pious and social virtue; that Princess, by her eminent qualities and her
modest dignity, veiled the failings of the King, and while she lived she
preserved in the Court of Louis XV. that decorous and dignified tone which
alone secures the respect due to power. The Princesses, her daughters, were
worthy of her; and if a few degraded beings did aim the shafts of calumny
at them, these shafts dropped harmless, warded off by the elevation of their
sentiments and the purity of their conduct.
If Mesdames had not tasked themselves with numerous occupations, they
would have been much to be pitied. They loved walking, but could enjoy
nothing beyond the public gardens of Versailles; they would have cultivated
flowers, but could have no others than those in their windows.
The Marquise de Durfort, since Duchesse de Civrac, afforded to Madame
Victoire agreeable society. The Princess spent almost all her evenings with
that lady, and ended by fancying herself domiciled with her.
Madame de Narbonne had, in a similar way, taken pains to make her
intimate acquaintance pleasant to Madame Adelaide.
hearing her utter a single word. It was asserted, however, that she displayed
talent, and even amiability, in the society of some favourite ladies. She
taught herself a great deal, but she studied alone; the presence of a reader
would have disconcerted her very much. There were, however, occasions on
which the Princess, generally so intractable, became all at once affable and
condescending, and manifested the most communicative good-nature; this
would happen during a storm; so great was her alarm on such an occasion
that she then approached the most humble, and would ask them a thousand
obliging questions; a flash of lightning made her squeeze their hands; a peal
of thunder would drive her to embrace them, but with the return of the
calm, the Princess resumed her stiffness, her reserve, and her repellent air,
and passed all by without taking the slightest notice of any one, until a fresh
storm restored to her at once her dread and her affability. [Which reminds
one of the elder (and puritanic) Cato who said that he “embraced” his wife
only when it thundered, but added that he did enjoy a good thunderstorm.
D.W.]
Mesdames found in a beloved brother, whose rare attainments are known
to all Frenchmen, a guide in everything wanting to their education. In their
august mother, Maria Leczinska, they possessed the noblest example of
every pious and social virtue; that Princess, by her eminent qualities and her
modest dignity, veiled the failings of the King, and while she lived she
preserved in the Court of Louis XV. that decorous and dignified tone which
alone secures the respect due to power. The Princesses, her daughters, were
worthy of her; and if a few degraded beings did aim the shafts of calumny
at them, these shafts dropped harmless, warded off by the elevation of their
sentiments and the purity of their conduct.
If Mesdames had not tasked themselves with numerous occupations, they
would have been much to be pitied. They loved walking, but could enjoy
nothing beyond the public gardens of Versailles; they would have cultivated
flowers, but could have no others than those in their windows.
The Marquise de Durfort, since Duchesse de Civrac, afforded to Madame
Victoire agreeable society. The Princess spent almost all her evenings with
that lady, and ended by fancying herself domiciled with her.
Madame de Narbonne had, in a similar way, taken pains to make her
intimate acquaintance pleasant to Madame Adelaide.
Page 52
Madame Louise had for many years lived in great seclusion; I read to her
five hours a day. My voice frequently betrayed the exhaustion of my lungs;
the Princess would then prepare sugared water for me, place it by me, and
apologise for making me read so long, on the score of having prescribed a
course of reading for herself.
One evening, while I was reading, she was informed that M. Bertin,
‘ministre des parties casuelles’, desired to speak with her; she went out
abruptly, returned, resumed her silks and embroidery, and made me resume
my book; when I retired she commanded me to be in her closet the next
morning at eleven o’clock. When I got there the Princess was gone out; I
learnt that she had gone at seven in the morning to the Convent of the
Carmelites of St. Denis, where she was desirous of taking the veil. I went to
Madame Victoire; there I heard that the King alone had been acquainted
with Madame Louise’s project; that he had kept it faithfully secret, and that,
having long previously opposed her wish, he had only on the preceding
evening sent her his consent; that she had gone alone into the convent,
where she was expected; and that a few minutes afterwards she had made
her appearance at the grating, to show to the Princesse de Guistel, who had
accompanied her to the convent gate, and to her equerry, the King’s order to
leave her in the monastery.
Upon receiving the intelligence of her sister’s departure, Madame
Adelaide gave way to violent paroxysms of rage, and reproached the King
bitterly for the secret, which he had thought it his duty to preserve. Madame
Victoire missed the society of her favourite sister, but she shed tears in
silence only. The first time I saw this excellent Princess after Madame
Louise’s departure, I threw myself at her feet, kissed her hand, and asked
her, with all the confidence of youth, whether she would quit us as Madame
Louise had done. She raised me, embraced me; and said, pointing to the
lounge upon which she was extended, “Make yourself easy, my dear; I shall
never have Louise’s courage. I love the conveniences of life too well; this
lounge is my destruction.” As soon as I obtained permission to do so, I went
to St. Denis to see my late mistress; she deigned to receive me with her face
uncovered, in her private parlour; she told me she had just left the wash-
house, and that it was her turn that day to attend to the linen. “I much
abused your youthful lungs for two years before the execution of my
project,” added she. “I knew that here I could read none but books tending
five hours a day. My voice frequently betrayed the exhaustion of my lungs;
the Princess would then prepare sugared water for me, place it by me, and
apologise for making me read so long, on the score of having prescribed a
course of reading for herself.
One evening, while I was reading, she was informed that M. Bertin,
‘ministre des parties casuelles’, desired to speak with her; she went out
abruptly, returned, resumed her silks and embroidery, and made me resume
my book; when I retired she commanded me to be in her closet the next
morning at eleven o’clock. When I got there the Princess was gone out; I
learnt that she had gone at seven in the morning to the Convent of the
Carmelites of St. Denis, where she was desirous of taking the veil. I went to
Madame Victoire; there I heard that the King alone had been acquainted
with Madame Louise’s project; that he had kept it faithfully secret, and that,
having long previously opposed her wish, he had only on the preceding
evening sent her his consent; that she had gone alone into the convent,
where she was expected; and that a few minutes afterwards she had made
her appearance at the grating, to show to the Princesse de Guistel, who had
accompanied her to the convent gate, and to her equerry, the King’s order to
leave her in the monastery.
Upon receiving the intelligence of her sister’s departure, Madame
Adelaide gave way to violent paroxysms of rage, and reproached the King
bitterly for the secret, which he had thought it his duty to preserve. Madame
Victoire missed the society of her favourite sister, but she shed tears in
silence only. The first time I saw this excellent Princess after Madame
Louise’s departure, I threw myself at her feet, kissed her hand, and asked
her, with all the confidence of youth, whether she would quit us as Madame
Louise had done. She raised me, embraced me; and said, pointing to the
lounge upon which she was extended, “Make yourself easy, my dear; I shall
never have Louise’s courage. I love the conveniences of life too well; this
lounge is my destruction.” As soon as I obtained permission to do so, I went
to St. Denis to see my late mistress; she deigned to receive me with her face
uncovered, in her private parlour; she told me she had just left the wash-
house, and that it was her turn that day to attend to the linen. “I much
abused your youthful lungs for two years before the execution of my
project,” added she. “I knew that here I could read none but books tending
Page 53
to our salvation, and I wished to review all the historians that had interested
me.”
She informed me that the King’s consent for her to go to St. Denis had
been brought to her while I was reading; she prided herself, and with
reason, upon having returned to her closet without the slightest mark of
agitation, though she said she felt so keenly that she could scarcely regain
her chair. She added that moralists were right when they said that happiness
does not dwell in palaces; that she had proved it; and that, if I desired to be
happy, she advised me to come and enjoy a retreat in which the liveliest
imagination might find full exercise in the contemplation of a better world.
I had no palace, no earthly grandeur to sacrifice to God; nothing but the
bosom of a united family; and it is precisely there that the moralists whom
she cited have placed true happiness. I replied that, in private life, the
absence of a beloved and cherished daughter would be too cruelly felt by
her family. The Princess said no more on the subject.
The seclusion of Madame Louise was attributed to various motives; some
were unkind enough to suppose it to have been occasioned by her
mortification at being, in point of rank, the last of the Princesses. I think I
penetrated the true cause. Her aspirations were lofty; she loved everything
sublime; often while I was reading she would interrupt me to exclaim,
“That is beautiful! that is noble!” There was but one brilliant action that she
could perform,—to quit a palace for a cell, and rich garments for a stuff
gown. She achieved it!
I saw Madame Louise two or three times more at the grating. I was
informed of her death by Louis XVI. “My Aunt Louise,” said he to me,
“your old mistress, is just dead at St. Denis. I have this moment received
intelligence of it. Her piety and resignation were admirable, and yet the
delirium of my good aunt recalled to her recollection that she was a
princess, for her last words were, ‘To paradise, haste, haste, full speed.’ No
doubt she thought she was again giving orders to her equerry.”
[The retirement of Madame Louise, and her removal from
Court, had only served to give her up entirely to the
intrigues of the clergy. She received incessant visits from
bishops, archbishops, and ambitious priests of every rank;
she prevailed on the King, her father, to grant many
ecclesiastical preferments, and probably looked forward to
me.”
She informed me that the King’s consent for her to go to St. Denis had
been brought to her while I was reading; she prided herself, and with
reason, upon having returned to her closet without the slightest mark of
agitation, though she said she felt so keenly that she could scarcely regain
her chair. She added that moralists were right when they said that happiness
does not dwell in palaces; that she had proved it; and that, if I desired to be
happy, she advised me to come and enjoy a retreat in which the liveliest
imagination might find full exercise in the contemplation of a better world.
I had no palace, no earthly grandeur to sacrifice to God; nothing but the
bosom of a united family; and it is precisely there that the moralists whom
she cited have placed true happiness. I replied that, in private life, the
absence of a beloved and cherished daughter would be too cruelly felt by
her family. The Princess said no more on the subject.
The seclusion of Madame Louise was attributed to various motives; some
were unkind enough to suppose it to have been occasioned by her
mortification at being, in point of rank, the last of the Princesses. I think I
penetrated the true cause. Her aspirations were lofty; she loved everything
sublime; often while I was reading she would interrupt me to exclaim,
“That is beautiful! that is noble!” There was but one brilliant action that she
could perform,—to quit a palace for a cell, and rich garments for a stuff
gown. She achieved it!
I saw Madame Louise two or three times more at the grating. I was
informed of her death by Louis XVI. “My Aunt Louise,” said he to me,
“your old mistress, is just dead at St. Denis. I have this moment received
intelligence of it. Her piety and resignation were admirable, and yet the
delirium of my good aunt recalled to her recollection that she was a
princess, for her last words were, ‘To paradise, haste, haste, full speed.’ No
doubt she thought she was again giving orders to her equerry.”
[The retirement of Madame Louise, and her removal from
Court, had only served to give her up entirely to the
intrigues of the clergy. She received incessant visits from
bishops, archbishops, and ambitious priests of every rank;
she prevailed on the King, her father, to grant many
ecclesiastical preferments, and probably looked forward to
Page 54
playing an important part when the King, weary of his
licentious course of life, should begin to think of religion.
This, perhaps, might have been the case had not a sudden
and unexpected death put an end to his career. The project of
Madame Louise fell to the ground in consequence of this
event. She remained in her convent, whence she continued to
solicit favours, as I knew from the complaints of the Queen,
who often said to me, “Here is another letter from my Aunt
Louise. She is certainly the most intriguing little Carmelite
in the kingdom.” The Court went to visit her about three
times a year, and I recollect that the Queen, intending to take
her daughter there, ordered me to get a doll dressed like a
Carmelite for her, that the young Princess might be
accustomed, before she went into the convent, to the habit of
her aunt, the nun.—MADAME CAMPAN]
Madame Victoire, good, sweet-tempered, and affable, lived with the most
amiable simplicity in a society wherein she was much caressed; she was
adored by her household. Without quitting Versailles, without sacrificing
her easy chair, she fulfilled the duties of religion with punctuality, gave to
the poor all she possessed, and strictly observed Lent and the fasts. The
table of Mesdames acquired a reputation for dishes of abstinence, spread
abroad by the assiduous parasites at that of their maitre d’hotel. Madame
Victoire was not indifferent to good living, but she had the most religious
scruples respecting dishes of which it was allowable to partake at
penitential times. I saw her one day exceedingly tormented by her doubts
about a water-fowl, which was often served up to her during Lent. The
question to be determined was, whether it was ‘maigre’ or ‘gras’. She
consulted a bishop, who happened to be of the party: the prelate
immediately assumed the grave attitude of a judge who is about to
pronounce sentence. He answered the Princess that, in a similar case of
doubt, it had been resolved that after dressing the bird it should be pricked
over a very cold silver dish; if the gravy of the animal congealed within a
quarter of an hour, the creature was to be accounted flesh; but if the gravy
remained in an oily state, it might be eaten without scruple. Madame
Victoire immediately made the experiment: the gravy did not congeal; and
this was a source of great joy to the Princess, who was very partial to that
licentious course of life, should begin to think of religion.
This, perhaps, might have been the case had not a sudden
and unexpected death put an end to his career. The project of
Madame Louise fell to the ground in consequence of this
event. She remained in her convent, whence she continued to
solicit favours, as I knew from the complaints of the Queen,
who often said to me, “Here is another letter from my Aunt
Louise. She is certainly the most intriguing little Carmelite
in the kingdom.” The Court went to visit her about three
times a year, and I recollect that the Queen, intending to take
her daughter there, ordered me to get a doll dressed like a
Carmelite for her, that the young Princess might be
accustomed, before she went into the convent, to the habit of
her aunt, the nun.—MADAME CAMPAN]
Madame Victoire, good, sweet-tempered, and affable, lived with the most
amiable simplicity in a society wherein she was much caressed; she was
adored by her household. Without quitting Versailles, without sacrificing
her easy chair, she fulfilled the duties of religion with punctuality, gave to
the poor all she possessed, and strictly observed Lent and the fasts. The
table of Mesdames acquired a reputation for dishes of abstinence, spread
abroad by the assiduous parasites at that of their maitre d’hotel. Madame
Victoire was not indifferent to good living, but she had the most religious
scruples respecting dishes of which it was allowable to partake at
penitential times. I saw her one day exceedingly tormented by her doubts
about a water-fowl, which was often served up to her during Lent. The
question to be determined was, whether it was ‘maigre’ or ‘gras’. She
consulted a bishop, who happened to be of the party: the prelate
immediately assumed the grave attitude of a judge who is about to
pronounce sentence. He answered the Princess that, in a similar case of
doubt, it had been resolved that after dressing the bird it should be pricked
over a very cold silver dish; if the gravy of the animal congealed within a
quarter of an hour, the creature was to be accounted flesh; but if the gravy
remained in an oily state, it might be eaten without scruple. Madame
Victoire immediately made the experiment: the gravy did not congeal; and
this was a source of great joy to the Princess, who was very partial to that
Page 55
sort of game. The abstinence which so much occupied the attention of
Madame Victoire was so disagreeable to her, that she listened with
impatience for the midnight hour of Holy Saturday; and then she was
immediately supplied with a good dish of fowl and rice, and sundry other
succulent viands. She confessed with such amiable candour her taste for
good cheer and the comforts of life, that it would have been necessary to be
as severe in principle as insensible to the excellent qualities of the Princess,
to consider it a crime in her.
Madame Adelaide had more mind than Madame Victoire; but she was
altogether deficient in that kindness which alone creates affection for the
great, abrupt manners, a harsh voice, and a short way of speaking, rendering
her more than imposing. She carried the idea of the prerogative of rank to a
high pitch. One of her chaplains was unlucky enough to say ‘Dominus
vobiscum’ with rather too easy an air; the Princess rated him soundly for it
after mass, and told him to remember that he was not a bishop, and not
again to think of officiating in the style of a prelate.
Mesdames lived quite separate from the King. Since the death of
Madame de Pompadour he had lived alone. The enemies of the Duc de
Choiseul did not know in what department, nor through what channel, they
could prepare and bring about the downfall of the man who stood in their
way. The King was connected only with women of so low a class that they
could not be made use of for any delicate intrigue; moreover, the Parc-aux-
Cerfs was a seraglio, the beauties of which were often replaced; it was
desirable to give the King a mistress who could form a circle, and in whose
drawing-room the long-standing attachment of the King for the Duc de
Choiseul might be overcome. It is true that Madame du Barry was selected
from a class sufficiently low. Her origin, her education, her habits, and
everything about her bore a character of vulgarity and shamelessness; but
by marrying her to a man whose pedigree dated from 1400, it was thought
scandal would be avoided. The conqueror of Mahon conducted this coarse
intrigue.
[It appeared at this period as if every feeling of dignity
was lost. “Few noblemen of the French Court,” says a
writer of the time, “preserved themselves from the general
corruption. The Marechal de Brissac was one of the latter.
He was bantered on the strictness of his principles of honour
Madame Victoire was so disagreeable to her, that she listened with
impatience for the midnight hour of Holy Saturday; and then she was
immediately supplied with a good dish of fowl and rice, and sundry other
succulent viands. She confessed with such amiable candour her taste for
good cheer and the comforts of life, that it would have been necessary to be
as severe in principle as insensible to the excellent qualities of the Princess,
to consider it a crime in her.
Madame Adelaide had more mind than Madame Victoire; but she was
altogether deficient in that kindness which alone creates affection for the
great, abrupt manners, a harsh voice, and a short way of speaking, rendering
her more than imposing. She carried the idea of the prerogative of rank to a
high pitch. One of her chaplains was unlucky enough to say ‘Dominus
vobiscum’ with rather too easy an air; the Princess rated him soundly for it
after mass, and told him to remember that he was not a bishop, and not
again to think of officiating in the style of a prelate.
Mesdames lived quite separate from the King. Since the death of
Madame de Pompadour he had lived alone. The enemies of the Duc de
Choiseul did not know in what department, nor through what channel, they
could prepare and bring about the downfall of the man who stood in their
way. The King was connected only with women of so low a class that they
could not be made use of for any delicate intrigue; moreover, the Parc-aux-
Cerfs was a seraglio, the beauties of which were often replaced; it was
desirable to give the King a mistress who could form a circle, and in whose
drawing-room the long-standing attachment of the King for the Duc de
Choiseul might be overcome. It is true that Madame du Barry was selected
from a class sufficiently low. Her origin, her education, her habits, and
everything about her bore a character of vulgarity and shamelessness; but
by marrying her to a man whose pedigree dated from 1400, it was thought
scandal would be avoided. The conqueror of Mahon conducted this coarse
intrigue.
[It appeared at this period as if every feeling of dignity
was lost. “Few noblemen of the French Court,” says a
writer of the time, “preserved themselves from the general
corruption. The Marechal de Brissac was one of the latter.
He was bantered on the strictness of his principles of honour
Page 56
and honesty; it was thought strange that he should be
offended by being thought, like so many others, exposed to
hymeneal disgrace. Louis XV., who was present, and
laughed at his angry fit, said to him: ‘Come, M. de Brissac,
don’t be angry; ‘tis but a trifling evil; take courage.’—‘Sire,’
replied M. de Brissac, ‘I possess all kinds of courage, except
that which can brave shame.’”—NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
Such a mistress was judiciously selected for the diversion of the latter
years of a man weary of grandeur, fatigued with pleasure, and cloyed with
voluptuousness. Neither the wit, the talents, the graces of the Marquise de
Pompadour, her beauty, nor even her love for the King, would have had any
further influence over that worn-out being.
He wanted a Roxalana of familiar gaiety, without any respect for the
dignity of the sovereign. Madame du Barry one day so far forgot propriety
as to desire to be present at a Council of State. The King was weak enough
to consent to it. There she remained ridiculously perched upon the arm of
his chair, playing all sorts of childish monkey tricks, calculated to please an
old sultan.
Another time she snatched a packet of sealed letters from the King’s
hand. Among them she had observed one from Comte de Broglie. She told
the King that she knew that rascal Broglie spoke ill of her to him, and that
for once, at least, she would make sure he should read nothing respecting
her. The King wanted to get the packet again; she resisted, and made him
run two or three times round the table, which was in the middle of the
council-chamber, and then, on passing the fireplace, she threw the letters
into the grate, where they were consumed. The King became furious; he
seized his audacious mistress by the arm, and put her out of the door
without speaking to her. Madame du Barry thought herself utterly
disgraced; she returned home, and remained two hours, alone, abandoned to
the utmost distress. The King went to her; she threw herself at his feet, in
tears, and he pardoned her.
Madame la Marechale de Beauvau, the Duchesse de Choiseul, and the
Duchesse de Grammont had renounced the honour of the King’s intimate
acquaintance rather than share it with Madame du Barry. But a few years
after the death of Louis XV., Madame la Marechale being alone at the Val, a
house belonging to M. de Beauvau, Mademoiselle de Dillon saw the
offended by being thought, like so many others, exposed to
hymeneal disgrace. Louis XV., who was present, and
laughed at his angry fit, said to him: ‘Come, M. de Brissac,
don’t be angry; ‘tis but a trifling evil; take courage.’—‘Sire,’
replied M. de Brissac, ‘I possess all kinds of courage, except
that which can brave shame.’”—NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
Such a mistress was judiciously selected for the diversion of the latter
years of a man weary of grandeur, fatigued with pleasure, and cloyed with
voluptuousness. Neither the wit, the talents, the graces of the Marquise de
Pompadour, her beauty, nor even her love for the King, would have had any
further influence over that worn-out being.
He wanted a Roxalana of familiar gaiety, without any respect for the
dignity of the sovereign. Madame du Barry one day so far forgot propriety
as to desire to be present at a Council of State. The King was weak enough
to consent to it. There she remained ridiculously perched upon the arm of
his chair, playing all sorts of childish monkey tricks, calculated to please an
old sultan.
Another time she snatched a packet of sealed letters from the King’s
hand. Among them she had observed one from Comte de Broglie. She told
the King that she knew that rascal Broglie spoke ill of her to him, and that
for once, at least, she would make sure he should read nothing respecting
her. The King wanted to get the packet again; she resisted, and made him
run two or three times round the table, which was in the middle of the
council-chamber, and then, on passing the fireplace, she threw the letters
into the grate, where they were consumed. The King became furious; he
seized his audacious mistress by the arm, and put her out of the door
without speaking to her. Madame du Barry thought herself utterly
disgraced; she returned home, and remained two hours, alone, abandoned to
the utmost distress. The King went to her; she threw herself at his feet, in
tears, and he pardoned her.
Madame la Marechale de Beauvau, the Duchesse de Choiseul, and the
Duchesse de Grammont had renounced the honour of the King’s intimate
acquaintance rather than share it with Madame du Barry. But a few years
after the death of Louis XV., Madame la Marechale being alone at the Val, a
house belonging to M. de Beauvau, Mademoiselle de Dillon saw the
Page 57
Countess’s calash take shelter in the forest of St. Germain during a violent
storm. She invited her in, and the Countess herself related these particulars,
which I had from Madame de Beauvau.
The Comte du Barry, surnamed ‘le roue’ (the profligate), and
Mademoiselle du Barry advised, or rather prompted, Madame du Barry in
furtherance of the plans of the party of the Marechal de Richelieu and the
Duc d’Aiguillon. Sometimes they even set her to act in such a way as to
have a useful influence upon great political measures. Under pretence that
the page who accompanied Charles I. in his flight was a Du Barry or
Barrymore, they persuaded the Comtesse du Barry to buy in London that
fine portrait which we now have in the Museum. She had the picture placed
in her drawing-room, and when she saw the King hesitating upon the
violent measure of breaking up his Parliament, and forming that which was
called the Maupeou Parliament, she desired him to look at the portrait of a
king who had given way to his Parliament.
[The “Memoirs of General Dumouriez,” vol. i., page 142,
contain some curious particulars about Madame Du Barry;
and novel details respecting her will be found at page 243 of
“Curiosites Historiques,” by J. A. Le Rol (Paris, Plon,
1864). His investigations lead to the result that her real
name was Jean Becu, born, 19th August, 1743, at
Vaucouleurs, the natural daughter of Anne Becu, otherwise
known as “Quantiny.” Her mother afterwards married
Nicolas Rancon. Comte Jean du Barry met her among the
demi-monde, and succeeded, about 1767, and by the help of
his friend Label, the valet de chambre of Louis XV., in
introducing her to the King under the name of Mademoiselle
l’Ange. To be formally mistress, a husband had to be found.
The Comte Jean du Barry, already married himself, found
no difficulty in getting his brother, Comte Guillaume, a poor
officer of the marine troops, to accept the post of husband.
In the marriage-contract, signed on 23d July, 1768, she was
described as “the daughter of Anne Becu and of an
imaginary first husband, Sieur Jean Jacques Gomard de
Vaubernier,” and three years were taken off her age. The
marriage-contract was so drawn as to leave Madame du
storm. She invited her in, and the Countess herself related these particulars,
which I had from Madame de Beauvau.
The Comte du Barry, surnamed ‘le roue’ (the profligate), and
Mademoiselle du Barry advised, or rather prompted, Madame du Barry in
furtherance of the plans of the party of the Marechal de Richelieu and the
Duc d’Aiguillon. Sometimes they even set her to act in such a way as to
have a useful influence upon great political measures. Under pretence that
the page who accompanied Charles I. in his flight was a Du Barry or
Barrymore, they persuaded the Comtesse du Barry to buy in London that
fine portrait which we now have in the Museum. She had the picture placed
in her drawing-room, and when she saw the King hesitating upon the
violent measure of breaking up his Parliament, and forming that which was
called the Maupeou Parliament, she desired him to look at the portrait of a
king who had given way to his Parliament.
[The “Memoirs of General Dumouriez,” vol. i., page 142,
contain some curious particulars about Madame Du Barry;
and novel details respecting her will be found at page 243 of
“Curiosites Historiques,” by J. A. Le Rol (Paris, Plon,
1864). His investigations lead to the result that her real
name was Jean Becu, born, 19th August, 1743, at
Vaucouleurs, the natural daughter of Anne Becu, otherwise
known as “Quantiny.” Her mother afterwards married
Nicolas Rancon. Comte Jean du Barry met her among the
demi-monde, and succeeded, about 1767, and by the help of
his friend Label, the valet de chambre of Louis XV., in
introducing her to the King under the name of Mademoiselle
l’Ange. To be formally mistress, a husband had to be found.
The Comte Jean du Barry, already married himself, found
no difficulty in getting his brother, Comte Guillaume, a poor
officer of the marine troops, to accept the post of husband.
In the marriage-contract, signed on 23d July, 1768, she was
described as “the daughter of Anne Becu and of an
imaginary first husband, Sieur Jean Jacques Gomard de
Vaubernier,” and three years were taken off her age. The
marriage-contract was so drawn as to leave Madame du
Page 58
Barry entirely free from all control by her husband. The
marriage was solemnised on 1st September, 1768, after
which the nominal husband returned to Toulouse. Madame
du Barry in later years provided for him; and in 1772, tired
of his applications, she obtained an act of separation from
him. He married later Jeanne Madeleine Lemoine, and died
in 1811. Madame du Barry took care of her mother, who
figured as Madame de Montrable. In all, she received from
the King, M. Le Roi calculates, about twelve and a half
millions of livres. On the death of Louis XV. she had to retire
first to the Abbey of Pont-aux-Dames, near Meaux, then she
was allowed to go to her small house at St. Vrain, near
Arpajon, and, finally, in 1775, to her chateau at
Louveciennes. Much to her credit be it said, she retained
many of her friends, and was on the most intimate terms till
his death with the Duc de Brissac (Louis Hercule Timoldon
de Cosse-Brissac), who was killed at Versailles in the
massacre of the prisoners in September, 1792, leaving at his
death a large legacy to her. Even the Emperor Joseph visited
her. In 1791 many of her jewels were stolen and taken to
England. This caused her to make several visits to that
country, where she gained her suit. But these visits, though
she took every precaution to legalise them, ruined her.
Betrayed by her servants, among them by Zamor, the negro
page, she was brought before the Revolutionary tribunal,
and was guillotined on 8th December, 1793, in a frenzy of
terror, calling for mercy and for delay up to the moment
when her head fell.]
The men of ambition who were labouring to overthrow the Duc de
Choiseul strengthened themselves by their concentration at the house of the
favourite, and succeeded in their project. The bigots, who never forgave that
minister the suppression of the Jesuits, and who had always been hostile to
a treaty of alliance with Austria, influenced the minds of Mesdames. The
Duc de La Vauguyon, the young Dauphin’s governor, infected them with
the same prejudices.
marriage was solemnised on 1st September, 1768, after
which the nominal husband returned to Toulouse. Madame
du Barry in later years provided for him; and in 1772, tired
of his applications, she obtained an act of separation from
him. He married later Jeanne Madeleine Lemoine, and died
in 1811. Madame du Barry took care of her mother, who
figured as Madame de Montrable. In all, she received from
the King, M. Le Roi calculates, about twelve and a half
millions of livres. On the death of Louis XV. she had to retire
first to the Abbey of Pont-aux-Dames, near Meaux, then she
was allowed to go to her small house at St. Vrain, near
Arpajon, and, finally, in 1775, to her chateau at
Louveciennes. Much to her credit be it said, she retained
many of her friends, and was on the most intimate terms till
his death with the Duc de Brissac (Louis Hercule Timoldon
de Cosse-Brissac), who was killed at Versailles in the
massacre of the prisoners in September, 1792, leaving at his
death a large legacy to her. Even the Emperor Joseph visited
her. In 1791 many of her jewels were stolen and taken to
England. This caused her to make several visits to that
country, where she gained her suit. But these visits, though
she took every precaution to legalise them, ruined her.
Betrayed by her servants, among them by Zamor, the negro
page, she was brought before the Revolutionary tribunal,
and was guillotined on 8th December, 1793, in a frenzy of
terror, calling for mercy and for delay up to the moment
when her head fell.]
The men of ambition who were labouring to overthrow the Duc de
Choiseul strengthened themselves by their concentration at the house of the
favourite, and succeeded in their project. The bigots, who never forgave that
minister the suppression of the Jesuits, and who had always been hostile to
a treaty of alliance with Austria, influenced the minds of Mesdames. The
Duc de La Vauguyon, the young Dauphin’s governor, infected them with
the same prejudices.
Page 59
Such was the state of the public mind when the young Archduchess
Marie Antoinette arrived at the Court of Versailles, just at the moment when
the party which brought her there was about to be overthrown.
Madame Adelaide openly avowed her dislike to a princess of the House
of Austria; and when M. Campan, my father-in-law, went to receive his
orders, at the moment of setting off with the household of the Dauphiness,
to go and receive the Archduchess upon the frontiers, she said she
disapproved of the marriage of her nephew with an archduchess; and that, if
she had the direction of the matter, she would not send for an Austrian.
Marie Antoinette arrived at the Court of Versailles, just at the moment when
the party which brought her there was about to be overthrown.
Madame Adelaide openly avowed her dislike to a princess of the House
of Austria; and when M. Campan, my father-in-law, went to receive his
orders, at the moment of setting off with the household of the Dauphiness,
to go and receive the Archduchess upon the frontiers, she said she
disapproved of the marriage of her nephew with an archduchess; and that, if
she had the direction of the matter, she would not send for an Austrian.
Page 60
CHAPTER II.
MARIE ANTOINETTE JOSEPHE JEANNE DE LORRAINE,
Archduchess of Austria, daughter of Francois de Lorraine and of Maria
Theresa, was born on the 2d of November, 1755, the day of the earthquake
at Lisbon; and this catastrophe, which appeared to stamp the era of her birth
with a fatal mark, without forming a motive for superstitious fear with the
Princess, nevertheless made an impression upon her mind. As the Empress
already had a great number of daughters, she ardently desired to have
another son, and playfully wagered against her wish with the Duc de
Tarouka, who had insisted that she would give birth to an archduke. He lost
by the birth of the Princess, and had executed in porcelain a figure with one
knee bent on the earth, and presenting tablets, upon which the following
lines by Metastasio were engraved:
I lose by your fair daughter’s birth
Who prophesied a son;
But if she share her mother’s worth,
Why, all the world has won!
The Queen was fond of talking of the first years of her youth. Her father,
the Emperor Francis, had made a deep impression upon her heart; she lost
him when she was scarcely seven years old. One of those circumstances
which fix themselves strongly in the memories of children frequently
recalled his last caresses to her. The Emperor was setting out for Innspruck;
he had already left his palace, when he ordered a gentleman to fetch the
Archduchess Marie Antoinette, and bring her to his carriage. When she
came, he stretched out his arms to receive her, and said, after having
pressed her to his bosom, “I wanted to embrace this child once more.” The
Emperor died suddenly during the journey, and never saw his beloved
daughter again.
MARIE ANTOINETTE JOSEPHE JEANNE DE LORRAINE,
Archduchess of Austria, daughter of Francois de Lorraine and of Maria
Theresa, was born on the 2d of November, 1755, the day of the earthquake
at Lisbon; and this catastrophe, which appeared to stamp the era of her birth
with a fatal mark, without forming a motive for superstitious fear with the
Princess, nevertheless made an impression upon her mind. As the Empress
already had a great number of daughters, she ardently desired to have
another son, and playfully wagered against her wish with the Duc de
Tarouka, who had insisted that she would give birth to an archduke. He lost
by the birth of the Princess, and had executed in porcelain a figure with one
knee bent on the earth, and presenting tablets, upon which the following
lines by Metastasio were engraved:
I lose by your fair daughter’s birth
Who prophesied a son;
But if she share her mother’s worth,
Why, all the world has won!
The Queen was fond of talking of the first years of her youth. Her father,
the Emperor Francis, had made a deep impression upon her heart; she lost
him when she was scarcely seven years old. One of those circumstances
which fix themselves strongly in the memories of children frequently
recalled his last caresses to her. The Emperor was setting out for Innspruck;
he had already left his palace, when he ordered a gentleman to fetch the
Archduchess Marie Antoinette, and bring her to his carriage. When she
came, he stretched out his arms to receive her, and said, after having
pressed her to his bosom, “I wanted to embrace this child once more.” The
Emperor died suddenly during the journey, and never saw his beloved
daughter again.
Page 61
The Queen often spoke of her mother, and with profound respect, but she
based all her schemes for the education of her children on the essentials
which had been neglected in her own. Maria Theresa, who inspired awe by
her great qualities, taught the Archduchesses to fear and respect rather than
to love her; at least I observed this in the Queen’s feelings towards her
august mother. She therefore never desired to place between her own
children and herself that distance which had existed in the imperial family.
She cited a fatal consequence of it, which had made such a powerful
impression upon her that time had never been able to efface it.
The wife of the Emperor Joseph II. was taken from him in a few days by
an attack of smallpox of the most virulent kind. Her coffin had recently
been deposited in the vault of the imperial family. The Archduchess
Josepha, who had been betrothed to the King of Naples, at the instant she
was quitting Vienna received an order from the Empress not to set off
without having offered up a prayer in the vault of her forefathers. The
Archduchess, persuaded that she should take the disorder to which her
sister-in-law had just fallen a victim, looked upon this order as her death-
warrant. She loved the young Archduchess Marie Antoinette tenderly; she
took her upon her knees, embraced her with tears, and told her she was
about to leave her, not for Naples, but never to see her again; that she was
going down then to the tomb of her ancestors, and that she should shortly
go again there to remain. Her anticipation was realised; confluent smallpox
carried her off in a very few days, and her youngest sister ascended the
throne of Naples in her place.
The Empress was too much taken up with high political interests to have
it in her power to devote herself to maternal attentions. The celebrated
Wansvietten, her physician, went daily, to visit the young imperial family,
and afterwards to Maria Theresa, and gave the most minute details
respecting the health of the Archdukes and Archduchesses, whom she
herself sometimes did not see for eight or ten days at a time. As soon as the
arrival of a stranger of rank at Vienna was made known, the Empress
brought her family about her, admitted them to her table, and by this
concerted meeting induced a belief that she herself presided over the
education of her children.
The chief governesses, being under no fear of inspection from Maria
Theresa, aimed at making themselves beloved by their pupils by the
based all her schemes for the education of her children on the essentials
which had been neglected in her own. Maria Theresa, who inspired awe by
her great qualities, taught the Archduchesses to fear and respect rather than
to love her; at least I observed this in the Queen’s feelings towards her
august mother. She therefore never desired to place between her own
children and herself that distance which had existed in the imperial family.
She cited a fatal consequence of it, which had made such a powerful
impression upon her that time had never been able to efface it.
The wife of the Emperor Joseph II. was taken from him in a few days by
an attack of smallpox of the most virulent kind. Her coffin had recently
been deposited in the vault of the imperial family. The Archduchess
Josepha, who had been betrothed to the King of Naples, at the instant she
was quitting Vienna received an order from the Empress not to set off
without having offered up a prayer in the vault of her forefathers. The
Archduchess, persuaded that she should take the disorder to which her
sister-in-law had just fallen a victim, looked upon this order as her death-
warrant. She loved the young Archduchess Marie Antoinette tenderly; she
took her upon her knees, embraced her with tears, and told her she was
about to leave her, not for Naples, but never to see her again; that she was
going down then to the tomb of her ancestors, and that she should shortly
go again there to remain. Her anticipation was realised; confluent smallpox
carried her off in a very few days, and her youngest sister ascended the
throne of Naples in her place.
The Empress was too much taken up with high political interests to have
it in her power to devote herself to maternal attentions. The celebrated
Wansvietten, her physician, went daily, to visit the young imperial family,
and afterwards to Maria Theresa, and gave the most minute details
respecting the health of the Archdukes and Archduchesses, whom she
herself sometimes did not see for eight or ten days at a time. As soon as the
arrival of a stranger of rank at Vienna was made known, the Empress
brought her family about her, admitted them to her table, and by this
concerted meeting induced a belief that she herself presided over the
education of her children.
The chief governesses, being under no fear of inspection from Maria
Theresa, aimed at making themselves beloved by their pupils by the
Page 62
common and blamable practice of indulgence, so fatal to the future progress
and happiness of children. Marie Antoinette was the cause of her governess
being dismissed, through a confession that all her copies and all her letters
were invariably first traced out with pencil; the Comtesse de Brandes was
appointed to succeed her, and fulfilled her duties with great exactness and
talent. The Queen looked upon having been confided to her care so late as a
misfortune, and always continued upon terms of friendship with that lady.
The education of Marie Antoinette was certainly very much neglected. With
the exception of the Italian language, all that related to belles lettres, and
particularly to history, even that of her own country, was almost entirely
unknown to her. This was soon found out at the Court of France, and thence
arose the generally received opinion that she was deficient in sense. It will
be seen in the course of these “Memoirs” whether that opinion was well or
ill founded. The public prints, however, teemed with assertions of the
superior talents of Maria Theresa’s children. They often noticed the answers
which the young Princesses gave in Latin to the harangues addressed to
them; they uttered them, it is true, but without understanding them; they
knew not a single word of that language.
Mention was one day made to the Queen of a drawing made by her, and
presented by the Empress to M. Gerard, chief clerk of Foreign Affairs, on
the occasion of his going to Vienna to draw up the articles for her marriage-
contract. “I should blush,” said she, “if that proof of the quackery of my
education were shown to me. I do not believe that I ever put a pencil to that
drawing.” However, what had been taught her she knew perfectly well. Her
facility of learning was inconceivable, and if all her teachers had been as
well informed and as faithful to their duty as the Abbe Metastasio, who
taught her Italian, she would have attained as great a superiority in the other
branches of her education. The Queen spoke that language with grace and
ease, and translated the most difficult poets. She did not write French
correctly, but she spoke it with the greatest fluency, and even affected to say
that she had lost German. In fact she attempted in 1787 to learn her mother-
tongue, and took lessons assiduously for six weeks; she was obliged to
relinquish them, finding all the difficulties which a Frenchwoman, who
should take up the study too late, would have to encounter. In the same
manner she gave up English, which I had taught her for some time, and in
which she had made rapid progress. Music was the accomplishment in
which the Queen most delighted. She did not play well on any instrument,
and happiness of children. Marie Antoinette was the cause of her governess
being dismissed, through a confession that all her copies and all her letters
were invariably first traced out with pencil; the Comtesse de Brandes was
appointed to succeed her, and fulfilled her duties with great exactness and
talent. The Queen looked upon having been confided to her care so late as a
misfortune, and always continued upon terms of friendship with that lady.
The education of Marie Antoinette was certainly very much neglected. With
the exception of the Italian language, all that related to belles lettres, and
particularly to history, even that of her own country, was almost entirely
unknown to her. This was soon found out at the Court of France, and thence
arose the generally received opinion that she was deficient in sense. It will
be seen in the course of these “Memoirs” whether that opinion was well or
ill founded. The public prints, however, teemed with assertions of the
superior talents of Maria Theresa’s children. They often noticed the answers
which the young Princesses gave in Latin to the harangues addressed to
them; they uttered them, it is true, but without understanding them; they
knew not a single word of that language.
Mention was one day made to the Queen of a drawing made by her, and
presented by the Empress to M. Gerard, chief clerk of Foreign Affairs, on
the occasion of his going to Vienna to draw up the articles for her marriage-
contract. “I should blush,” said she, “if that proof of the quackery of my
education were shown to me. I do not believe that I ever put a pencil to that
drawing.” However, what had been taught her she knew perfectly well. Her
facility of learning was inconceivable, and if all her teachers had been as
well informed and as faithful to their duty as the Abbe Metastasio, who
taught her Italian, she would have attained as great a superiority in the other
branches of her education. The Queen spoke that language with grace and
ease, and translated the most difficult poets. She did not write French
correctly, but she spoke it with the greatest fluency, and even affected to say
that she had lost German. In fact she attempted in 1787 to learn her mother-
tongue, and took lessons assiduously for six weeks; she was obliged to
relinquish them, finding all the difficulties which a Frenchwoman, who
should take up the study too late, would have to encounter. In the same
manner she gave up English, which I had taught her for some time, and in
which she had made rapid progress. Music was the accomplishment in
which the Queen most delighted. She did not play well on any instrument,
Page 63
but she had become able to read at sight like a first-rate professor. She
attained this degree of perfection in France, this branch of her education
having been neglected at Vienna as much as the rest. A few days after her
arrival at Versailles, she was introduced to her singing-master, La Garde,
author of the opera of “Egle.” She made a distant appointment with him,
needing, as she said, rest after the fatigues of the journey and the numerous
fetes which had taken place at Versailles; but her motive was her desire to
conceal how ignorant she was of the rudiments of music. She asked M.
Campan whether his son, who was a good musician, could give her lessons
secretly for three months. “The Dauphiness,” added she, smiling, “must be
careful of the reputation of the Archduchess.” The lessons were given
privately, and at the end of three months of constant application she sent for
M. la Garde, and surprised him by her skill.
The desire to perfect Marie Antoinette in the study of the French
language was probably the motive which determined Maria Theresa to
provide for her as teachers two French actors: Aufresne, for pronunciation
and declamation, and Sainville, for taste in French singing; the latter had
been an officer in France, and bore a bad character. The choice gave just
umbrage to our Court. The Marquis de Durfort, at that time ambassador at
Vienna, was ordered to make a representation to the Empress upon her
selection. The two actors were dismissed, and the Princess required that an
ecclesiastic should be sent to her. Several eminent ecclesiastics declined
taking upon themselves so delicate an office; others who were pointed out
by Maria Theresa (among the rest the Abbe Grisel) belonged to parties
which sufficed to exclude them.
The Archbishop of Toulouse one day went to the Duc de Choiseul at the
moment when he was much embarrassed upon the subject of this
nomination; he proposed to him the Abby de Vermond, librarian of the
College des Quatre Nations. The eulogistic manner in which he spoke of his
protege procured the appointment for the latter on that very day; and the
gratitude of the Abbe de Vermond towards the prelate was very fatal to
France, inasmuch as after seventeen years of persevering attempts to bring
him into the ministry, he succeeded at last in getting him named
Comptroller-General and President of the Council.—[Comte de Brienne,
later Archbishop of Sens.]
attained this degree of perfection in France, this branch of her education
having been neglected at Vienna as much as the rest. A few days after her
arrival at Versailles, she was introduced to her singing-master, La Garde,
author of the opera of “Egle.” She made a distant appointment with him,
needing, as she said, rest after the fatigues of the journey and the numerous
fetes which had taken place at Versailles; but her motive was her desire to
conceal how ignorant she was of the rudiments of music. She asked M.
Campan whether his son, who was a good musician, could give her lessons
secretly for three months. “The Dauphiness,” added she, smiling, “must be
careful of the reputation of the Archduchess.” The lessons were given
privately, and at the end of three months of constant application she sent for
M. la Garde, and surprised him by her skill.
The desire to perfect Marie Antoinette in the study of the French
language was probably the motive which determined Maria Theresa to
provide for her as teachers two French actors: Aufresne, for pronunciation
and declamation, and Sainville, for taste in French singing; the latter had
been an officer in France, and bore a bad character. The choice gave just
umbrage to our Court. The Marquis de Durfort, at that time ambassador at
Vienna, was ordered to make a representation to the Empress upon her
selection. The two actors were dismissed, and the Princess required that an
ecclesiastic should be sent to her. Several eminent ecclesiastics declined
taking upon themselves so delicate an office; others who were pointed out
by Maria Theresa (among the rest the Abbe Grisel) belonged to parties
which sufficed to exclude them.
The Archbishop of Toulouse one day went to the Duc de Choiseul at the
moment when he was much embarrassed upon the subject of this
nomination; he proposed to him the Abby de Vermond, librarian of the
College des Quatre Nations. The eulogistic manner in which he spoke of his
protege procured the appointment for the latter on that very day; and the
gratitude of the Abbe de Vermond towards the prelate was very fatal to
France, inasmuch as after seventeen years of persevering attempts to bring
him into the ministry, he succeeded at last in getting him named
Comptroller-General and President of the Council.—[Comte de Brienne,
later Archbishop of Sens.]
Page 64
This Abbe de Vermond directed almost all the Queen’s actions. He
established his influence over her at an age when impressions are most
durable; and it was easy to see that he had taken pains only to render
himself beloved by his pupil, and had troubled himself very little with the
care of instructing her. He might have even been accused of having, by a
sharp-sighted though culpable policy, purposely left her in ignorance. Marie
Antoinette spoke the French language with much grace, but wrote it less
perfectly. The Abbe de Vermond revised all the letters which she sent to
Vienna. The insupportable folly with which he boasted of it displayed the
character of a man more flattered at being admitted into her intimate secrets
than anxious to fulfil worthily the high office of her preceptor.
[The Abbe de Vermond encouraged the impatience of
etiquette shown by Marie Antoinette while she was
Dauphiness. When she became Queen he endeavoured
openly to induce her to shake off the restraints she still
respected. If he chanced to enter her apartment at the time
she was preparing to go out, “For whom,” he would say, in
a tone of raillery, “is this detachment of warriors which I
found in the court? Is it some general going to inspect his
army? Does all this military display become a young Queen
adored by her subjects?” He would call to her mind the
simplicity with which Maria Theresa lived; the visits she
made without guards, or even attendants, to the Prince
d’Esterhazy, to the Comte de Palfi, passing whole days far
from the fatiguing ceremonies of the Court. The Abbe thus
artfully flattered the inclinations of Marie Antoinette, and
showed her how she might disguise, even from herself, her
aversion for the ceremonies observed by the descendants of
Louis XIV.-MADAME CAMPAN.]
His pride received its birth at Vienna, where Maria Theresa, as much to
give him authority with the Archduchess as to make herself acquainted with
his character, permitted him to mix every evening with the private circle of
her family, into which the future Dauphiness had been admitted for some
time. Joseph II., the elder Archduchess, and a few noblemen honoured by
the confidence of Maria Theresa, composed the party; and reflections on the
established his influence over her at an age when impressions are most
durable; and it was easy to see that he had taken pains only to render
himself beloved by his pupil, and had troubled himself very little with the
care of instructing her. He might have even been accused of having, by a
sharp-sighted though culpable policy, purposely left her in ignorance. Marie
Antoinette spoke the French language with much grace, but wrote it less
perfectly. The Abbe de Vermond revised all the letters which she sent to
Vienna. The insupportable folly with which he boasted of it displayed the
character of a man more flattered at being admitted into her intimate secrets
than anxious to fulfil worthily the high office of her preceptor.
[The Abbe de Vermond encouraged the impatience of
etiquette shown by Marie Antoinette while she was
Dauphiness. When she became Queen he endeavoured
openly to induce her to shake off the restraints she still
respected. If he chanced to enter her apartment at the time
she was preparing to go out, “For whom,” he would say, in
a tone of raillery, “is this detachment of warriors which I
found in the court? Is it some general going to inspect his
army? Does all this military display become a young Queen
adored by her subjects?” He would call to her mind the
simplicity with which Maria Theresa lived; the visits she
made without guards, or even attendants, to the Prince
d’Esterhazy, to the Comte de Palfi, passing whole days far
from the fatiguing ceremonies of the Court. The Abbe thus
artfully flattered the inclinations of Marie Antoinette, and
showed her how she might disguise, even from herself, her
aversion for the ceremonies observed by the descendants of
Louis XIV.-MADAME CAMPAN.]
His pride received its birth at Vienna, where Maria Theresa, as much to
give him authority with the Archduchess as to make herself acquainted with
his character, permitted him to mix every evening with the private circle of
her family, into which the future Dauphiness had been admitted for some
time. Joseph II., the elder Archduchess, and a few noblemen honoured by
the confidence of Maria Theresa, composed the party; and reflections on the
Page 65
world, on courts, and the duties of princes were the usual topics of
conversation. The Abbe de Vermond, in relating these particulars, confessed
the means which he had made use of to gain admission into this private
circle. The Empress, meeting him at the Archduchess’s, asked him if he had
formed any connections in Vienna. “None, Madame,” replied he; “the
apartment of the Archduchess and the hotel of the ambassador of France are
the only places which the man honoured with the care of the Princess’s
education should frequent.” A month afterwards Maria Theresa, through a
habit common enough among sovereigns, asked him the same question, and
received precisely the same answer. The next day he received an order to
join the imperial family every evening.
It is extremely probable, from the constant and well-known intercourse
between this man and Comte de Mercy, ambassador of the Empire during
the whole reign of Louis XVI., that he was useful to the Court of Vienna,
and that he often caused the Queen to decide on measures, the
consequences of which she did not consider. Not of high birth, imbued with
all the principles of the modern philosophy, and yet holding to the hierarchy
of the Church more tenaciously than any other ecclesiastic; vain, talkative,
and at the same time cunning and abrupt; very ugly and affecting
singularity; treating the most exalted persons as his equals, sometimes even
as his inferiors, the Abbe de Vermond received ministers and bishops when
in his bath; but said at the same time that Cardinal Dubois was a fool; that a
man such as he, having obtained power, ought to make cardinals, and refuse
to be one himself.
Intoxicated with the reception he had met with at the Court of Vienna,
and having till then seen nothing of high life, the Abbe de Vermond admired
no other customs than those of the imperial family; he ridiculed the
etiquette of the House of Bourbon incessantly; the young Dauphiness was
constantly incited by his sarcasms to get rid of it, and it was he who first
induced her to suppress an infinity of practices of which he could discern
neither the prudence nor the political aim. Such is the faithful portrait of
that man whom the evil star of Marie Antoinette had reserved to guide her
first steps upon a stage so conspicuous and so full of danger as that of the
Court of Versailles.
It will be thought, perhaps, that I draw the character of the Abbe de
Vermond too unfavourably; but how can I view with any complacency one
conversation. The Abbe de Vermond, in relating these particulars, confessed
the means which he had made use of to gain admission into this private
circle. The Empress, meeting him at the Archduchess’s, asked him if he had
formed any connections in Vienna. “None, Madame,” replied he; “the
apartment of the Archduchess and the hotel of the ambassador of France are
the only places which the man honoured with the care of the Princess’s
education should frequent.” A month afterwards Maria Theresa, through a
habit common enough among sovereigns, asked him the same question, and
received precisely the same answer. The next day he received an order to
join the imperial family every evening.
It is extremely probable, from the constant and well-known intercourse
between this man and Comte de Mercy, ambassador of the Empire during
the whole reign of Louis XVI., that he was useful to the Court of Vienna,
and that he often caused the Queen to decide on measures, the
consequences of which she did not consider. Not of high birth, imbued with
all the principles of the modern philosophy, and yet holding to the hierarchy
of the Church more tenaciously than any other ecclesiastic; vain, talkative,
and at the same time cunning and abrupt; very ugly and affecting
singularity; treating the most exalted persons as his equals, sometimes even
as his inferiors, the Abbe de Vermond received ministers and bishops when
in his bath; but said at the same time that Cardinal Dubois was a fool; that a
man such as he, having obtained power, ought to make cardinals, and refuse
to be one himself.
Intoxicated with the reception he had met with at the Court of Vienna,
and having till then seen nothing of high life, the Abbe de Vermond admired
no other customs than those of the imperial family; he ridiculed the
etiquette of the House of Bourbon incessantly; the young Dauphiness was
constantly incited by his sarcasms to get rid of it, and it was he who first
induced her to suppress an infinity of practices of which he could discern
neither the prudence nor the political aim. Such is the faithful portrait of
that man whom the evil star of Marie Antoinette had reserved to guide her
first steps upon a stage so conspicuous and so full of danger as that of the
Court of Versailles.
It will be thought, perhaps, that I draw the character of the Abbe de
Vermond too unfavourably; but how can I view with any complacency one
Page 66
who, after having arrogated to himself the office of confidant and sole
counsellor of the Queen, guided her with so little prudence, and gave us the
mortification of seeing that Princess blend, with qualities which charmed all
that surrounded her, errors alike injurious to her glory and her happiness?
While M. de Choiseul, satisfied with the person whom M. de Brienne had
presented, despatched him to Vienna with every eulogium calculated to
inspire unbounded confidence, the Marquis de Durfort sent off a hairdresser
and a few French fashions; and then it was thought sufficient pains had
been taken to form the character of a princess destined to share the throne
of France.
The marriage of Monseigneur the Dauphin with the Archduchess was
determined upon during the administration of the Duc de Choiseul. The
Marquis de Durfort, who was to succeed the Baron de Breteuil in the
embassy to Vienna, was appointed proxy for the marriage ceremony; but six
months after the Dauphin’s marriage the Duc de Choiseul was disgraced,
and Madame de Marsan and Madame de Guemenee, who grew more
powerful through the Duke’s disgrace, conferred that embassy, upon Prince
Louis de Rohan, afterwards cardinal and grand almoner.
Hence it will be seen that the Gazette de France is a sufficient answer to
those libellers who dared to assert that the young Archduchess was
acquainted with the Cardinal de Rohan before the period of her marriage. A
worse selection in itself, or one more disagreeable to Maria Theresa, than
that which sent to her, in quality, of ambassador, a man so frivolous and so
immoral as Prince Louis de Rohan, could not have been made. He
possessed but superficial knowledge upon any subject, and was totally
ignorant of diplomatic affairs. His reputation had gone before him to
Vienna, and his mission opened under the most unfavourable auspices. In
want of money, and the House of Rohan being unable to make him any
considerable advances, he obtained from his Court a patent which
authorised him to borrow the sum of 600,000 livres upon his benefices, ran
in debt above a million, and thought to dazzle the city and Court of Vienna
by the most indecent and ill-judged extravagance. He formed a suite of
eight or ten gentlemen, of names sufficiently high-sounding; twelve pages
equally well born, a crowd of officers and servants, a company of chamber
musicians, etc. But this idle pomp did not last; embarrassment and distress
soon showed themselves; his people, no longer receiving pay, in order to
counsellor of the Queen, guided her with so little prudence, and gave us the
mortification of seeing that Princess blend, with qualities which charmed all
that surrounded her, errors alike injurious to her glory and her happiness?
While M. de Choiseul, satisfied with the person whom M. de Brienne had
presented, despatched him to Vienna with every eulogium calculated to
inspire unbounded confidence, the Marquis de Durfort sent off a hairdresser
and a few French fashions; and then it was thought sufficient pains had
been taken to form the character of a princess destined to share the throne
of France.
The marriage of Monseigneur the Dauphin with the Archduchess was
determined upon during the administration of the Duc de Choiseul. The
Marquis de Durfort, who was to succeed the Baron de Breteuil in the
embassy to Vienna, was appointed proxy for the marriage ceremony; but six
months after the Dauphin’s marriage the Duc de Choiseul was disgraced,
and Madame de Marsan and Madame de Guemenee, who grew more
powerful through the Duke’s disgrace, conferred that embassy, upon Prince
Louis de Rohan, afterwards cardinal and grand almoner.
Hence it will be seen that the Gazette de France is a sufficient answer to
those libellers who dared to assert that the young Archduchess was
acquainted with the Cardinal de Rohan before the period of her marriage. A
worse selection in itself, or one more disagreeable to Maria Theresa, than
that which sent to her, in quality, of ambassador, a man so frivolous and so
immoral as Prince Louis de Rohan, could not have been made. He
possessed but superficial knowledge upon any subject, and was totally
ignorant of diplomatic affairs. His reputation had gone before him to
Vienna, and his mission opened under the most unfavourable auspices. In
want of money, and the House of Rohan being unable to make him any
considerable advances, he obtained from his Court a patent which
authorised him to borrow the sum of 600,000 livres upon his benefices, ran
in debt above a million, and thought to dazzle the city and Court of Vienna
by the most indecent and ill-judged extravagance. He formed a suite of
eight or ten gentlemen, of names sufficiently high-sounding; twelve pages
equally well born, a crowd of officers and servants, a company of chamber
musicians, etc. But this idle pomp did not last; embarrassment and distress
soon showed themselves; his people, no longer receiving pay, in order to
Page 67
make money, abused the privileges of ambassadors, and smuggled with so
much effrontery that Maria Theresa, to put a stop to it without offending the
Court of France, was compelled to suppress the privileges in this respect of
all the diplomatic bodies, a step which rendered the person and conduct of
Prince Louis odious in every foreign Court.
[I have often heard the Queen say that, at Vienna, in the
office of the secretary of the Prince de Rohan, there were
sold in one year more silk stockings than at Lyons and Paris
together.—MADAME CAMPAN.]
He seldom obtained private audiences from the Empress, who did not
esteem him, and who expressed herself without reserve upon his conduct
both as a bishop and as an ambassador. He thought to obtain favour by
assisting to effect the marriage of the Archduchess Elizabeth, the elder sister
of Marie Antoinette, with Louis XV., an affair which was awkwardly
undertaken, and of which Madame du Barry had no difficulty in causing the
failure. I have deemed it my duty to omit no particular of the moral and
political character of a man whose existence was subsequently so injurious
to the reputation of Marie Antoinette.
much effrontery that Maria Theresa, to put a stop to it without offending the
Court of France, was compelled to suppress the privileges in this respect of
all the diplomatic bodies, a step which rendered the person and conduct of
Prince Louis odious in every foreign Court.
[I have often heard the Queen say that, at Vienna, in the
office of the secretary of the Prince de Rohan, there were
sold in one year more silk stockings than at Lyons and Paris
together.—MADAME CAMPAN.]
He seldom obtained private audiences from the Empress, who did not
esteem him, and who expressed herself without reserve upon his conduct
both as a bishop and as an ambassador. He thought to obtain favour by
assisting to effect the marriage of the Archduchess Elizabeth, the elder sister
of Marie Antoinette, with Louis XV., an affair which was awkwardly
undertaken, and of which Madame du Barry had no difficulty in causing the
failure. I have deemed it my duty to omit no particular of the moral and
political character of a man whose existence was subsequently so injurious
to the reputation of Marie Antoinette.
Page 68
CHAPTER III.
A superb pavilion had been prepared upon the frontier near Kehl. It
consisted of a vast salon, connected with two apartments, one of which was
assigned to the lords and ladies of the Court of Vienna, and the other to the
suite of the Dauphiness, composed of the Comtesse de Noailles, her lady of
honour; the Duchesse de Cosse, her dame d’atours; four ladies of the
palace; the Comte de Saulx-Tavannes, chevalier d’honneur; the Comte de
Tesse, first equerry; the Bishop of Chartres, first almoner; the officers of the
Body Guard, and the equerries.
When the Dauphiness had been entirely undressed, in order that she
might retain nothing belonging to a foreign Court (an etiquette always
observed on such an occasion), the doors were opened; the young Princess
came forward, looking round for the Comtesse de Noailles; then, rushing
into her arms, she implored her, with tears in her eyes, and with heartfelt
sincerity, to be her guide and support.
While doing justice to the virtues of the Comtesse de Noailles, those
sincerely attached to the Queen have always considered it as one of her
earliest misfortunes not to have found, in the person of her adviser, a
woman indulgent, enlightened, and administering good advice with that
amiability which disposes young persons to follow it. The Comtesse de
Noailles had nothing agreeable in her appearance; her demeanour was stiff
and her mien severe. She was perfect mistress of etiquette; but she wearied
the young Princess with it, without making her sensible of its importance. It
would have been sufficient to represent to the Dauphiness that in France her
dignity depended much upon customs not necessary at Vienna to secure the
respect and love of the good and submissive Austrians for the imperial
family; but the Dauphiness was perpetually tormented by the remonstrances
of the Comtesse de Noailles, and at the same time was led by the Abbe de
Vermond to ridicule both the lessons upon etiquette and her who gave them.
She preferred raillery to argument, and nicknamed the Comtesse de
Noailles Madame l’Etiquette.
A superb pavilion had been prepared upon the frontier near Kehl. It
consisted of a vast salon, connected with two apartments, one of which was
assigned to the lords and ladies of the Court of Vienna, and the other to the
suite of the Dauphiness, composed of the Comtesse de Noailles, her lady of
honour; the Duchesse de Cosse, her dame d’atours; four ladies of the
palace; the Comte de Saulx-Tavannes, chevalier d’honneur; the Comte de
Tesse, first equerry; the Bishop of Chartres, first almoner; the officers of the
Body Guard, and the equerries.
When the Dauphiness had been entirely undressed, in order that she
might retain nothing belonging to a foreign Court (an etiquette always
observed on such an occasion), the doors were opened; the young Princess
came forward, looking round for the Comtesse de Noailles; then, rushing
into her arms, she implored her, with tears in her eyes, and with heartfelt
sincerity, to be her guide and support.
While doing justice to the virtues of the Comtesse de Noailles, those
sincerely attached to the Queen have always considered it as one of her
earliest misfortunes not to have found, in the person of her adviser, a
woman indulgent, enlightened, and administering good advice with that
amiability which disposes young persons to follow it. The Comtesse de
Noailles had nothing agreeable in her appearance; her demeanour was stiff
and her mien severe. She was perfect mistress of etiquette; but she wearied
the young Princess with it, without making her sensible of its importance. It
would have been sufficient to represent to the Dauphiness that in France her
dignity depended much upon customs not necessary at Vienna to secure the
respect and love of the good and submissive Austrians for the imperial
family; but the Dauphiness was perpetually tormented by the remonstrances
of the Comtesse de Noailles, and at the same time was led by the Abbe de
Vermond to ridicule both the lessons upon etiquette and her who gave them.
She preferred raillery to argument, and nicknamed the Comtesse de
Noailles Madame l’Etiquette.
Page 69
The fetes which were given at Versailles on the marriage of the Dauphin
were very splendid. The Dauphiness arrived there at the hour for her toilet,
having slept at La Muette, where Louis XV. had been to receive her; and
where that Prince, blinded by a feeling unworthy of a sovereign and the
father of a family, caused the young Princess, the royal family, and the
ladies of the Court, to sit down to supper with Madame du Barry.
The Dauphiness was hurt at this conduct; she spoke of it openly enough
to those with whom she was intimate, but she knew how to conceal her
dissatisfaction in public, and her behaviour showed no signs of it.
She was received at Versailles in an apartment on the ground floor, under
that of the late Queen, which was not ready for her until six months after
her marriage.
The Dauphiness, then fifteen years of age, beaming with freshness,
appeared to all eyes more than beautiful. Her walk partook at once of the
dignity of the Princesses of her house, and of the grace of the French; her
eyes were mild, her smile amiable. When she went to chapel, as soon as she
had taken the first few steps in the long gallery, she discerned, all the way to
its extremity, those persons whom she ought to salute with the consideration
due to their rank; those on whom she should bestow an inclination of the
head; and lastly, those who were to be satisfied with a smile, calculated to
console them for not being entitled to greater honours.
Louis XV. was enchanted with the young Dauphiness; all his
conversation was about her graces, her vivacity, and the aptness of her
repartees. She was yet more successful with the royal family when they
beheld her shorn of the splendour of the diamonds with which she had been
adorned during the first days of her marriage. When clothed in a light dress
of gauze or taffety she was compared to the Venus dei Medici, and the
Atalanta of the Marly Gardens. Poets sang her charms; painters attempted
to copy her features. One artist’s fancy led him to place the portrait of Marie
Antoinette in the heart of a full-blown rose. His ingenious idea was
rewarded by Louis XV.
The King continued to talk only of the Dauphiness; and Madame du
Barry ill-naturedly endeavoured to damp his enthusiasm. Whenever Marie
Antoinette was the topic, she pointed out the irregularity of her features,
criticised the ‘bons mots’ quoted as hers, and rallied the King upon his
prepossession in her favour. Madame du Barry was affronted at not
were very splendid. The Dauphiness arrived there at the hour for her toilet,
having slept at La Muette, where Louis XV. had been to receive her; and
where that Prince, blinded by a feeling unworthy of a sovereign and the
father of a family, caused the young Princess, the royal family, and the
ladies of the Court, to sit down to supper with Madame du Barry.
The Dauphiness was hurt at this conduct; she spoke of it openly enough
to those with whom she was intimate, but she knew how to conceal her
dissatisfaction in public, and her behaviour showed no signs of it.
She was received at Versailles in an apartment on the ground floor, under
that of the late Queen, which was not ready for her until six months after
her marriage.
The Dauphiness, then fifteen years of age, beaming with freshness,
appeared to all eyes more than beautiful. Her walk partook at once of the
dignity of the Princesses of her house, and of the grace of the French; her
eyes were mild, her smile amiable. When she went to chapel, as soon as she
had taken the first few steps in the long gallery, she discerned, all the way to
its extremity, those persons whom she ought to salute with the consideration
due to their rank; those on whom she should bestow an inclination of the
head; and lastly, those who were to be satisfied with a smile, calculated to
console them for not being entitled to greater honours.
Louis XV. was enchanted with the young Dauphiness; all his
conversation was about her graces, her vivacity, and the aptness of her
repartees. She was yet more successful with the royal family when they
beheld her shorn of the splendour of the diamonds with which she had been
adorned during the first days of her marriage. When clothed in a light dress
of gauze or taffety she was compared to the Venus dei Medici, and the
Atalanta of the Marly Gardens. Poets sang her charms; painters attempted
to copy her features. One artist’s fancy led him to place the portrait of Marie
Antoinette in the heart of a full-blown rose. His ingenious idea was
rewarded by Louis XV.
The King continued to talk only of the Dauphiness; and Madame du
Barry ill-naturedly endeavoured to damp his enthusiasm. Whenever Marie
Antoinette was the topic, she pointed out the irregularity of her features,
criticised the ‘bons mots’ quoted as hers, and rallied the King upon his
prepossession in her favour. Madame du Barry was affronted at not
Page 70
receiving from the Dauphiness those attentions to which she thought herself
entitled; she did not conceal her vexation from the King; she was afraid that
the grace and cheerfulness of the young Princess would make the domestic
circle of the royal family more agreeable to the old sovereign, and that he
would escape her chains; at the same time, hatred to the Choiseul party
contributed powerfully to excite the enmity of the favourite.
The fall of that minister took place in November, 1770, six months after
his long influence in the Council had brought about the alliance with the
House of Austria and the arrival of Marie Antoinette at the Court of France.
The Princess, young, frank, volatile, and inexperienced, found herself
without any other guide than the Abbe de Vermond, in a Court ruled by the
enemy of the minister who had brought her there, and in the midst of people
who hated Austria, and detested any alliance with the imperial house.
The Duc d’Aiguillon, the Duc de La Vauguyon, the Marechal de
Richelieu, the Rohans, and other considerable families, who had made use
of Madame du Barry to overthrow the Duke, could not flatter themselves,
notwithstanding their powerful intrigues, with a hope of being able to break
off an alliance solemnly announced, and involving such high political
interests. They therefore changed their mode of attack, and it will be seen
how the conduct of the Dauphin served as a basis for their hopes.
The Dauphiness continually gave proofs of both sense and feeling.
Sometimes she even suffered herself to be carried away by those transports
of compassionate kindness which are not to be controlled by the customs
which rank establishes.
In consequence of the fire in the Place Louis XV., which occurred at the
time of the nuptial entertainments, the Dauphin and Dauphiness sent their,
whole income for the year to the relief of the unfortunate families who lost
their relatives on that disastrous day.
This was one of those ostentatious acts of generosity which are dictated
by the policy of princes, at least as much as by their compassion; but the
grief of Marie Antoinette was profound, and lasted several days; nothing
could console her for the loss of so many innocent victims; she spoke of it,
weeping, to her ladies, one of whom, thinking, no doubt, to divert her mind,
told her that a great number of thieves had been found among the bodies,
and that their pockets were filled with watches and other valuables. “They
have at least been well punished,” added the person who related these
entitled; she did not conceal her vexation from the King; she was afraid that
the grace and cheerfulness of the young Princess would make the domestic
circle of the royal family more agreeable to the old sovereign, and that he
would escape her chains; at the same time, hatred to the Choiseul party
contributed powerfully to excite the enmity of the favourite.
The fall of that minister took place in November, 1770, six months after
his long influence in the Council had brought about the alliance with the
House of Austria and the arrival of Marie Antoinette at the Court of France.
The Princess, young, frank, volatile, and inexperienced, found herself
without any other guide than the Abbe de Vermond, in a Court ruled by the
enemy of the minister who had brought her there, and in the midst of people
who hated Austria, and detested any alliance with the imperial house.
The Duc d’Aiguillon, the Duc de La Vauguyon, the Marechal de
Richelieu, the Rohans, and other considerable families, who had made use
of Madame du Barry to overthrow the Duke, could not flatter themselves,
notwithstanding their powerful intrigues, with a hope of being able to break
off an alliance solemnly announced, and involving such high political
interests. They therefore changed their mode of attack, and it will be seen
how the conduct of the Dauphin served as a basis for their hopes.
The Dauphiness continually gave proofs of both sense and feeling.
Sometimes she even suffered herself to be carried away by those transports
of compassionate kindness which are not to be controlled by the customs
which rank establishes.
In consequence of the fire in the Place Louis XV., which occurred at the
time of the nuptial entertainments, the Dauphin and Dauphiness sent their,
whole income for the year to the relief of the unfortunate families who lost
their relatives on that disastrous day.
This was one of those ostentatious acts of generosity which are dictated
by the policy of princes, at least as much as by their compassion; but the
grief of Marie Antoinette was profound, and lasted several days; nothing
could console her for the loss of so many innocent victims; she spoke of it,
weeping, to her ladies, one of whom, thinking, no doubt, to divert her mind,
told her that a great number of thieves had been found among the bodies,
and that their pockets were filled with watches and other valuables. “They
have at least been well punished,” added the person who related these
Page 71
particulars. “Oh, no, no, madame!” replied the Dauphiness; “they died by
the side of honest people.”
The Dauphiness had brought from Vienna a considerable number of
white diamonds; the King added to them the gift of the diamonds and pearls
of the late Dauphiness, and also put into her hands a collar of pearls, of a
single row, the smallest of which was as large as a filbert, and which had
been brought into France by Anne of Austria, and appropriated by that
Princess to the use of the Queens and Dauphinesses of France.
The three Princesses, daughters of Louis XV., joined in making her
magnificent presents. Madame Adelaide at the same time gave the young
Princess a key to the private corridors of the Chateau, by means of which,
without any suite, and without being perceived, she could get to the
apartments of her aunts, and see them in private. The Dauphiness, on
receiving the key, told them, with infinite grace, that if they had meant to
make her appreciate the superb presents they were kind enough to bestow
upon her, they should not at the same time have offered her one of such
inestimable value; since to that key she should be indebted for an intimacy
and advice unspeakably precious at her age. She did, indeed, make use of it
very frequently; but Madame Victoire alone permitted her, so long as she
continued Dauphiness, to visit her familiarly. Madame Adelaide could not
overcome her prejudices against Austrian princesses, and was wearied with
the somewhat petulant gaiety of the Dauphiness. Madame Victoire was
concerned at this, feeling that their society and counsel would have been
highly useful to a young person otherwise likely to meet with none but
sycophants. She endeavoured, therefore, to induce her to take pleasure in
the society of the Marquise de Durfort, her lady of honour and favourite.
Several agreeable entertainments took place at the house of this lady, but
the Comtesse de Noailles and the Abbe de Vermond soon opposed these
meetings.
A circumstance which happened in hunting, near the village of Acheres,
in the forest of Fontainebleau, afforded the young Princess an opportunity
of displaying her respect for old age, and her compassion for misfortune.
An aged peasant was wounded by the stag; the Dauphiness jumped out of
her calash, placed the peasant, with his wife and children, in it, had the
family taken back to their cottage, and bestowed upon them every attention
and every necessary assistance. Her heart was always open to the feelings
the side of honest people.”
The Dauphiness had brought from Vienna a considerable number of
white diamonds; the King added to them the gift of the diamonds and pearls
of the late Dauphiness, and also put into her hands a collar of pearls, of a
single row, the smallest of which was as large as a filbert, and which had
been brought into France by Anne of Austria, and appropriated by that
Princess to the use of the Queens and Dauphinesses of France.
The three Princesses, daughters of Louis XV., joined in making her
magnificent presents. Madame Adelaide at the same time gave the young
Princess a key to the private corridors of the Chateau, by means of which,
without any suite, and without being perceived, she could get to the
apartments of her aunts, and see them in private. The Dauphiness, on
receiving the key, told them, with infinite grace, that if they had meant to
make her appreciate the superb presents they were kind enough to bestow
upon her, they should not at the same time have offered her one of such
inestimable value; since to that key she should be indebted for an intimacy
and advice unspeakably precious at her age. She did, indeed, make use of it
very frequently; but Madame Victoire alone permitted her, so long as she
continued Dauphiness, to visit her familiarly. Madame Adelaide could not
overcome her prejudices against Austrian princesses, and was wearied with
the somewhat petulant gaiety of the Dauphiness. Madame Victoire was
concerned at this, feeling that their society and counsel would have been
highly useful to a young person otherwise likely to meet with none but
sycophants. She endeavoured, therefore, to induce her to take pleasure in
the society of the Marquise de Durfort, her lady of honour and favourite.
Several agreeable entertainments took place at the house of this lady, but
the Comtesse de Noailles and the Abbe de Vermond soon opposed these
meetings.
A circumstance which happened in hunting, near the village of Acheres,
in the forest of Fontainebleau, afforded the young Princess an opportunity
of displaying her respect for old age, and her compassion for misfortune.
An aged peasant was wounded by the stag; the Dauphiness jumped out of
her calash, placed the peasant, with his wife and children, in it, had the
family taken back to their cottage, and bestowed upon them every attention
and every necessary assistance. Her heart was always open to the feelings
Page 72
of compassion, and the recollection of her rank never restrained her
sensibility. Several persons in her service entered her room one evening,
expecting to find nobody there but the officer in waiting; they perceived the
young Princess seated by the side of this man, who was advanced in years;
she had placed near him a bowl full of water, was stanching the blood
which issued from a wound he had received in his hand with her
handkerchief, which she had torn up to bind it, and was fulfilling towards
him all the duties of a pious sister of charity. The old man, affected even to
tears, out of respect allowed his august mistress to act as she thought proper.
He had hurt himself in endeavouring to move a rather heavy piece of
furniture at the Princess’s request.
In the month of July, 1770, an unfortunate occurrence that took place in a
family which the Dauphiness honoured with her favour contributed again to
show not only her sensibility but also the benevolence of her disposition.
One of her women in waiting had a son who was an officer in the gens
d’armes of the guard; this young man thought himself affronted by a clerk
in the War Department, and imprudently sent him a challenge; he killed his
adversary in the forest of Compiegne. The family of the young man who
was killed, being in possession of the challenge, demanded justice. The
King, distressed on account of several duels which had recently taken place,
had unfortunately declared that he would show no mercy on the first event
of that kind which could be proved; the culprit was therefore arrested. His
mother, in the deepest grief, hastened to throw herself at the feet of the
Dauphiness, the Dauphin, and the young Princesses. After an hour’s
supplication they obtained from the King the favour so much desired. On
the next day a lady of rank, while congratulating the Dauphiness, had the
malice to add that the mother had neglected no means of success on the
occasion, having solicited not only the royal family, but even Madame du
Barry. The Dauphiness replied that the fact justified the favourable opinion
she had formed of the worthy woman; that the heart of a mother should
hesitate at nothing for the salvation of her son; and that in her place, if she
had thought it would be serviceable, she would have thrown herself at the
feet of Zamor.
[A little Indian who carried the Comtesse du Barry’s
train. Louis XV. often amused himself with the little
marmoset, and jestingly made him Governor of
sensibility. Several persons in her service entered her room one evening,
expecting to find nobody there but the officer in waiting; they perceived the
young Princess seated by the side of this man, who was advanced in years;
she had placed near him a bowl full of water, was stanching the blood
which issued from a wound he had received in his hand with her
handkerchief, which she had torn up to bind it, and was fulfilling towards
him all the duties of a pious sister of charity. The old man, affected even to
tears, out of respect allowed his august mistress to act as she thought proper.
He had hurt himself in endeavouring to move a rather heavy piece of
furniture at the Princess’s request.
In the month of July, 1770, an unfortunate occurrence that took place in a
family which the Dauphiness honoured with her favour contributed again to
show not only her sensibility but also the benevolence of her disposition.
One of her women in waiting had a son who was an officer in the gens
d’armes of the guard; this young man thought himself affronted by a clerk
in the War Department, and imprudently sent him a challenge; he killed his
adversary in the forest of Compiegne. The family of the young man who
was killed, being in possession of the challenge, demanded justice. The
King, distressed on account of several duels which had recently taken place,
had unfortunately declared that he would show no mercy on the first event
of that kind which could be proved; the culprit was therefore arrested. His
mother, in the deepest grief, hastened to throw herself at the feet of the
Dauphiness, the Dauphin, and the young Princesses. After an hour’s
supplication they obtained from the King the favour so much desired. On
the next day a lady of rank, while congratulating the Dauphiness, had the
malice to add that the mother had neglected no means of success on the
occasion, having solicited not only the royal family, but even Madame du
Barry. The Dauphiness replied that the fact justified the favourable opinion
she had formed of the worthy woman; that the heart of a mother should
hesitate at nothing for the salvation of her son; and that in her place, if she
had thought it would be serviceable, she would have thrown herself at the
feet of Zamor.
[A little Indian who carried the Comtesse du Barry’s
train. Louis XV. often amused himself with the little
marmoset, and jestingly made him Governor of
Page 73
Louveciennes; he received an annual income of 3,000
francs.]
Some time after the marriage entertainments the Dauphiness made her
entry into Paris, and was received with transports of joy. After dining in the
King’s apartment at the Tuileries, she was forced, by the reiterated shouts of
the multitude, with whom the garden was filled, to present herself upon the
balcony fronting the principal walk. On seeing such a crowd of heads with
their eyes fixed upon her, she exclaimed, “Grand-Dieu! what a
concourse!”—“Madame,” said the old Duc de Brissac, the Governor of
Paris, “I may tell you, without fear of offending the Dauphin, that they are
so many lovers.” 2 The Dauphin took no umbrage at either acclamations or
marks of homage of which the Dauphiness was the object. The most
mortifying indifference, a coldness which frequently degenerated into
rudeness, were the sole feelings which the young Prince then manifested
towards her. Not all her charms could gain even upon his senses. This
estrangement, which lasted a long time, was said to be the work of the Duc
de La Vauguyon.
The Dauphiness, in fact, had no sincere friends at Court except the Duc
de Choiseul and his party. Will it be credited that the plans laid against
Marie Antoinette went so far as divorce? I have been assured of it by
persons holding high situations at Court, and many circumstances tend to
confirm the opinion. On the journey to Fontainebleau, in the year of the
marriage, the inspectors of public buildings were gained over to manage so
that the apartment intended for the Dauphin, communicating with that of
the Dauphiness, should not be finished, and a room at the extremity of the
building was temporarily assigned to him. The Dauphiness, aware that this
was the result of intrigue, had the courage to complain of it to Louis XV.,
who, after severe reprimands, gave orders so positive that within the week
the apartment was ready. Every method was tried to continue or augment
the indifference which the Dauphin long manifested towards his youthful
spouse. She was deeply hurt at it, but she never suffered herself to utter the
slightest complaint on the subject. Inattention to, even contempt for, the
charms which she heard extolled on all sides, nothing induced her to break
silence; and some tears, which would involuntarily burst from her eyes,
were the sole symptoms of her inward sufferings discoverable by those in
her service.
francs.]
Some time after the marriage entertainments the Dauphiness made her
entry into Paris, and was received with transports of joy. After dining in the
King’s apartment at the Tuileries, she was forced, by the reiterated shouts of
the multitude, with whom the garden was filled, to present herself upon the
balcony fronting the principal walk. On seeing such a crowd of heads with
their eyes fixed upon her, she exclaimed, “Grand-Dieu! what a
concourse!”—“Madame,” said the old Duc de Brissac, the Governor of
Paris, “I may tell you, without fear of offending the Dauphin, that they are
so many lovers.” 2 The Dauphin took no umbrage at either acclamations or
marks of homage of which the Dauphiness was the object. The most
mortifying indifference, a coldness which frequently degenerated into
rudeness, were the sole feelings which the young Prince then manifested
towards her. Not all her charms could gain even upon his senses. This
estrangement, which lasted a long time, was said to be the work of the Duc
de La Vauguyon.
The Dauphiness, in fact, had no sincere friends at Court except the Duc
de Choiseul and his party. Will it be credited that the plans laid against
Marie Antoinette went so far as divorce? I have been assured of it by
persons holding high situations at Court, and many circumstances tend to
confirm the opinion. On the journey to Fontainebleau, in the year of the
marriage, the inspectors of public buildings were gained over to manage so
that the apartment intended for the Dauphin, communicating with that of
the Dauphiness, should not be finished, and a room at the extremity of the
building was temporarily assigned to him. The Dauphiness, aware that this
was the result of intrigue, had the courage to complain of it to Louis XV.,
who, after severe reprimands, gave orders so positive that within the week
the apartment was ready. Every method was tried to continue or augment
the indifference which the Dauphin long manifested towards his youthful
spouse. She was deeply hurt at it, but she never suffered herself to utter the
slightest complaint on the subject. Inattention to, even contempt for, the
charms which she heard extolled on all sides, nothing induced her to break
silence; and some tears, which would involuntarily burst from her eyes,
were the sole symptoms of her inward sufferings discoverable by those in
her service.
Page 74
Once only, when tired out with the misplaced remonstrances of an old
lady attached to her person, who wished to dissuade her from riding on
horseback, under the impression that it would prevent her producing heirs
to the crown, “Mademoiselle,” said she, “in God’s name, leave me in peace;
be assured that I can put no heir in danger.”
The Dauphiness found at the Court of Louis XV., besides the three
Princesses, the King’s daughters, the Princes also, brothers of the Dauphin,
who were receiving their education, and Clotilde and Elisabeth, still in the
care of Madame de Marsan, governess of the children of France. The elder
of the two latter Princesses, in 1777, married the Prince of Piedmont,
afterwards King of Sardinia. This Princess was in her infancy, so extremely
large that the people nicknamed her ‘gros Madame.’
[Madame Clotilde of France, a sister of the King, was
extraordinarily fat for her height and age. One of her
playfellows, having been indiscreet enough even in her
presence to make use of the nickname given to her, received
a severe reprimand from the Comtesse de Marsan, who
hinted to her that she would do well in not making her
appearance again before the Princess. Madame Clotilde
sent for her the next day: “My governess,” said she, “has
done her duty, and I will do mine; come and see me as usual,
and think no more of a piece of inadvertence, which I myself
have forgotten.” This Princess, so heavy in body, possessed
the most agreeable and playful wit. Her affability and grace
rendered her dear to all who came near her.—NOTE BY
THE EDITOR]
The second Princess was the pious Elisabeth, the victim of her respect
and tender attachment for the King, her brother. She was still scarcely out of
her leading-strings at the period of the Dauphin’s marriage. The Dauphiness
showed her marked preference. The governess, who sought to advance the
Princess to whom nature had been least favourable, was offended at the
Dauphiness’s partiality for Madame Elisabeth, and by her injudicious
complaints weakened the friendship which yet subsisted between Madame
Clotilde and Marie Antoinette. There even arose some degree of rivalry on
the subject of education; and that which the Empress Maria Theresa
lady attached to her person, who wished to dissuade her from riding on
horseback, under the impression that it would prevent her producing heirs
to the crown, “Mademoiselle,” said she, “in God’s name, leave me in peace;
be assured that I can put no heir in danger.”
The Dauphiness found at the Court of Louis XV., besides the three
Princesses, the King’s daughters, the Princes also, brothers of the Dauphin,
who were receiving their education, and Clotilde and Elisabeth, still in the
care of Madame de Marsan, governess of the children of France. The elder
of the two latter Princesses, in 1777, married the Prince of Piedmont,
afterwards King of Sardinia. This Princess was in her infancy, so extremely
large that the people nicknamed her ‘gros Madame.’
[Madame Clotilde of France, a sister of the King, was
extraordinarily fat for her height and age. One of her
playfellows, having been indiscreet enough even in her
presence to make use of the nickname given to her, received
a severe reprimand from the Comtesse de Marsan, who
hinted to her that she would do well in not making her
appearance again before the Princess. Madame Clotilde
sent for her the next day: “My governess,” said she, “has
done her duty, and I will do mine; come and see me as usual,
and think no more of a piece of inadvertence, which I myself
have forgotten.” This Princess, so heavy in body, possessed
the most agreeable and playful wit. Her affability and grace
rendered her dear to all who came near her.—NOTE BY
THE EDITOR]
The second Princess was the pious Elisabeth, the victim of her respect
and tender attachment for the King, her brother. She was still scarcely out of
her leading-strings at the period of the Dauphin’s marriage. The Dauphiness
showed her marked preference. The governess, who sought to advance the
Princess to whom nature had been least favourable, was offended at the
Dauphiness’s partiality for Madame Elisabeth, and by her injudicious
complaints weakened the friendship which yet subsisted between Madame
Clotilde and Marie Antoinette. There even arose some degree of rivalry on
the subject of education; and that which the Empress Maria Theresa
Page 75
bestowed on her daughters was talked of openly and unfavourably enough.
The Abbe de Vermond thought himself affronted, took a part in the quarrel,
and added his complaints and jokes to those of the Dauphiness on the
criticisms of the governess; he even indulged himself in his turn in
reflections on the tuition of Madame Clotilde. Everything becomes known
at Court. Madame de Marsan was informed of all that had been said in the
Dauphiness’s circle, and was very angry with her on account of it.
From that moment a centre of intrigue, or rather gossip, against Marie
Antoinette was established round Madame de Marsan’s fireside; her most
trifling actions were there construed ill; her gaiety, and the harmless
amusements in which she sometimes indulged in her own apartments with
the more youthful ladies of her train, and even with the women in her
service, were stigmatised as criminal. Prince Louis de Rohan, sent through
the influence of this clique ambassador to Vienna, was the echo there of
these unmerited comments, and threw himself into a series of culpable
accusations which he proffered under the guise of zeal. He ceaselessly
represented the young Dauphiness as alienating all hearts by levities
unsuitable to the dignity of the French Court. The Princess frequently
received from the Court of Vienna remonstrances, of the origin of which
she could not long remain in ignorance. From this period must be dated that
aversion which she never ceased to manifest for the Prince de Rohan.
About the same time the Dauphiness received information of a letter
written by Prince Louis to the Duc d’Aiguillon, in which the ambassador
expressed himself in very free language respecting the intentions of Maria
Theresa with relation to the partition of Poland. This letter of Prince Louis
had been read at the Comtesse du Barry’s; the levity of the ambassador’s
correspondence wounded the feelings and the dignity of the Dauphiness at
Versailles, while at Vienna the representations which he made to Maria
Theresa against the young Princess terminated in rendering the motives of
his incessant complaints suspected by the Empress.
Maria Theresa at length determined on sending her private secretary,
Baron de Neni, to Versailles, with directions to observe the conduct of the
Dauphiness with attention, and form a just estimate of the opinion of the
Court and of Paris with regard to that Princess. The Baron de Neni, after
having devoted sufficient time and intelligence to the subject, undeceived
his sovereign as to the exaggerations of the French ambassador; and the
The Abbe de Vermond thought himself affronted, took a part in the quarrel,
and added his complaints and jokes to those of the Dauphiness on the
criticisms of the governess; he even indulged himself in his turn in
reflections on the tuition of Madame Clotilde. Everything becomes known
at Court. Madame de Marsan was informed of all that had been said in the
Dauphiness’s circle, and was very angry with her on account of it.
From that moment a centre of intrigue, or rather gossip, against Marie
Antoinette was established round Madame de Marsan’s fireside; her most
trifling actions were there construed ill; her gaiety, and the harmless
amusements in which she sometimes indulged in her own apartments with
the more youthful ladies of her train, and even with the women in her
service, were stigmatised as criminal. Prince Louis de Rohan, sent through
the influence of this clique ambassador to Vienna, was the echo there of
these unmerited comments, and threw himself into a series of culpable
accusations which he proffered under the guise of zeal. He ceaselessly
represented the young Dauphiness as alienating all hearts by levities
unsuitable to the dignity of the French Court. The Princess frequently
received from the Court of Vienna remonstrances, of the origin of which
she could not long remain in ignorance. From this period must be dated that
aversion which she never ceased to manifest for the Prince de Rohan.
About the same time the Dauphiness received information of a letter
written by Prince Louis to the Duc d’Aiguillon, in which the ambassador
expressed himself in very free language respecting the intentions of Maria
Theresa with relation to the partition of Poland. This letter of Prince Louis
had been read at the Comtesse du Barry’s; the levity of the ambassador’s
correspondence wounded the feelings and the dignity of the Dauphiness at
Versailles, while at Vienna the representations which he made to Maria
Theresa against the young Princess terminated in rendering the motives of
his incessant complaints suspected by the Empress.
Maria Theresa at length determined on sending her private secretary,
Baron de Neni, to Versailles, with directions to observe the conduct of the
Dauphiness with attention, and form a just estimate of the opinion of the
Court and of Paris with regard to that Princess. The Baron de Neni, after
having devoted sufficient time and intelligence to the subject, undeceived
his sovereign as to the exaggerations of the French ambassador; and the
Page 76
Empress had no difficulty in detecting, among the calumnies which he had
conveyed to her under the specious excuse of anxiety for her august
daughter, proofs of the enmity of a, party which had never approved of the
alliance of the House of Bourbon with her own.
At this period the Dauphiness, though unable to obtain any influence
over the heart of her husband, dreading Louis XV., and justly mistrusting
everything connected with Madame du Barry and the Duc d’Aiguillon, had
not deserved the slightest reproach for that sort of levity which hatred and
her misfortunes afterwards construed into crime. The Empress, convinced
of the innocence of Marie Antoinette, directed the Baron de Neni to solicit
the recall of the Prince de Rohan, and to inform the Minister for Foreign
Affairs of all the motives which made her require it; but the House of
Rohan interposed between its protege and the Austrian envoy, and an
evasive answer merely was given.
It was not until two months after the death of Louis XV. that the Court of
Vienna obtained his recall. The avowed grounds for requiring it were, first,
the public gallantries of Prince Louis with some ladies of the Court and
others; secondly, his surliness and haughtiness towards other foreign
ministers, which would have had more serious consequences, especially
with the ministers of England and Denmark, if the Empress herself had not
interfered; thirdly, his contempt for religion in a country where it was
particularly necessary to show respect for it. He had been seen frequently to
dress himself in clothes of different colours, assuming the hunting uniforms
of various noblemen whom he visited, with so much audacity that one day
in particular, during the Fete-Dieu, he and all his legation, in green uniforms
laced with gold, broke through a procession which impeded them, in order
to make their way to a hunting party at the Prince de Paar’s; and fourthly,
the immense debts contracted by him and his people, which were tardily
and only in part discharged.
The succeeding marriages of the Comte de Provence and the Comte
d’Artois with two daughters of the King of Sardinia procured society for the
Dauphiness more suitable to her age, and altered her mode of life.
A pair of tolerably fine eyes drew forth, in favour of the Comtesse de
Provence, upon her arrival at Versailles, the only praises which could
reasonably be bestowed upon her. The Comtesse d’Artois, though not
deformed, was very small; she had a fine complexion; her face, tolerably
conveyed to her under the specious excuse of anxiety for her august
daughter, proofs of the enmity of a, party which had never approved of the
alliance of the House of Bourbon with her own.
At this period the Dauphiness, though unable to obtain any influence
over the heart of her husband, dreading Louis XV., and justly mistrusting
everything connected with Madame du Barry and the Duc d’Aiguillon, had
not deserved the slightest reproach for that sort of levity which hatred and
her misfortunes afterwards construed into crime. The Empress, convinced
of the innocence of Marie Antoinette, directed the Baron de Neni to solicit
the recall of the Prince de Rohan, and to inform the Minister for Foreign
Affairs of all the motives which made her require it; but the House of
Rohan interposed between its protege and the Austrian envoy, and an
evasive answer merely was given.
It was not until two months after the death of Louis XV. that the Court of
Vienna obtained his recall. The avowed grounds for requiring it were, first,
the public gallantries of Prince Louis with some ladies of the Court and
others; secondly, his surliness and haughtiness towards other foreign
ministers, which would have had more serious consequences, especially
with the ministers of England and Denmark, if the Empress herself had not
interfered; thirdly, his contempt for religion in a country where it was
particularly necessary to show respect for it. He had been seen frequently to
dress himself in clothes of different colours, assuming the hunting uniforms
of various noblemen whom he visited, with so much audacity that one day
in particular, during the Fete-Dieu, he and all his legation, in green uniforms
laced with gold, broke through a procession which impeded them, in order
to make their way to a hunting party at the Prince de Paar’s; and fourthly,
the immense debts contracted by him and his people, which were tardily
and only in part discharged.
The succeeding marriages of the Comte de Provence and the Comte
d’Artois with two daughters of the King of Sardinia procured society for the
Dauphiness more suitable to her age, and altered her mode of life.
A pair of tolerably fine eyes drew forth, in favour of the Comtesse de
Provence, upon her arrival at Versailles, the only praises which could
reasonably be bestowed upon her. The Comtesse d’Artois, though not
deformed, was very small; she had a fine complexion; her face, tolerably
Page 77
pleasing, was not remarkable for anything except the extreme length of the
nose. But being good and generous, she was beloved by those about her,
and even possessed some influence so long as she was the only Princess
who had produced heirs to the crown.
From this time the closest intimacy subsisted between the three young
families. They took their meals together, except on those days when they
dined in public. This manner of living en famille continued until the Queen
sometimes indulged herself in going to dine with the Duchesse de Polignac,
when she was governess; but the evening meetings at supper were never
interrupted; they took place at the house of the Comtesse de Provence.
Madame Elisabeth made one of the party when she had finished her
education, and sometimes Mesdames, the King’s aunts, were invited. The
custom, which had no precedent at Court, was the work of Marie
Antoinette, and she maintained it with the utmost perseverance.
The Court of Versailles saw no change in point of etiquette during the
reign of Louis XV. Play took place at the house of the Dauphiness, as being
the first lady of the State. It had, from the death of Queen Maria Leczinska
to the marriage of the Dauphin, been held at the abode of Madame Adelade.
This removal, the result of an order of precedence not to be violated, was
not the less displeasing to Madame Adelaide, who established a separate
party for play in her apartments, and scarcely ever went to that which not
only the Court in general, but also the royal family, were expected to attend.
The full-dress visits to the King on his ‘debotter’ were continued. High
mass was attended daily. The airings of the Princesses were nothing more
than rapid races in berlins, during which they were accompanied by Body
Guards, equerries, and pages on horseback. They galloped for some leagues
from Versailles. Calashes were used only in hunting.
The young Princesses were desirous to infuse animation into their circle
of associates by something useful as well as pleasant. They adopted the plan
of learning and performing all the best plays of the French theatre. The
Dauphin was the only spectator. The three Princesses, the two brothers of
the King, and Messieurs Campan, father and son, were the sole performers,
but they endeavoured to keep this amusement as secret as an affair of State;
they dreaded the censure of Mesdames, and they had no doubt that Louis
XV. would forbid such pastimes if he knew of them. They selected for their
performance a cabinet in the entresol which nobody had occasion to enter.
nose. But being good and generous, she was beloved by those about her,
and even possessed some influence so long as she was the only Princess
who had produced heirs to the crown.
From this time the closest intimacy subsisted between the three young
families. They took their meals together, except on those days when they
dined in public. This manner of living en famille continued until the Queen
sometimes indulged herself in going to dine with the Duchesse de Polignac,
when she was governess; but the evening meetings at supper were never
interrupted; they took place at the house of the Comtesse de Provence.
Madame Elisabeth made one of the party when she had finished her
education, and sometimes Mesdames, the King’s aunts, were invited. The
custom, which had no precedent at Court, was the work of Marie
Antoinette, and she maintained it with the utmost perseverance.
The Court of Versailles saw no change in point of etiquette during the
reign of Louis XV. Play took place at the house of the Dauphiness, as being
the first lady of the State. It had, from the death of Queen Maria Leczinska
to the marriage of the Dauphin, been held at the abode of Madame Adelade.
This removal, the result of an order of precedence not to be violated, was
not the less displeasing to Madame Adelaide, who established a separate
party for play in her apartments, and scarcely ever went to that which not
only the Court in general, but also the royal family, were expected to attend.
The full-dress visits to the King on his ‘debotter’ were continued. High
mass was attended daily. The airings of the Princesses were nothing more
than rapid races in berlins, during which they were accompanied by Body
Guards, equerries, and pages on horseback. They galloped for some leagues
from Versailles. Calashes were used only in hunting.
The young Princesses were desirous to infuse animation into their circle
of associates by something useful as well as pleasant. They adopted the plan
of learning and performing all the best plays of the French theatre. The
Dauphin was the only spectator. The three Princesses, the two brothers of
the King, and Messieurs Campan, father and son, were the sole performers,
but they endeavoured to keep this amusement as secret as an affair of State;
they dreaded the censure of Mesdames, and they had no doubt that Louis
XV. would forbid such pastimes if he knew of them. They selected for their
performance a cabinet in the entresol which nobody had occasion to enter.
Page 78
A kind of proscenium, which could be taken down and shut up in a
closet, formed the whole theatre. The Comte de Provence always knew his
part with imperturbable accuracy; the Comte d’Artois knew his tolerably
well, and recited elegantly; the Princesses acted badly. The Dauphiness
acquitted herself in some characters with discrimination and feeling. The
chief pleasure of this amusement consisted in all the costumes being elegant
and accurate. The Dauphin entered into the spirit of these diversions, and
laughed heartily at the comic characters as they came on the scene; from
these amusements may be dated his discontinuance of the timid manner of
his youth, and his taking pleasure in the society of the Dauphiness.
It was not till a long time afterwards that I learnt these particulars, M.
Campan having kept the secret; but an unforeseen event had well-nigh
exposed the whole mystery. One day the Queen desired M. Campan to go
down into her closet to fetch something that she had forgotten; he was
dressed for the character of Crispin, and was rouged. A private staircase led
direct to the entresol through the dressing-room. M. Campan fancied he
heard some noise, and remained still, behind the door, which was shut. A
servant belonging to the wardrobe, who was, in fact, on the staircase, had
also heard some noise, and, either from fear or curiosity, he suddenly
opened the door; the figure of Crispin frightened him so that he fell down
backwards, shouting with his might, “Help! help!” My father-in-law raised
him up, made him recognise his voice, and laid upon him an injunction of
silence as to what he had seen. He felt himself, however, bound to inform
the Dauphiness of what had happened, and she was afraid that a similar
occurrence might betray their amusements. They were therefore
discontinued.
The Princess occupied her time in her own apartment in the study of
music and the parts in plays which she had to learn; the latter exercise, at
least, produced the beneficial effect of strengthening her memory and
familiarising her with the French language.
While Louis XV. reigned, the enemies of Marie Antoinette made no
attempt to change public opinion with regard to her. She was always
popular with the French people in general, and particularly with the
inhabitants of Paris, who went on every opportunity to Versailles, the
majority of them attracted solely by the pleasure of seeing her. The courtiers
did not fully enter into the popular enthusiasm which the Dauphiness had
closet, formed the whole theatre. The Comte de Provence always knew his
part with imperturbable accuracy; the Comte d’Artois knew his tolerably
well, and recited elegantly; the Princesses acted badly. The Dauphiness
acquitted herself in some characters with discrimination and feeling. The
chief pleasure of this amusement consisted in all the costumes being elegant
and accurate. The Dauphin entered into the spirit of these diversions, and
laughed heartily at the comic characters as they came on the scene; from
these amusements may be dated his discontinuance of the timid manner of
his youth, and his taking pleasure in the society of the Dauphiness.
It was not till a long time afterwards that I learnt these particulars, M.
Campan having kept the secret; but an unforeseen event had well-nigh
exposed the whole mystery. One day the Queen desired M. Campan to go
down into her closet to fetch something that she had forgotten; he was
dressed for the character of Crispin, and was rouged. A private staircase led
direct to the entresol through the dressing-room. M. Campan fancied he
heard some noise, and remained still, behind the door, which was shut. A
servant belonging to the wardrobe, who was, in fact, on the staircase, had
also heard some noise, and, either from fear or curiosity, he suddenly
opened the door; the figure of Crispin frightened him so that he fell down
backwards, shouting with his might, “Help! help!” My father-in-law raised
him up, made him recognise his voice, and laid upon him an injunction of
silence as to what he had seen. He felt himself, however, bound to inform
the Dauphiness of what had happened, and she was afraid that a similar
occurrence might betray their amusements. They were therefore
discontinued.
The Princess occupied her time in her own apartment in the study of
music and the parts in plays which she had to learn; the latter exercise, at
least, produced the beneficial effect of strengthening her memory and
familiarising her with the French language.
While Louis XV. reigned, the enemies of Marie Antoinette made no
attempt to change public opinion with regard to her. She was always
popular with the French people in general, and particularly with the
inhabitants of Paris, who went on every opportunity to Versailles, the
majority of them attracted solely by the pleasure of seeing her. The courtiers
did not fully enter into the popular enthusiasm which the Dauphiness had
Page 79
inspired; the disgrace of the Duc de Choiseul had removed her real support
from her; and the party which had the ascendency at Court since the exile of
that minister was, politically, as much opposed to her family as to herself.
The Dauphiness was therefore surrounded by enemies at Versailles.
Nevertheless everybody appeared outwardly desirous to please her; for
the age of Louis XV., and the apathetic character of the Dauphin,
sufficiently warned courtiers of the important part reserved for the Princess
during the following reign, in case the Dauphin should become attached to
her.
from her; and the party which had the ascendency at Court since the exile of
that minister was, politically, as much opposed to her family as to herself.
The Dauphiness was therefore surrounded by enemies at Versailles.
Nevertheless everybody appeared outwardly desirous to please her; for
the age of Louis XV., and the apathetic character of the Dauphin,
sufficiently warned courtiers of the important part reserved for the Princess
during the following reign, in case the Dauphin should become attached to
her.
Page 80
CHAPTER IV.
About the beginning of May, 1774, Louis XV., the strength of whose
constitution had promised a long enough life, was attacked by confluent
smallpox of the worst kind. Mesdames at this juncture inspired the
Dauphiness with a feeling of respect and attachment, of which she gave
them repeated proofs when she ascended the throne. In fact, nothing was
more admirable nor more affecting than the courage with which they braved
that most horrible disease. The air of the palace was infected; more than
fifty persons took the smallpox, in consequence of having merely loitered in
the galleries of Versailles, and ten died of it.
The end of the monarch was approaching. His reign, peaceful in general,
had inherited strength from the power of his predecessor; on the other hand,
his own weakness had been preparing misfortune for whoever should reign
after him. The scene was about to change; hope, ambition, joy, grief, and all
those feelings which variously affected the hearts of the courtiers, sought in
vain to disguise themselves under a calm exterior. It was easy to detect the
different motives which induced them every moment to repeat to every one
the question: “How is the King?” At length, on the 10th of May, 1774, the
mortal career of Louis XV. terminated.
[Christopher de Beaumont, Archbishop of Paris, the
ardent apostle of frequent communion, arrived at Paris with
the intention of soliciting, in public, the administration of the
sacrament to the King, and secretly retarding it as much as
possible. The ceremony could not take place without the
previous and public expulsion of the, concubine, according
to the canons of the Church and the Jesuitical party, of
which Christopher was the leader. This party, which had
made use of Madame du Barry to suppress the Parliaments,
to support the Duc d’Aiguillon, and ruin the Choiseul
faction, could not willingly consent to disgrace her
About the beginning of May, 1774, Louis XV., the strength of whose
constitution had promised a long enough life, was attacked by confluent
smallpox of the worst kind. Mesdames at this juncture inspired the
Dauphiness with a feeling of respect and attachment, of which she gave
them repeated proofs when she ascended the throne. In fact, nothing was
more admirable nor more affecting than the courage with which they braved
that most horrible disease. The air of the palace was infected; more than
fifty persons took the smallpox, in consequence of having merely loitered in
the galleries of Versailles, and ten died of it.
The end of the monarch was approaching. His reign, peaceful in general,
had inherited strength from the power of his predecessor; on the other hand,
his own weakness had been preparing misfortune for whoever should reign
after him. The scene was about to change; hope, ambition, joy, grief, and all
those feelings which variously affected the hearts of the courtiers, sought in
vain to disguise themselves under a calm exterior. It was easy to detect the
different motives which induced them every moment to repeat to every one
the question: “How is the King?” At length, on the 10th of May, 1774, the
mortal career of Louis XV. terminated.
[Christopher de Beaumont, Archbishop of Paris, the
ardent apostle of frequent communion, arrived at Paris with
the intention of soliciting, in public, the administration of the
sacrament to the King, and secretly retarding it as much as
possible. The ceremony could not take place without the
previous and public expulsion of the, concubine, according
to the canons of the Church and the Jesuitical party, of
which Christopher was the leader. This party, which had
made use of Madame du Barry to suppress the Parliaments,
to support the Duc d’Aiguillon, and ruin the Choiseul
faction, could not willingly consent to disgrace her
Page 81
canonically. The Archbishop went into the King’s
bedchamber, and found there Madame Adelaide, the Duc
d’Aumont, the Bishop of Senlis, and Richelieu, in whose
presence he resolved not to say one word about confession
for that day. This reticence so encouraged Louis XV. that, on
the Archbishop withdrawing, he had Madame du Barry
called in, and kissed her beautiful hands again with his
wonted affection. On the 2d of May the King found himself a
little better. Madame du Barry had brought him two
confidential physicians, Lorry and Borden, who were
enjoined to conceal the nature of his sickness from him in
order to keep off the priests and save her from a humiliating
dismissal. The King’s improvement allowed Madame du
Barry to divert him by her usual playfulness and
conversation. But La Martiniere, who was of the Choiseul
party, and to whom they durst not refuse his right of entry,
did not conceal from the King either the nature or the
danger of his sickness. The King then sent for Madame du
Barry, and said to her: “My love, I have got the smallpox,
and my illness is very dangerous on account of my age and
other disorders. I ought not to forget that I am the most
Christian King, and the eldest son of the Church. I am sixty-
four; the time is perhaps approaching when we must
separate. I wish to prevent a scene like that of Metz.” (when,
in 1744, he had dismissed the Duchesse de Chateauroux.)
“Apprise the Duc d’Aiguillon of what I say, that he may
arrange with you if my sickness grows worse; so that we
may part without any publicity.” The Jansenists and the Duc
de Choiseurs party publicly said that M. d’Aiguillon and the
Archbishop had resolved to let the King die without
receiving the sacrament rather than disturb Madame du
Barry. Annoyed by their remarks, Beaumont determined to
go and reside at the Lazaristes, his house at Versailles, to
avail himself of the King’s last moments, and sacrifice
Madame du Barry when the monarch’s condition should
become desperate. He arrived on the 3d of May, but did not
see the King. Under existing circumstances, his object was
bedchamber, and found there Madame Adelaide, the Duc
d’Aumont, the Bishop of Senlis, and Richelieu, in whose
presence he resolved not to say one word about confession
for that day. This reticence so encouraged Louis XV. that, on
the Archbishop withdrawing, he had Madame du Barry
called in, and kissed her beautiful hands again with his
wonted affection. On the 2d of May the King found himself a
little better. Madame du Barry had brought him two
confidential physicians, Lorry and Borden, who were
enjoined to conceal the nature of his sickness from him in
order to keep off the priests and save her from a humiliating
dismissal. The King’s improvement allowed Madame du
Barry to divert him by her usual playfulness and
conversation. But La Martiniere, who was of the Choiseul
party, and to whom they durst not refuse his right of entry,
did not conceal from the King either the nature or the
danger of his sickness. The King then sent for Madame du
Barry, and said to her: “My love, I have got the smallpox,
and my illness is very dangerous on account of my age and
other disorders. I ought not to forget that I am the most
Christian King, and the eldest son of the Church. I am sixty-
four; the time is perhaps approaching when we must
separate. I wish to prevent a scene like that of Metz.” (when,
in 1744, he had dismissed the Duchesse de Chateauroux.)
“Apprise the Duc d’Aiguillon of what I say, that he may
arrange with you if my sickness grows worse; so that we
may part without any publicity.” The Jansenists and the Duc
de Choiseurs party publicly said that M. d’Aiguillon and the
Archbishop had resolved to let the King die without
receiving the sacrament rather than disturb Madame du
Barry. Annoyed by their remarks, Beaumont determined to
go and reside at the Lazaristes, his house at Versailles, to
avail himself of the King’s last moments, and sacrifice
Madame du Barry when the monarch’s condition should
become desperate. He arrived on the 3d of May, but did not
see the King. Under existing circumstances, his object was
Page 82
to humble the enemies of his party and to support the
favourite who had assisted to overcome them.
A contrary zeal animated the Bishop of Carcassonne, who
urged that “the King ought to receive the sacrament; and by
expelling the concubine to give an example of repentance to
France and Christian Europe, which he had
scandalised.”—“By what right,” said Cardinal de la Roche-
Aymon, a complaisant courtier with whom the Bishop was at
daggers drawn, “do you instruct me?”—“There is my
authority,” replied the Bishop, holding up his pectoral cross.
“Learn, monseigneur, to respect it, and do not suffer your
King to die without the sacraments of the Church, of which
he is the eldest son.” The Duc d’Aiguillon and the
Archbishop, who witnessed the discussion, put an end to it
by asking for the King’s orders relative to Madame du Barry.
“She must be taken quietly to your seat at Ruelle,” said the
King; “I shall be grateful for the care Madame d’Aiguillon
may take of her.”
Madame du Barry saw the King again for a moment on
the evening of the 4th, and promised to return to Court upon
his recovery. She was scarcely gone when the King asked for
her. “She is gone,” was the answer. From that moment the
disorder gained ground; he thought himself a dead man,
without the possibility of recovery. The 5th and 6th passed
without a word of confession, viaticum, or extreme unction.
The Duc de Fronsac threatened to throw the Cure of
Versailles out of the window if he dared to mention them, but
on the 7th, at three in the morning, the King imperatively
called for the Abbe Maudous. Confession lasted seventeen
minutes. The Ducs de la Vrillilere and d’Aiguillon wished to
delay the viaticum; but La Martiniere said to the King:
“Sire, I have seen your Majesty in very trying
circumstances; but never admired you as I have done to-day.
No doubt your Majesty will immediately finish what you
have so well begun.” The King had his confessor Maudoua
called back; this was a poor priest who had been placed
favourite who had assisted to overcome them.
A contrary zeal animated the Bishop of Carcassonne, who
urged that “the King ought to receive the sacrament; and by
expelling the concubine to give an example of repentance to
France and Christian Europe, which he had
scandalised.”—“By what right,” said Cardinal de la Roche-
Aymon, a complaisant courtier with whom the Bishop was at
daggers drawn, “do you instruct me?”—“There is my
authority,” replied the Bishop, holding up his pectoral cross.
“Learn, monseigneur, to respect it, and do not suffer your
King to die without the sacraments of the Church, of which
he is the eldest son.” The Duc d’Aiguillon and the
Archbishop, who witnessed the discussion, put an end to it
by asking for the King’s orders relative to Madame du Barry.
“She must be taken quietly to your seat at Ruelle,” said the
King; “I shall be grateful for the care Madame d’Aiguillon
may take of her.”
Madame du Barry saw the King again for a moment on
the evening of the 4th, and promised to return to Court upon
his recovery. She was scarcely gone when the King asked for
her. “She is gone,” was the answer. From that moment the
disorder gained ground; he thought himself a dead man,
without the possibility of recovery. The 5th and 6th passed
without a word of confession, viaticum, or extreme unction.
The Duc de Fronsac threatened to throw the Cure of
Versailles out of the window if he dared to mention them, but
on the 7th, at three in the morning, the King imperatively
called for the Abbe Maudous. Confession lasted seventeen
minutes. The Ducs de la Vrillilere and d’Aiguillon wished to
delay the viaticum; but La Martiniere said to the King:
“Sire, I have seen your Majesty in very trying
circumstances; but never admired you as I have done to-day.
No doubt your Majesty will immediately finish what you
have so well begun.” The King had his confessor Maudoua
called back; this was a poor priest who had been placed
Page 83
about him for some years before because he was old and
blind. He gave him absolution.
The formal renunciation desired by the Choiseul party, in
order to humble and annihilate Madame du Barry with
solemnity, was no more mentioned. The grand almoner, in
concert with the Archbishop, composed this formula,
pronounced in presence of the viaticum: “Although the King
owes an account of his conduct to none but God, he declares
his repentance at having scandalised his subjects, and is
desirous to live solely for the maintenance of religion and
the happiness of his people.”
On the 8th and 9th the disorder grew worse; and the King
beheld the whole surface of his body coming off piecemeal
and corrupted. Deserted by his friends and by that crowd of
courtiers which had so long cringed before him, his only
consolation was the piety of his daughters.—SOULAVIE,
“Historical and Political Memoirs,” vol. i.]
The Comtesse du Barry had, a few days previously, withdrawn to Ruelle,
to the Duc d’Aiguillon’s. Twelve or fifteen persons belonging to the Court
thought it their duty to visit her there; their liveries were observed, and
these visits were for a long time grounds for disfavour. More than six years
after the King’s death one of these persons being spoken of in the circle of
the royal family, I heard it remarked, “That was one of the fifteen Ruelle
carriages.”
The whole Court went to the Chateau; the oiel-de boeuf was filled with
courtiers, and the palace with the inquisitive. The Dauphin had settled that
he would depart with the royal family the moment the King should breathe
his last sigh. But on such an occasion decency forbade that positive orders
for departure should be passed from mouth to mouth. The heads of the
stables, therefore, agreed with the people who were in the King’s room, that
the latter should place a lighted taper near a window, and that at the instant
of the King’s decease one of them should extinguish it.
The taper was extinguished. On this signal the Body Guards, pages, and
equerries mounted on horseback, and all was ready for setting off. The
Dauphin was with the Dauphiness. They were expecting together the
blind. He gave him absolution.
The formal renunciation desired by the Choiseul party, in
order to humble and annihilate Madame du Barry with
solemnity, was no more mentioned. The grand almoner, in
concert with the Archbishop, composed this formula,
pronounced in presence of the viaticum: “Although the King
owes an account of his conduct to none but God, he declares
his repentance at having scandalised his subjects, and is
desirous to live solely for the maintenance of religion and
the happiness of his people.”
On the 8th and 9th the disorder grew worse; and the King
beheld the whole surface of his body coming off piecemeal
and corrupted. Deserted by his friends and by that crowd of
courtiers which had so long cringed before him, his only
consolation was the piety of his daughters.—SOULAVIE,
“Historical and Political Memoirs,” vol. i.]
The Comtesse du Barry had, a few days previously, withdrawn to Ruelle,
to the Duc d’Aiguillon’s. Twelve or fifteen persons belonging to the Court
thought it their duty to visit her there; their liveries were observed, and
these visits were for a long time grounds for disfavour. More than six years
after the King’s death one of these persons being spoken of in the circle of
the royal family, I heard it remarked, “That was one of the fifteen Ruelle
carriages.”
The whole Court went to the Chateau; the oiel-de boeuf was filled with
courtiers, and the palace with the inquisitive. The Dauphin had settled that
he would depart with the royal family the moment the King should breathe
his last sigh. But on such an occasion decency forbade that positive orders
for departure should be passed from mouth to mouth. The heads of the
stables, therefore, agreed with the people who were in the King’s room, that
the latter should place a lighted taper near a window, and that at the instant
of the King’s decease one of them should extinguish it.
The taper was extinguished. On this signal the Body Guards, pages, and
equerries mounted on horseback, and all was ready for setting off. The
Dauphin was with the Dauphiness. They were expecting together the
Page 84
intelligence of the death of Louis XV. A dreadful noise, absolutely like
thunder, was heard in the outer apartment; it was the crowd of courtiers who
were deserting the dead sovereign’s antechamber, to come and do homage
to the new power of Louis XVI. This extraordinary tumult informed Marie
Antoinette and her husband that they were called to the throne; and, by a
spontaneous movement, which deeply affected those around them, they
threw themselves on their knees; both, pouring forth a flood of tears,
exclaimed: “O God! guide us, protect us; we are too young to reign.”
The Comtesse de Noailles entered, and was the first to salute Marie
Antoinette as Queen of France. She requested their Majesties to condescend
to quit the inner apartments for the grand salon, to receive the Princes and
all the great officers, who were desirous to do homage to their new
sovereigns. Marie Antoinette received these first visits leaning upon her
husband, with her handkerchief held to her eyes; the carriages drove up, the
guards and equerries were on horseback. The Chateau was deserted; every
one hastened to fly from contagion, which there was no longer any
inducement to brave.
On leaving the chamber of Louis XV., the Duc de Villequier, first
gentleman of the bedchamber for the year, ordered M. Andouille, the King’s
chief surgeon, to open the body and embalm it. The chief surgeon would
inevitably have died in consequence. “I am ready,” replied Andouille; “but
while I operate you shall hold the head; your office imposes this duty upon
you.” The Duke went off without saying a word, and the corpse was neither
opened nor embalmed. A few under-servants and workmen continued with
the pestiferous remains, and paid the last duty to their master; the surgeons
directed that spirits of wine should be poured into the coffin.
The entire Court set off for Choisy at four o’clock; Mesdames the King’s
aunts in their private carriage, and the Princesses under tuition with the
Comtesse de Marsan and the under-governesses. The King, the Queen,
Monsieur, the King’s brother, Madame, and the Comte and Comtesse
d’Artois went in the same carriage. The solemn scene that had just passed
before their eyes, the multiplied ideas offered to their imaginations by that
which was just opening, had naturally inclined them to grief and reflection;
but, by the Queen’s own confession, this inclination, little suited to their
age, wholly left them before they had gone half their journey; a word, drolly
thunder, was heard in the outer apartment; it was the crowd of courtiers who
were deserting the dead sovereign’s antechamber, to come and do homage
to the new power of Louis XVI. This extraordinary tumult informed Marie
Antoinette and her husband that they were called to the throne; and, by a
spontaneous movement, which deeply affected those around them, they
threw themselves on their knees; both, pouring forth a flood of tears,
exclaimed: “O God! guide us, protect us; we are too young to reign.”
The Comtesse de Noailles entered, and was the first to salute Marie
Antoinette as Queen of France. She requested their Majesties to condescend
to quit the inner apartments for the grand salon, to receive the Princes and
all the great officers, who were desirous to do homage to their new
sovereigns. Marie Antoinette received these first visits leaning upon her
husband, with her handkerchief held to her eyes; the carriages drove up, the
guards and equerries were on horseback. The Chateau was deserted; every
one hastened to fly from contagion, which there was no longer any
inducement to brave.
On leaving the chamber of Louis XV., the Duc de Villequier, first
gentleman of the bedchamber for the year, ordered M. Andouille, the King’s
chief surgeon, to open the body and embalm it. The chief surgeon would
inevitably have died in consequence. “I am ready,” replied Andouille; “but
while I operate you shall hold the head; your office imposes this duty upon
you.” The Duke went off without saying a word, and the corpse was neither
opened nor embalmed. A few under-servants and workmen continued with
the pestiferous remains, and paid the last duty to their master; the surgeons
directed that spirits of wine should be poured into the coffin.
The entire Court set off for Choisy at four o’clock; Mesdames the King’s
aunts in their private carriage, and the Princesses under tuition with the
Comtesse de Marsan and the under-governesses. The King, the Queen,
Monsieur, the King’s brother, Madame, and the Comte and Comtesse
d’Artois went in the same carriage. The solemn scene that had just passed
before their eyes, the multiplied ideas offered to their imaginations by that
which was just opening, had naturally inclined them to grief and reflection;
but, by the Queen’s own confession, this inclination, little suited to their
age, wholly left them before they had gone half their journey; a word, drolly
Page 85
mangled by the Comtesse d’Artois, occasioned a general burst of laughter;
and from that moment they dried their tears.
The communication between Choisy and Paris was incessant; never was
a Court seen in greater agitation. What influence will the royal aunts have,
—and the Queen? What fate is reserved for the Comtesse du Barry? Whom
will the young King choose for his ministers? All these questions were
answered in a few days. It was determined that the King’s youth required a
confidential person near him; and that there should be a prime minister. All
eyes were turned upon De Machault and De Maurepas, both of them much
advanced in years. The first had retired to his estate near Paris; and the
second to Pont Chartrain, to which place he had long been exiled. The letter
recalling M. de Machault was written, when Madame Adelaide obtained the
preference of that important appointment for M. de Maurepas. The page to
whose care the first letter had been actually consigned was recalled.
The Duc d’Aiguillon had been too openly known as the private friend of
the King’s mistress; he was dismissed. M. de Vergennes, at that time
ambassador of France at Stockholm, was appointed Minister for Foreign
Affairs; Comte du Muy, the intimate friend of the Dauphin, the father of
Louis XVI.[?? D.W.], obtained the War Department. The Abbe Terray in
vain said, and wrote, that he had boldly done all possible injury to the
creditors of the State during the reign of the late King; that order was
restored in the finances; that nothing but what was beneficial to all parties
remained to be done; and that the new Court was about to enjoy the
advantages of the regenerating part of his plan of finance; all these reasons,
set forth in five or six memorials, which he sent in succession to the King
and Queen, did not avail to keep him in office. His talents were admitted,
but the odium which his operations had necessarily brought upon his
character, combined with the immorality of his private life, forbade his
further stay at Court; he was succeeded by M. de Clugny. De Maupeou, the
chancellor, was exiled; this caused universal joy. Lastly, the reassembling of
the Parliaments produced the strongest sensation; Paris was in a delirium of
joy, and not more than one person in a hundred foresaw that the spirit of the
ancient magistracy would be still the same; and that in a short time it would
make new attempts upon the royal authority. Madame du Barry had been
exiled to Pont-aux-Dames. This was a measure rather of necessity than of
severity; a short period of compulsory retreat was requisite in order
and from that moment they dried their tears.
The communication between Choisy and Paris was incessant; never was
a Court seen in greater agitation. What influence will the royal aunts have,
—and the Queen? What fate is reserved for the Comtesse du Barry? Whom
will the young King choose for his ministers? All these questions were
answered in a few days. It was determined that the King’s youth required a
confidential person near him; and that there should be a prime minister. All
eyes were turned upon De Machault and De Maurepas, both of them much
advanced in years. The first had retired to his estate near Paris; and the
second to Pont Chartrain, to which place he had long been exiled. The letter
recalling M. de Machault was written, when Madame Adelaide obtained the
preference of that important appointment for M. de Maurepas. The page to
whose care the first letter had been actually consigned was recalled.
The Duc d’Aiguillon had been too openly known as the private friend of
the King’s mistress; he was dismissed. M. de Vergennes, at that time
ambassador of France at Stockholm, was appointed Minister for Foreign
Affairs; Comte du Muy, the intimate friend of the Dauphin, the father of
Louis XVI.[?? D.W.], obtained the War Department. The Abbe Terray in
vain said, and wrote, that he had boldly done all possible injury to the
creditors of the State during the reign of the late King; that order was
restored in the finances; that nothing but what was beneficial to all parties
remained to be done; and that the new Court was about to enjoy the
advantages of the regenerating part of his plan of finance; all these reasons,
set forth in five or six memorials, which he sent in succession to the King
and Queen, did not avail to keep him in office. His talents were admitted,
but the odium which his operations had necessarily brought upon his
character, combined with the immorality of his private life, forbade his
further stay at Court; he was succeeded by M. de Clugny. De Maupeou, the
chancellor, was exiled; this caused universal joy. Lastly, the reassembling of
the Parliaments produced the strongest sensation; Paris was in a delirium of
joy, and not more than one person in a hundred foresaw that the spirit of the
ancient magistracy would be still the same; and that in a short time it would
make new attempts upon the royal authority. Madame du Barry had been
exiled to Pont-aux-Dames. This was a measure rather of necessity than of
severity; a short period of compulsory retreat was requisite in order
Page 86
completely to break off her connections with State affairs. The possession
of Louveciennes and a considerable pension were continued to her.
[The Comtesse du Barry never forgot the mild treatment
she experienced from the Court of Louis XVI.; during the
most violent convulsions of the Revolution she signified to
the Queen that there was no one in France more grieved at
the sufferings of her sovereign than herself; that the honour
she had for years enjoyed, of living near the throne, and the
unbounded kindness of the King and Queen, had so sincerely
attached her to the cause of royalty that she entreated the
Queen to honour her by disposing of all she possessed.
Though they did not accept her offer, their Majesties were
affected at her gratitude. The Comtesse du Barry was, as is
well known, one of the victims of the Revolution. She
betrayed at the last great weakness, and the most ardent
desire to live. She was the only woman who wept upon the
scaffold and implored for mercy. Her beauty and tears made
an impression on the populace, and the execution was
hurried to a conclusion.—MADAME CAMPAN.]
Everybody expected the recall of M. de Choiseul; the regret occasioned
by his absence among the numerous friends whom he had left at Court, the
attachment of the young Princess who was indebted to him for her elevation
to the throne of France, and all concurring circumstances, seemed to foretell
his return; the Queen earnestly entreated it of the King, but she met with an
insurmountable and unforeseen obstacle. The King, it is said, had imbibed
the strongest prejudices against that minister, from secret memoranda
penned by his father, and which had been committed to the care of the Duc
de La Vauguyon, with an injunction to place them in his hands as soon as he
should be old enough to study the art of reigning. It was by these
memoranda that the esteem which he had conceived for the Marechal du
Muy was inspired, and we may add that Madame Adelaide, who at this
early period powerfully influenced the decisions of the young monarch,
confirmed the impressions they had made.
The Queen conversed with M. Campan on the regret she felt at having
been unable to procure the recall of M. de Choiseul, and disclosed the cause
of Louveciennes and a considerable pension were continued to her.
[The Comtesse du Barry never forgot the mild treatment
she experienced from the Court of Louis XVI.; during the
most violent convulsions of the Revolution she signified to
the Queen that there was no one in France more grieved at
the sufferings of her sovereign than herself; that the honour
she had for years enjoyed, of living near the throne, and the
unbounded kindness of the King and Queen, had so sincerely
attached her to the cause of royalty that she entreated the
Queen to honour her by disposing of all she possessed.
Though they did not accept her offer, their Majesties were
affected at her gratitude. The Comtesse du Barry was, as is
well known, one of the victims of the Revolution. She
betrayed at the last great weakness, and the most ardent
desire to live. She was the only woman who wept upon the
scaffold and implored for mercy. Her beauty and tears made
an impression on the populace, and the execution was
hurried to a conclusion.—MADAME CAMPAN.]
Everybody expected the recall of M. de Choiseul; the regret occasioned
by his absence among the numerous friends whom he had left at Court, the
attachment of the young Princess who was indebted to him for her elevation
to the throne of France, and all concurring circumstances, seemed to foretell
his return; the Queen earnestly entreated it of the King, but she met with an
insurmountable and unforeseen obstacle. The King, it is said, had imbibed
the strongest prejudices against that minister, from secret memoranda
penned by his father, and which had been committed to the care of the Duc
de La Vauguyon, with an injunction to place them in his hands as soon as he
should be old enough to study the art of reigning. It was by these
memoranda that the esteem which he had conceived for the Marechal du
Muy was inspired, and we may add that Madame Adelaide, who at this
early period powerfully influenced the decisions of the young monarch,
confirmed the impressions they had made.
The Queen conversed with M. Campan on the regret she felt at having
been unable to procure the recall of M. de Choiseul, and disclosed the cause
Page 87
of it to him. The Abbe de Vermond, who, down to the time of the death of
Louis XV., had been on terms of the strictest friendship with M. Campan,
called upon him on the second day after the arrival of the Court at Choisy,
and, assuming a serious air, said, “Monsieur, the Queen was indiscreet
enough yesterday to speak to you of a minister to whom she must of course
be attached, and whom his friends ardently desire to have near her; you are
aware that we must give up all expectation of seeing the Duke at Court; you
know the reasons why; but you do not know that the young Queen, having
mentioned the conversation in question to me, it was my duty, both as her
preceptor and her friend, to remonstrate severely with her on her
indiscretion in communicating to you those particulars of which you are in
possession. I am now come to tell you that if you continue to avail yourself
of the good nature of your mistress to initiate yourself in secrets of State,
you will have me for your most inveterate enemy. The Queen should find
here no other confidant than myself respecting things that ought to remain
secret.” M. Campan answered that he did not covet the important and
dangerous character at the new Court which the Abbe wished to
appropriate; and that he should confine himself to the duties of his office,
being sufficiently satisfied with the continued kindness with which the
Queen honoured him. Notwithstanding this, however, he informed the
Queen, on the very same evening, of the injunction he had received. She
owned that she had mentioned their conversation to the Abbe; that he had
indeed seriously scolded her, in order to make her feel the necessity of
being secret in concerns of State; and she added, “The Abbe cannot like
you, my dear Campan; he did not expect that I should, on my arrival in
France, find in my household a man who would suit me so exactly as you
have done. I know that he has taken umbrage at it; that is enough. I know,
too, that you are incapable of attempting anything to injure him in my
esteem; an attempt which would besides be vain, for I have been too long
attached to him. As to yourself, be easy on the score of the Abbe’s hostility,
which shall not in any way hurt you.”
The Abbe de Vermond having made himself master of the office of sole
confidant to the Queen, was nevertheless agitated whenever he saw the
young King; he could not be ignorant that the Abbe had been promoted by
the Duc de Choiseul, and was believed to favour the Encyclopedists, against
whom Louis XVI. entertained a secret prejudice, although he suffered them
to gain so great an ascendency during his reign. The Abbe had, moreover,
Louis XV., had been on terms of the strictest friendship with M. Campan,
called upon him on the second day after the arrival of the Court at Choisy,
and, assuming a serious air, said, “Monsieur, the Queen was indiscreet
enough yesterday to speak to you of a minister to whom she must of course
be attached, and whom his friends ardently desire to have near her; you are
aware that we must give up all expectation of seeing the Duke at Court; you
know the reasons why; but you do not know that the young Queen, having
mentioned the conversation in question to me, it was my duty, both as her
preceptor and her friend, to remonstrate severely with her on her
indiscretion in communicating to you those particulars of which you are in
possession. I am now come to tell you that if you continue to avail yourself
of the good nature of your mistress to initiate yourself in secrets of State,
you will have me for your most inveterate enemy. The Queen should find
here no other confidant than myself respecting things that ought to remain
secret.” M. Campan answered that he did not covet the important and
dangerous character at the new Court which the Abbe wished to
appropriate; and that he should confine himself to the duties of his office,
being sufficiently satisfied with the continued kindness with which the
Queen honoured him. Notwithstanding this, however, he informed the
Queen, on the very same evening, of the injunction he had received. She
owned that she had mentioned their conversation to the Abbe; that he had
indeed seriously scolded her, in order to make her feel the necessity of
being secret in concerns of State; and she added, “The Abbe cannot like
you, my dear Campan; he did not expect that I should, on my arrival in
France, find in my household a man who would suit me so exactly as you
have done. I know that he has taken umbrage at it; that is enough. I know,
too, that you are incapable of attempting anything to injure him in my
esteem; an attempt which would besides be vain, for I have been too long
attached to him. As to yourself, be easy on the score of the Abbe’s hostility,
which shall not in any way hurt you.”
The Abbe de Vermond having made himself master of the office of sole
confidant to the Queen, was nevertheless agitated whenever he saw the
young King; he could not be ignorant that the Abbe had been promoted by
the Duc de Choiseul, and was believed to favour the Encyclopedists, against
whom Louis XVI. entertained a secret prejudice, although he suffered them
to gain so great an ascendency during his reign. The Abbe had, moreover,
Page 88
observed that the King had never, while Dauphin, addressed a single word
to him; and that he very frequently only answered him with a shrug of the
shoulders. He therefore determined on writing to Louis XVI., and
intimating that he owed his situation at Court solely to the confidence with
which the late King had honoured him; and that as habits contracted during
the Queen’s education placed him continually in the closest intimacy with
her, he could not enjoy the honour of remaining near her Majesty without
the King’s consent. Louis XVI. sent back his letter, after writing upon it
these words: “I approve the Abbe de Vermond continuing in his office about
the Queen.”
to him; and that he very frequently only answered him with a shrug of the
shoulders. He therefore determined on writing to Louis XVI., and
intimating that he owed his situation at Court solely to the confidence with
which the late King had honoured him; and that as habits contracted during
the Queen’s education placed him continually in the closest intimacy with
her, he could not enjoy the honour of remaining near her Majesty without
the King’s consent. Louis XVI. sent back his letter, after writing upon it
these words: “I approve the Abbe de Vermond continuing in his office about
the Queen.”
Page 89
CHAPTER V.
At the period of his grandfather’s death, Louis XVI. began to be
exceedingly attached to the Queen. The first period of so deep a mourning
not admitting of indulgence in the diversion of hunting, he proposed to her
walks in the gardens of Choisy; they went out like husband and wife, the
young King giving his arm to the Queen, and accompanied by a very small
suite. The influence of this example had such an effect upon the courtiers
that the next day several couples, who had long, and for good reasons, been
disunited, were seen walking upon the terrace with the same apparent
conjugal intimacy. Thus they spent whole hours, braving the intolerable
wearisomeness of their protracted tete-a-tetes, out of mere obsequious
imitation.
The devotion of Mesdames to the King their father throughout his
dreadful malady had produced that effect upon their health which was
generally apprehended. On the fourth day after their arrival at Choisy they
were attacked by pains in the head and chest, which left no doubt as to the
danger of their situation. It became necessary instantly to send away the
young royal family; and the Chateau de la Muette, in the Bois de Boulogne,
was selected for their reception. Their arrival at that residence, which was
very near Paris, drew so great a concourse of people into its neighbourhood,
that even at daybreak the crowd had begun to assemble round the gates.
Shouts of “Vive le Roi!” were scarcely interrupted for a moment between
six o’clock in the morning and sunset. The unpopularity the late King, had
drawn upon himself during his latter years, and the hopes to which a new
reign gives birth, occasioned these transports of joy.
A fashionable jeweller made a fortune by the sale of mourning snuff-
boxes, whereon the portrait of the young Queen, in a black frame of
shagreen, gave rise to the pun: “Consolation in chagrin.” All the fashions,
and every article of dress, received names expressing the spirit of the
moment. Symbols of abundance were everywhere represented, and the
head-dresses of the ladies were surrounded by ears of wheat. Poets sang of
At the period of his grandfather’s death, Louis XVI. began to be
exceedingly attached to the Queen. The first period of so deep a mourning
not admitting of indulgence in the diversion of hunting, he proposed to her
walks in the gardens of Choisy; they went out like husband and wife, the
young King giving his arm to the Queen, and accompanied by a very small
suite. The influence of this example had such an effect upon the courtiers
that the next day several couples, who had long, and for good reasons, been
disunited, were seen walking upon the terrace with the same apparent
conjugal intimacy. Thus they spent whole hours, braving the intolerable
wearisomeness of their protracted tete-a-tetes, out of mere obsequious
imitation.
The devotion of Mesdames to the King their father throughout his
dreadful malady had produced that effect upon their health which was
generally apprehended. On the fourth day after their arrival at Choisy they
were attacked by pains in the head and chest, which left no doubt as to the
danger of their situation. It became necessary instantly to send away the
young royal family; and the Chateau de la Muette, in the Bois de Boulogne,
was selected for their reception. Their arrival at that residence, which was
very near Paris, drew so great a concourse of people into its neighbourhood,
that even at daybreak the crowd had begun to assemble round the gates.
Shouts of “Vive le Roi!” were scarcely interrupted for a moment between
six o’clock in the morning and sunset. The unpopularity the late King, had
drawn upon himself during his latter years, and the hopes to which a new
reign gives birth, occasioned these transports of joy.
A fashionable jeweller made a fortune by the sale of mourning snuff-
boxes, whereon the portrait of the young Queen, in a black frame of
shagreen, gave rise to the pun: “Consolation in chagrin.” All the fashions,
and every article of dress, received names expressing the spirit of the
moment. Symbols of abundance were everywhere represented, and the
head-dresses of the ladies were surrounded by ears of wheat. Poets sang of
Page 90
the new monarch; all hearts, or rather all heads, in France were filled with
enthusiasm. Never did the commencement of any reign excite more
unanimous testimonials of love and attachment. It must be observed,
however, that, amidst all this intoxication, the anti-Austrian party never lost
sight of the young Queen, but kept on the watch, with the malicious desire
to injure her through such errors as might arise from her youth and
inexperience.
Their Majesties had to receive at La Muette the condolences of the ladies
who had been presented at Court, who all felt themselves called on to pay
homage to the new sovereigns. Old and young hastened to present
themselves on the day of general reception; little black bonnets with great
wings, shaking heads, low curtsies, keeping time with the motions of the
head, made, it must be admitted, a few venerable dowagers appear
somewhat ridiculous; but the Queen, who possessed a great deal of dignity,
and a high respect for decorum, was not guilty of the grave fault of losing
the state she was bound to preserve. An indiscreet piece of drollery of one
of the ladies of the palace, however, procured her the imputation of doing
so. The Marquise de Clermont-Tonnerre, whose office required that she
should continue standing behind the Queen, fatigued by the length of the
ceremony, seated herself on the floor, concealed behind the fence formed by
the hoops of the Queen and the ladies of the palace. Thus seated, and
wishing to attract attention and to appear lively, she twitched the dresses of
those ladies, and played a thousand other tricks. The contrast of these
childish pranks with the solemnity which reigned over the rest of the
Queen’s chamber disconcerted her Majesty: she several times placed her
fan before her face to hide an involuntary smile, and the severe old ladies
pronounced that the young Queen had decided all those respectable persons
who were pressing forward to pay their homage to her; that she liked none
but the young; that she was deficient in decorum; and that not one of them
would attend her Court again. The epithet ‘moqueuse’ was applied to her;
and there is no epithet less favourably received in the world.
The next day a very ill-natured song was circulated; the stamp of the
party to which it was attributable might easily be seen upon it. I remember
only the following chorus:
“Little Queen, you must not be
So saucy, with your twenty years;
enthusiasm. Never did the commencement of any reign excite more
unanimous testimonials of love and attachment. It must be observed,
however, that, amidst all this intoxication, the anti-Austrian party never lost
sight of the young Queen, but kept on the watch, with the malicious desire
to injure her through such errors as might arise from her youth and
inexperience.
Their Majesties had to receive at La Muette the condolences of the ladies
who had been presented at Court, who all felt themselves called on to pay
homage to the new sovereigns. Old and young hastened to present
themselves on the day of general reception; little black bonnets with great
wings, shaking heads, low curtsies, keeping time with the motions of the
head, made, it must be admitted, a few venerable dowagers appear
somewhat ridiculous; but the Queen, who possessed a great deal of dignity,
and a high respect for decorum, was not guilty of the grave fault of losing
the state she was bound to preserve. An indiscreet piece of drollery of one
of the ladies of the palace, however, procured her the imputation of doing
so. The Marquise de Clermont-Tonnerre, whose office required that she
should continue standing behind the Queen, fatigued by the length of the
ceremony, seated herself on the floor, concealed behind the fence formed by
the hoops of the Queen and the ladies of the palace. Thus seated, and
wishing to attract attention and to appear lively, she twitched the dresses of
those ladies, and played a thousand other tricks. The contrast of these
childish pranks with the solemnity which reigned over the rest of the
Queen’s chamber disconcerted her Majesty: she several times placed her
fan before her face to hide an involuntary smile, and the severe old ladies
pronounced that the young Queen had decided all those respectable persons
who were pressing forward to pay their homage to her; that she liked none
but the young; that she was deficient in decorum; and that not one of them
would attend her Court again. The epithet ‘moqueuse’ was applied to her;
and there is no epithet less favourably received in the world.
The next day a very ill-natured song was circulated; the stamp of the
party to which it was attributable might easily be seen upon it. I remember
only the following chorus:
“Little Queen, you must not be
So saucy, with your twenty years;
Page 91
Your ill-used courtiers soon will see
You pass, once more, the barriers.
Fal lal lal, fal lal la.”
The errors of the great, or those which ill-nature chooses to impute to
them, circulate in the world with the greatest rapidity, and become historical
traditions, which every one delights to repeat.
More than fifteen years after this occurrence I heard some old ladies in
the most retired part of Auvergne relating all the particulars of the day of
public condolence for the late King, on which, as they said, the Queen had
laughed in the faces of the sexagenarian duchesses and princesses who had
thought it their duty to appear on the occasion.
The King and the Princes, his brothers, determined to avail themselves of
the advantages held out by inoculation, as a safeguard against the illness
under which their grandfather had just fallen; but the utility of this new
discovery not being then generally acknowledged in France, many persons
were greatly alarmed at the step; those who blamed it openly threw all the
responsibility of it upon the Queen, who alone, they said, could have
ventured to give such rash advice, inoculation being at this time established
in the Northern Courts. The operation upon the King and his brothers,
performed by Doctor Jauberthou, was fortunately quite successful.
When the convalescence of the Princes was perfectly established, the
excursions to Marly became cheerful enough. Parties on horseback and in
calashes were formed continually. The Queen was desirous to afford herself
one very innocent gratification; she had never seen the day break; and
having now no other consent than that of the King to seek, she intimated her
wish to him. He agreed that she should go, at three o’clock in the morning,
to the eminences of the gardens of Marly; and, unfortunately, little disposed
to partake in her amusements, he himself went to bed. Foreseeing some
inconveniences possible in this nocturnal party, the Queen determined on
having a number of people with her; and even ordered her waiting women
to accompany her. All precautions were ineffectual to prevent the effects of
calumny, which thenceforward sought to diminish the general attachment
that she had inspired. A few days afterwards, the most wicked libel that
appeared during the earlier years of her reign was circulated in Paris. The
blackest colours were employed to paint an enjoyment so harmless that
there is scarcely a young woman living in the country who has not
You pass, once more, the barriers.
Fal lal lal, fal lal la.”
The errors of the great, or those which ill-nature chooses to impute to
them, circulate in the world with the greatest rapidity, and become historical
traditions, which every one delights to repeat.
More than fifteen years after this occurrence I heard some old ladies in
the most retired part of Auvergne relating all the particulars of the day of
public condolence for the late King, on which, as they said, the Queen had
laughed in the faces of the sexagenarian duchesses and princesses who had
thought it their duty to appear on the occasion.
The King and the Princes, his brothers, determined to avail themselves of
the advantages held out by inoculation, as a safeguard against the illness
under which their grandfather had just fallen; but the utility of this new
discovery not being then generally acknowledged in France, many persons
were greatly alarmed at the step; those who blamed it openly threw all the
responsibility of it upon the Queen, who alone, they said, could have
ventured to give such rash advice, inoculation being at this time established
in the Northern Courts. The operation upon the King and his brothers,
performed by Doctor Jauberthou, was fortunately quite successful.
When the convalescence of the Princes was perfectly established, the
excursions to Marly became cheerful enough. Parties on horseback and in
calashes were formed continually. The Queen was desirous to afford herself
one very innocent gratification; she had never seen the day break; and
having now no other consent than that of the King to seek, she intimated her
wish to him. He agreed that she should go, at three o’clock in the morning,
to the eminences of the gardens of Marly; and, unfortunately, little disposed
to partake in her amusements, he himself went to bed. Foreseeing some
inconveniences possible in this nocturnal party, the Queen determined on
having a number of people with her; and even ordered her waiting women
to accompany her. All precautions were ineffectual to prevent the effects of
calumny, which thenceforward sought to diminish the general attachment
that she had inspired. A few days afterwards, the most wicked libel that
appeared during the earlier years of her reign was circulated in Paris. The
blackest colours were employed to paint an enjoyment so harmless that
there is scarcely a young woman living in the country who has not
Page 92
endeavoured to procure it for herself. The verses which appeared on this
occasion were entitled “Sunrise.”
The Duc d’Orleans, then Duc de Chartres, was among those who
accompanied the young Queen in her nocturnal ramble: he appeared very
attentive to her at this epoch; but it was the only moment of his life in
which there was any advance towards intimacy between the Queen and
himself. The King disliked the character of the Duc de Chartres, and the
Queen always excluded him from her private society. It is therefore without
the slightest foundation that some writers have attributed to feelings of
jealousy or wounded self-love the hatred which he displayed towards the
Queen during the latter years of their existence.
It was on this first journey to Marly that Boehmer, the jeweller, appeared
at Court,—a man whose stupidity and avarice afterwards fatally affected the
happiness and reputation of Marie Antoinette. This person had, at great
expense, collected six pear-formed diamonds of a prodigious size; they
were perfectly matched and of the finest water. The earrings which they
composed had, before the death of Louis XV., been destined for the
Comtesse du Barry.
Boehmer; by the recommendation of several persons about the Court,
came to offer these jewels to the Queen. He asked four hundred thousand
francs for them. The young Princess could not withstand her wish to
purchase them; and the King having just raised the Queen’s income, which,
under the former reign, had been but two hundred thousand livres, to one
hundred thousand crowns a year, she wished to make the purchase out of
her own purse, and not burthen the royal treasury with the payment. She
proposed to Boehmer to take off the two buttons which formed the tops of
the clusters, as they could be replaced by two of her own diamonds. He
consented, and then reduced the price of the earrings to three hundred and
sixty thousand francs; the payment for which was to be made by
instalments, and was discharged in the course of four or five years by the
Queen’s first femme de chambre, deputed to manage the funds of her privy
purse. I have omitted no details as to the manner in which the Queen first
became possessed of these jewels, deeming them very needful to place in its
true light the too famous circumstance of the necklace, which happened
near the end of her reign.
occasion were entitled “Sunrise.”
The Duc d’Orleans, then Duc de Chartres, was among those who
accompanied the young Queen in her nocturnal ramble: he appeared very
attentive to her at this epoch; but it was the only moment of his life in
which there was any advance towards intimacy between the Queen and
himself. The King disliked the character of the Duc de Chartres, and the
Queen always excluded him from her private society. It is therefore without
the slightest foundation that some writers have attributed to feelings of
jealousy or wounded self-love the hatred which he displayed towards the
Queen during the latter years of their existence.
It was on this first journey to Marly that Boehmer, the jeweller, appeared
at Court,—a man whose stupidity and avarice afterwards fatally affected the
happiness and reputation of Marie Antoinette. This person had, at great
expense, collected six pear-formed diamonds of a prodigious size; they
were perfectly matched and of the finest water. The earrings which they
composed had, before the death of Louis XV., been destined for the
Comtesse du Barry.
Boehmer; by the recommendation of several persons about the Court,
came to offer these jewels to the Queen. He asked four hundred thousand
francs for them. The young Princess could not withstand her wish to
purchase them; and the King having just raised the Queen’s income, which,
under the former reign, had been but two hundred thousand livres, to one
hundred thousand crowns a year, she wished to make the purchase out of
her own purse, and not burthen the royal treasury with the payment. She
proposed to Boehmer to take off the two buttons which formed the tops of
the clusters, as they could be replaced by two of her own diamonds. He
consented, and then reduced the price of the earrings to three hundred and
sixty thousand francs; the payment for which was to be made by
instalments, and was discharged in the course of four or five years by the
Queen’s first femme de chambre, deputed to manage the funds of her privy
purse. I have omitted no details as to the manner in which the Queen first
became possessed of these jewels, deeming them very needful to place in its
true light the too famous circumstance of the necklace, which happened
near the end of her reign.
Page 93
It was also on this first journey to Marly that the Duchesse de Chartres,
afterwards Duchesse d’Orleans, introduced into the Queen’s household
Mademoiselle Bertin, a milliner who became celebrated at that time for the
total change she effected in the dress of the French ladies.
It may be said that the mere admission of a milliner into the house of the
Queen was followed by evil consequences to her Majesty. The skill of the
milliner, who was received into the household, in spite of the custom which
kept persons of her description out of it, afforded her the opportunity of
introducing some new fashion every day. Up to this time the Queen had
shown very plain taste in dress; she now began to make it a principal
occupation; and she was of course imitated by other women.
All wished instantly to have the same dress as the Queen, and to wear the
feathers and flowers to which her beauty, then in its brilliancy, lent an
indescribable charm. The expenditure of the younger ladies was necessarily
much increased; mothers and husbands murmured at it; some few giddy
women contracted debts; unpleasant domestic scenes occurred; in many
families coldness or quarrels arose; and the general report was,—that the
Queen would be the ruin of all the French ladies.
Fashion continued its fluctuating progress; and head-dresses, with their
superstructures of gauze, flowers, and feathers, became so lofty that the
women could not find carriages high enough to admit them; and they were
often seen either stooping, or holding their heads out of the windows.
Others knelt down in order to manage these elevated objects of ridicule
with less danger.
[If the use of these extravagant feathers and head-dresses
had continued, say the memoirs of that period very seriously,
it would have effected a revolution in architecture. It would
have been found necessary to raise the doors and ceilings of
the boxes at the theatre, and particularly the bodies of
carriages. It was not without mortification that the King
observed the Queen’s adoption of this style of dress: she was
never so lovely in his eyes as when unadorned by art. One
day Carlin, performing at Court as harlequin, stuck in his
hat, instead of the rabbit’s tail, its prescribed ornament, a
peacock’s feather of excessive length. This new appendage,
which repeatedly got entangled among the scenery, gave him
afterwards Duchesse d’Orleans, introduced into the Queen’s household
Mademoiselle Bertin, a milliner who became celebrated at that time for the
total change she effected in the dress of the French ladies.
It may be said that the mere admission of a milliner into the house of the
Queen was followed by evil consequences to her Majesty. The skill of the
milliner, who was received into the household, in spite of the custom which
kept persons of her description out of it, afforded her the opportunity of
introducing some new fashion every day. Up to this time the Queen had
shown very plain taste in dress; she now began to make it a principal
occupation; and she was of course imitated by other women.
All wished instantly to have the same dress as the Queen, and to wear the
feathers and flowers to which her beauty, then in its brilliancy, lent an
indescribable charm. The expenditure of the younger ladies was necessarily
much increased; mothers and husbands murmured at it; some few giddy
women contracted debts; unpleasant domestic scenes occurred; in many
families coldness or quarrels arose; and the general report was,—that the
Queen would be the ruin of all the French ladies.
Fashion continued its fluctuating progress; and head-dresses, with their
superstructures of gauze, flowers, and feathers, became so lofty that the
women could not find carriages high enough to admit them; and they were
often seen either stooping, or holding their heads out of the windows.
Others knelt down in order to manage these elevated objects of ridicule
with less danger.
[If the use of these extravagant feathers and head-dresses
had continued, say the memoirs of that period very seriously,
it would have effected a revolution in architecture. It would
have been found necessary to raise the doors and ceilings of
the boxes at the theatre, and particularly the bodies of
carriages. It was not without mortification that the King
observed the Queen’s adoption of this style of dress: she was
never so lovely in his eyes as when unadorned by art. One
day Carlin, performing at Court as harlequin, stuck in his
hat, instead of the rabbit’s tail, its prescribed ornament, a
peacock’s feather of excessive length. This new appendage,
which repeatedly got entangled among the scenery, gave him
Page 94
an opportunity for a great deal of buffoonery. There was
some inclination to punish him; but it was presumed that he
had not assumed the feather without authority.-NOTE BY
THE EDITOR.]
Innumerable caricatures, exhibited in all directions, and some of which
artfully gave the features of the Queen, attacked the extravagance of
fashion, but with very little effect. It changed only, as is always the case,
through the influence of inconstancy and time.
The Queen’s toilet was a masterpiece of etiquette; everything was done in
a prescribed form. Both the dame d’honneur and the dame d’atours usually
attended and officiated, assisted by the first femme de chambre and two
ordinary women. The dame d’atours put on the petticoat, and handed the
gown to the Queen. The dame d’honneur poured out the water for her hands
and put on her linen. When a princess of the royal family happened to be
present while the Queen was dressing, the dame d’honneur yielded to her
the latter act of office, but still did not yield it directly to the Princesses of
the blood; in such a case the dame d’honneur was accustomed to present the
linen to the first femme de chambre, who, in her turn, handed it to the
Princess of the blood. Each of these ladies observed these rules
scrupulously as affecting her rights. One winter’s day it happened that the
Queen, who was entirely undressed, was just going to put on her shift; I
held it ready unfolded for her; the dame d’honneur came in, slipped off her
gloves, and took it. A scratching was heard at the door; it was opened, and
in came the Duchesse d’Orleans: her gloves were taken off, and she came
forward to take the garment; but as it would have been wrong in the dame
d’honneur to hand it to her she gave it to me, and I handed it to the Princess.
More scratching it was Madame la Comtesse de Provence; the Duchesse
d’Orleans handed her the linen. All this while the Queen kept her arms
crossed upon her bosom, and appeared to feel cold; Madame observed her
uncomfortable situation, and, merely laying down her handkerchief without
taking off her gloves, she put on the linen, and in doing so knocked the
Queen’s cap off. The Queen laughed to conceal her impatience, but not until
she had muttered several times, “How disagreeable! how tiresome!”
All this etiquette, however inconvenient, was suitable to the royal dignity,
which expects to find servants in all classes of persons, beginning even with
the brothers and sisters of the monarch.
some inclination to punish him; but it was presumed that he
had not assumed the feather without authority.-NOTE BY
THE EDITOR.]
Innumerable caricatures, exhibited in all directions, and some of which
artfully gave the features of the Queen, attacked the extravagance of
fashion, but with very little effect. It changed only, as is always the case,
through the influence of inconstancy and time.
The Queen’s toilet was a masterpiece of etiquette; everything was done in
a prescribed form. Both the dame d’honneur and the dame d’atours usually
attended and officiated, assisted by the first femme de chambre and two
ordinary women. The dame d’atours put on the petticoat, and handed the
gown to the Queen. The dame d’honneur poured out the water for her hands
and put on her linen. When a princess of the royal family happened to be
present while the Queen was dressing, the dame d’honneur yielded to her
the latter act of office, but still did not yield it directly to the Princesses of
the blood; in such a case the dame d’honneur was accustomed to present the
linen to the first femme de chambre, who, in her turn, handed it to the
Princess of the blood. Each of these ladies observed these rules
scrupulously as affecting her rights. One winter’s day it happened that the
Queen, who was entirely undressed, was just going to put on her shift; I
held it ready unfolded for her; the dame d’honneur came in, slipped off her
gloves, and took it. A scratching was heard at the door; it was opened, and
in came the Duchesse d’Orleans: her gloves were taken off, and she came
forward to take the garment; but as it would have been wrong in the dame
d’honneur to hand it to her she gave it to me, and I handed it to the Princess.
More scratching it was Madame la Comtesse de Provence; the Duchesse
d’Orleans handed her the linen. All this while the Queen kept her arms
crossed upon her bosom, and appeared to feel cold; Madame observed her
uncomfortable situation, and, merely laying down her handkerchief without
taking off her gloves, she put on the linen, and in doing so knocked the
Queen’s cap off. The Queen laughed to conceal her impatience, but not until
she had muttered several times, “How disagreeable! how tiresome!”
All this etiquette, however inconvenient, was suitable to the royal dignity,
which expects to find servants in all classes of persons, beginning even with
the brothers and sisters of the monarch.
Page 95
Speaking here of etiquette, I do not allude to majestic state, appointed for
days of ceremony in all Courts. I mean those minute ceremonies that were
pursued towards our Kings in their inmost privacies, in their hours of
pleasure, in those of pain, and even during the most revolting of human
infirmities.
These servile rules were drawn up into a kind of code; they offered to a
Richelieu, a La Rochefoucauld and a Duras, in the exercise of their
domestic functions, opportunities of intimacy useful to their interests; and
their vanity was flattered by customs which converted the right to give a
glass of water, to put on a dress, and to remove a basin, into honourable
prerogatives.
Princes thus accustomed to be treated as divinities naturally ended by
believing that they were of a distinct nature, of a purer essence than the rest
of mankind.
This sort of etiquette, which led our Princes to be treated in private as
idols, made them in public martyrs to decorum. Marie Antoinette found in
the Chateau of Versailles a multitude of established customs which
appeared to her insupportable.
The ladies-in-waiting, who were all obliged to be sworn, and to wear full
Court dresses, were alone entitled to remain in the room, and to attend in
conjunction with the dame d’honneur and the tirewoman. The Queen
abolished all this formality. When her head was dressed, she curtsied to all
the ladies who were in her chamber, and, followed only by her own women,
went into her closet, where Mademoiselle Bertin, who could not be
admitted into the chamber, used to await her. It was in this inner closet that
she produced her new and numerous dresses. The Queen was also desirous
of being served by the most fashionable hairdresser in Paris. Now the
custom which forbade all persons in inferior offices, employed by royalty,
to exert their talents for the public, was no doubt intended to cut off all
communication between the privacy of princes and society at large; the
latter being always extremely curious respecting the most trifling particulars
relative to the private life of the former. The Queen, fearing that the taste of
the hairdresser would suffer if he should discontinue the general practice of
his art, ordered him to attend as usual certain ladies of the Court and of
Paris; and this multiplied the opportunities of learning details respecting the
household, and very often of misrepresenting them.
days of ceremony in all Courts. I mean those minute ceremonies that were
pursued towards our Kings in their inmost privacies, in their hours of
pleasure, in those of pain, and even during the most revolting of human
infirmities.
These servile rules were drawn up into a kind of code; they offered to a
Richelieu, a La Rochefoucauld and a Duras, in the exercise of their
domestic functions, opportunities of intimacy useful to their interests; and
their vanity was flattered by customs which converted the right to give a
glass of water, to put on a dress, and to remove a basin, into honourable
prerogatives.
Princes thus accustomed to be treated as divinities naturally ended by
believing that they were of a distinct nature, of a purer essence than the rest
of mankind.
This sort of etiquette, which led our Princes to be treated in private as
idols, made them in public martyrs to decorum. Marie Antoinette found in
the Chateau of Versailles a multitude of established customs which
appeared to her insupportable.
The ladies-in-waiting, who were all obliged to be sworn, and to wear full
Court dresses, were alone entitled to remain in the room, and to attend in
conjunction with the dame d’honneur and the tirewoman. The Queen
abolished all this formality. When her head was dressed, she curtsied to all
the ladies who were in her chamber, and, followed only by her own women,
went into her closet, where Mademoiselle Bertin, who could not be
admitted into the chamber, used to await her. It was in this inner closet that
she produced her new and numerous dresses. The Queen was also desirous
of being served by the most fashionable hairdresser in Paris. Now the
custom which forbade all persons in inferior offices, employed by royalty,
to exert their talents for the public, was no doubt intended to cut off all
communication between the privacy of princes and society at large; the
latter being always extremely curious respecting the most trifling particulars
relative to the private life of the former. The Queen, fearing that the taste of
the hairdresser would suffer if he should discontinue the general practice of
his art, ordered him to attend as usual certain ladies of the Court and of
Paris; and this multiplied the opportunities of learning details respecting the
household, and very often of misrepresenting them.
Page 96
One of the customs most disagreeable to the Queen was that of dining
every day in public. Maria Leczinska had always submitted to this
wearisome practice; Marie Antoinette followed it as long as she was
Dauphiness. The Dauphin dined with her, and each branch of the family had
its public dinner daily. The ushers suffered all decently dressed people to
enter; the sight was the delight of persons from the country. At the dinner-
hour there were none to be met upon the stairs but honest folks, who, after
having seen the Dauphiness take her soup, went to see the Princes eat their
‘bouilli’, and then ran themselves out of breath to behold Mesdames at their
dessert.
Very ancient usage, too, required that the Queens of France should appear
in public surrounded only by women; even at meal-times no persons of the
other sex attended to serve at table; and although the King ate publicly with
the Queen, yet he himself was served by women with everything which was
presented to him directly at table. The dame d’honneur, kneeling, for her
own accommodation, upon a low stool, with a napkin upon her arm, and
four women in full dress, presented the plates to the King and Queen. The
dame d’honneur handed them drink. This service had formerly been the
right of the maids of honour. The Queen, upon her accession to the throne,
abolished the usage altogether. She also freed herself from the necessity of
being followed in the Palace of Versailles by two of her women in Court
dresses, during those hours of the day when the ladies-in-waiting were not
with her. From that time she was accompanied only by a single valet de
chambre and two footmen. All the changes made by Marie Antoinette were
of the same description; a disposition gradually to substitute the simple
customs of Vienna for those of Versailles was more injurious to her than she
could possibly have imagined.
When the King slept in the Queen’s apartment he always rose before her;
the exact hour was communicated to the head femme de chambre, who
entered, preceded by a servant of the bedchamber bearing a taper; she
crossed the room and unbolted the door which separated the Queen’s
apartment from that of the King. She there found the first valet de chambre
for the quarter, and a servant of the chamber. They entered, opened the bed
curtains on the King’s side, and presented him slippers generally, as well as
the dressing-gown, which he put on, of gold or silver stuff. The first valet
de chambre took down a short sword which was always laid within the
railing on the King’s side. When the King slept with the Queen, this sword
every day in public. Maria Leczinska had always submitted to this
wearisome practice; Marie Antoinette followed it as long as she was
Dauphiness. The Dauphin dined with her, and each branch of the family had
its public dinner daily. The ushers suffered all decently dressed people to
enter; the sight was the delight of persons from the country. At the dinner-
hour there were none to be met upon the stairs but honest folks, who, after
having seen the Dauphiness take her soup, went to see the Princes eat their
‘bouilli’, and then ran themselves out of breath to behold Mesdames at their
dessert.
Very ancient usage, too, required that the Queens of France should appear
in public surrounded only by women; even at meal-times no persons of the
other sex attended to serve at table; and although the King ate publicly with
the Queen, yet he himself was served by women with everything which was
presented to him directly at table. The dame d’honneur, kneeling, for her
own accommodation, upon a low stool, with a napkin upon her arm, and
four women in full dress, presented the plates to the King and Queen. The
dame d’honneur handed them drink. This service had formerly been the
right of the maids of honour. The Queen, upon her accession to the throne,
abolished the usage altogether. She also freed herself from the necessity of
being followed in the Palace of Versailles by two of her women in Court
dresses, during those hours of the day when the ladies-in-waiting were not
with her. From that time she was accompanied only by a single valet de
chambre and two footmen. All the changes made by Marie Antoinette were
of the same description; a disposition gradually to substitute the simple
customs of Vienna for those of Versailles was more injurious to her than she
could possibly have imagined.
When the King slept in the Queen’s apartment he always rose before her;
the exact hour was communicated to the head femme de chambre, who
entered, preceded by a servant of the bedchamber bearing a taper; she
crossed the room and unbolted the door which separated the Queen’s
apartment from that of the King. She there found the first valet de chambre
for the quarter, and a servant of the chamber. They entered, opened the bed
curtains on the King’s side, and presented him slippers generally, as well as
the dressing-gown, which he put on, of gold or silver stuff. The first valet
de chambre took down a short sword which was always laid within the
railing on the King’s side. When the King slept with the Queen, this sword
Page 97
was brought upon the armchair appropriated to the King, and which was
placed near the Queen’s bed, within the gilt railing which surrounded the
bed. The first femme de chambre conducted the King to the door, bolted it
again, and, leaving the Queen’s chamber, did not return until the hour
appointed by her Majesty the evening before. At night the Queen went to
bed before the King; the first femme de chambre remained seated at the foot
of her bed until the arrival of his Majesty, in order, as in the morning, to see
the King’s attendants out and bolt the door after them. The Queen awoke
habitually at eight o’clock, and breakfasted at nine, frequently in bed, and
sometimes after she had risen, at a table placed opposite her couch.
In order to describe the Queen’s private service intelligibly, it must be
recollected that service of every kind was honour, and had not any other
denomination. To do the honours of the service was to present the service to
a person of superior rank, who happened to arrive at the moment it was
about to be performed. Thus, supposing the Queen asked for a glass of
water, the servant of the chamber handed to the first woman a silver gilt
waiter, upon which were placed a covered goblet and a small decanter; but
should the lady of honour come in, the first woman was obliged to present
the waiter to her, and if Madame or the Comtesse d’Artois came in at the
moment, the waiter went again from the lady of honour into the hands of
the Princess before it reached the Queen. It must be observed, however, that
if a princess of the blood instead of a princess of the family entered, the
service went directly from the first woman to the princess of the blood, the
lady of honour being excused from transferring to any but princesses of the
royal family. Nothing was presented directly to the Queen; her handkerchief
or her gloves were placed upon a long salver of gold or silver gilt, which
was placed as a piece of furniture of ceremony upon a side-table, and was
called a gantiere. The first woman presented to her in this manner all that
she asked for, unless the tirewoman, the lady of honour, or a princess were
present, and then the gradation pointed out in the instance of the glass of
water was always observed.
Whether the Queen breakfasted in bed or up, those entitled to the petites
entrees were equally admitted; this privilege belonged of right to her chief
physician, chief surgeon, physician in ordinary, reader, closet secretary, the
King’s four first valets de chambre and their reversioners, and the King’s
chief physicians and surgeons. There were frequently from ten to twelve
persons at this first entree. The lady of honour or the superintendent, if
placed near the Queen’s bed, within the gilt railing which surrounded the
bed. The first femme de chambre conducted the King to the door, bolted it
again, and, leaving the Queen’s chamber, did not return until the hour
appointed by her Majesty the evening before. At night the Queen went to
bed before the King; the first femme de chambre remained seated at the foot
of her bed until the arrival of his Majesty, in order, as in the morning, to see
the King’s attendants out and bolt the door after them. The Queen awoke
habitually at eight o’clock, and breakfasted at nine, frequently in bed, and
sometimes after she had risen, at a table placed opposite her couch.
In order to describe the Queen’s private service intelligibly, it must be
recollected that service of every kind was honour, and had not any other
denomination. To do the honours of the service was to present the service to
a person of superior rank, who happened to arrive at the moment it was
about to be performed. Thus, supposing the Queen asked for a glass of
water, the servant of the chamber handed to the first woman a silver gilt
waiter, upon which were placed a covered goblet and a small decanter; but
should the lady of honour come in, the first woman was obliged to present
the waiter to her, and if Madame or the Comtesse d’Artois came in at the
moment, the waiter went again from the lady of honour into the hands of
the Princess before it reached the Queen. It must be observed, however, that
if a princess of the blood instead of a princess of the family entered, the
service went directly from the first woman to the princess of the blood, the
lady of honour being excused from transferring to any but princesses of the
royal family. Nothing was presented directly to the Queen; her handkerchief
or her gloves were placed upon a long salver of gold or silver gilt, which
was placed as a piece of furniture of ceremony upon a side-table, and was
called a gantiere. The first woman presented to her in this manner all that
she asked for, unless the tirewoman, the lady of honour, or a princess were
present, and then the gradation pointed out in the instance of the glass of
water was always observed.
Whether the Queen breakfasted in bed or up, those entitled to the petites
entrees were equally admitted; this privilege belonged of right to her chief
physician, chief surgeon, physician in ordinary, reader, closet secretary, the
King’s four first valets de chambre and their reversioners, and the King’s
chief physicians and surgeons. There were frequently from ten to twelve
persons at this first entree. The lady of honour or the superintendent, if
Page 98
present, placed the breakfast equipage upon the bed; the Princesse de
Lamballe frequently performed that office.
Lamballe frequently performed that office.
Page 99
As soon as the Queen rose, the wardrobe woman was admitted to take
away the pillows and prepare the bed to be made by some of the valets de
chambre. She undrew the curtains, and the bed was not generally made until
the Queen was gone to mass. Generally, excepting at St. Cloud, where the
Queen bathed in an apartment below her own, a slipper bath was rolled into
her room, and her bathers brought everything that was necessary for the
bath. The Queen bathed in a large gown of English flannel buttoned down
to the bottom; its sleeves throughout, as well as the collar, were lined with
linen. When she came out of the bath the first woman held up a cloth to
away the pillows and prepare the bed to be made by some of the valets de
chambre. She undrew the curtains, and the bed was not generally made until
the Queen was gone to mass. Generally, excepting at St. Cloud, where the
Queen bathed in an apartment below her own, a slipper bath was rolled into
her room, and her bathers brought everything that was necessary for the
bath. The Queen bathed in a large gown of English flannel buttoned down
to the bottom; its sleeves throughout, as well as the collar, were lined with
linen. When she came out of the bath the first woman held up a cloth to
Page 100
conceal her entirely from the sight of her women, and then threw it over her
shoulders. The bathers wrapped her in it and dried her completely. She then
put on a long and wide open chemise, entirely trimmed with lace, and
afterwards a white taffety bed-gown. The wardrobe woman warmed the
bed; the slippers were of dimity, trimmed with lace. Thus dressed, the
Queen went to bed again, and the bathers and servants of the chamber took
away the bathing apparatus. The Queen, replaced in bed, took a book or her
tapestry work. On her bathing mornings she breakfasted in the bath. The
tray was placed on the cover of the bath. These minute details are given
here only to do justice to the Queen’s scrupulous modesty. Her temperance
was equally remarkable; she breakfasted on coffee or chocolate; at dinner
ate nothing but white meat, drank water only, and supped on broth, a wing
of a fowl, and small biscuits, which she soaked in a glass of water.
The tirewoman had under her order a principal under-tirewoman, charged
with the care and preservation of all the Queen’s dresses; two women to
fold and press such articles as required it; two valets, and a porter of the
wardrobe. The latter brought every morning into the Queen’s apartments
baskets covered with taffety, containing all that she was to wear during the
day, and large cloths of green taffety covering the robes and the full dresses.
The valet of the wardrobe on duty presented every morning a large book to
the first femme de chambre, containing patterns of the gowns, full dresses,
undresses, etc. Every pattern was marked, to show to which sort it
belonged. The first femme de chambre presented this book to the Queen on
her awaking, with a pincushion; her Majesty stuck pins in those articles
which she chose for the day,—one for the dress, one for the afternoon-
undress, and one for the full evening dress for card or supper parties in the
private apartments. The book was then taken back to the wardrobe, and all
that was wanted for the day was soon after brought in in large taffety
wrappers. The wardrobe woman, who had the care of the linen, in her turn
brought in a covered basket containing two or three chemises and
handkerchiefs. The morning basket was called pret du jour. In the evening
she brought in one containing the nightgown and nightcap, and the
stockings for the next morning; this basket was called pret de la nuit. They
were in the department of the lady of honour, the tirewoman having nothing
to do with the linen. Nothing was put in order or taken care of by the
Queen’s women. As soon as the toilet was over, the valets and porter
belonging to the wardrobe were called in, and they carried all away in a
shoulders. The bathers wrapped her in it and dried her completely. She then
put on a long and wide open chemise, entirely trimmed with lace, and
afterwards a white taffety bed-gown. The wardrobe woman warmed the
bed; the slippers were of dimity, trimmed with lace. Thus dressed, the
Queen went to bed again, and the bathers and servants of the chamber took
away the bathing apparatus. The Queen, replaced in bed, took a book or her
tapestry work. On her bathing mornings she breakfasted in the bath. The
tray was placed on the cover of the bath. These minute details are given
here only to do justice to the Queen’s scrupulous modesty. Her temperance
was equally remarkable; she breakfasted on coffee or chocolate; at dinner
ate nothing but white meat, drank water only, and supped on broth, a wing
of a fowl, and small biscuits, which she soaked in a glass of water.
The tirewoman had under her order a principal under-tirewoman, charged
with the care and preservation of all the Queen’s dresses; two women to
fold and press such articles as required it; two valets, and a porter of the
wardrobe. The latter brought every morning into the Queen’s apartments
baskets covered with taffety, containing all that she was to wear during the
day, and large cloths of green taffety covering the robes and the full dresses.
The valet of the wardrobe on duty presented every morning a large book to
the first femme de chambre, containing patterns of the gowns, full dresses,
undresses, etc. Every pattern was marked, to show to which sort it
belonged. The first femme de chambre presented this book to the Queen on
her awaking, with a pincushion; her Majesty stuck pins in those articles
which she chose for the day,—one for the dress, one for the afternoon-
undress, and one for the full evening dress for card or supper parties in the
private apartments. The book was then taken back to the wardrobe, and all
that was wanted for the day was soon after brought in in large taffety
wrappers. The wardrobe woman, who had the care of the linen, in her turn
brought in a covered basket containing two or three chemises and
handkerchiefs. The morning basket was called pret du jour. In the evening
she brought in one containing the nightgown and nightcap, and the
stockings for the next morning; this basket was called pret de la nuit. They
were in the department of the lady of honour, the tirewoman having nothing
to do with the linen. Nothing was put in order or taken care of by the
Queen’s women. As soon as the toilet was over, the valets and porter
belonging to the wardrobe were called in, and they carried all away in a
Page 101
heap, in the taffety wrappers, to the tirewoman’s wardrobe, where all were
folded up again, hung up, examined, and cleaned with so much regularity
and care that even the cast-off clothes scarcely looked as if they had been
worn. The tirewoman’s wardrobe consisted of three large rooms surrounded
with closets, some furnished with drawers and others with shelves; there
were also large tables in each of these rooms, on which the gowns and
dresses were spread out and folded up.
For the winter the Queen had generally twelve full dresses, twelve
undresses called fancy dresses, and twelve rich hoop petticoats for the card
and supper parties in the smaller apartments.
She had as many for the summer; those for the spring served likewise for
the autumn. All these dresses were discarded at the end of each season,
unless, indeed, she retained some that she particularly liked. I am not
speaking of muslin or cambric gowns, or others of the same kind—they
were lately introduced; but such as these were not renewed at each
returning season, they were kept several years. The chief women were
charged with the care and examination of the diamonds; this important duty
was formerly confided to the tirewoman, but for many years had been
included in the business of the first femmes de chambre.
The public toilet took place at noon. The toilet-table was drawn forward
into the middle of the room. This piece of furniture was generally the
richest and most ornamented of all in the apartment of the Princesses. The
Queen used it in the same manner and place for undressing herself in the
evening. She went to bed in corsets trimmed with ribbon, and sleeves
trimmed with lace, and wore a large neck handkerchief. The Queen’s
combing cloth was presented by her first woman if she was alone at the
commencement of the toilet; or, as well as the other articles, by the ladies of
honour if they were come. At noon the women who had been in attendance
four and twenty hours were relieved by two women in full dress; the first
woman went also to dress herself. The grandee entrees were admitted
during the toilet; sofas were placed in circles for the superintendent, the
ladies of honour, and tirewomen, and the governess of the children of
France when she came there; the duties of the ladies of the bedchamber,
having nothing to do with any kind of domestic or private functions, did not
begin until the hour of going out to mass; they waited in the great closet,
and entered when the toilet was over. The Princes of the blood, captains of
folded up again, hung up, examined, and cleaned with so much regularity
and care that even the cast-off clothes scarcely looked as if they had been
worn. The tirewoman’s wardrobe consisted of three large rooms surrounded
with closets, some furnished with drawers and others with shelves; there
were also large tables in each of these rooms, on which the gowns and
dresses were spread out and folded up.
For the winter the Queen had generally twelve full dresses, twelve
undresses called fancy dresses, and twelve rich hoop petticoats for the card
and supper parties in the smaller apartments.
She had as many for the summer; those for the spring served likewise for
the autumn. All these dresses were discarded at the end of each season,
unless, indeed, she retained some that she particularly liked. I am not
speaking of muslin or cambric gowns, or others of the same kind—they
were lately introduced; but such as these were not renewed at each
returning season, they were kept several years. The chief women were
charged with the care and examination of the diamonds; this important duty
was formerly confided to the tirewoman, but for many years had been
included in the business of the first femmes de chambre.
The public toilet took place at noon. The toilet-table was drawn forward
into the middle of the room. This piece of furniture was generally the
richest and most ornamented of all in the apartment of the Princesses. The
Queen used it in the same manner and place for undressing herself in the
evening. She went to bed in corsets trimmed with ribbon, and sleeves
trimmed with lace, and wore a large neck handkerchief. The Queen’s
combing cloth was presented by her first woman if she was alone at the
commencement of the toilet; or, as well as the other articles, by the ladies of
honour if they were come. At noon the women who had been in attendance
four and twenty hours were relieved by two women in full dress; the first
woman went also to dress herself. The grandee entrees were admitted
during the toilet; sofas were placed in circles for the superintendent, the
ladies of honour, and tirewomen, and the governess of the children of
France when she came there; the duties of the ladies of the bedchamber,
having nothing to do with any kind of domestic or private functions, did not
begin until the hour of going out to mass; they waited in the great closet,
and entered when the toilet was over. The Princes of the blood, captains of
Page 102
the Guards, and all great officers having the entry paid their court at the
hour of the toilet. The Queen saluted by nodding her head or bending her
body, or leaning upon her toilet-table as if moving to rise; the last mode of
salutation was for the Princes of the blood. The King’s brothers also came
very generally to pay their respects to her Majesty while her hair was being
dressed. In the earlier years of the reign the first part of the dressing was
performed in the bedchamber and according to the laws of etiquette; that is
to say, the lady of honour put on the chemise and poured out the water for
the hands, the tirewoman put on the skirt of the gown or full dress, adjusted
the handkerchief, and tied on the necklace. But when the young Queen
became more seriously devoted to fashion, and the head-dress attained so
extravagant a height that it became necessary to put on the chemise from
below,—when, in short, she determined to have her milliner, Mademoiselle
Benin, with her whilst she was dressing, whom the ladies would have
refused to admit to any share in the honour of attending on the Queen, the
dressing in the bedchamber was discontinued, and the Queen, leaving her
toilet, withdrew into her closet to dress.
On returning into her chamber, the Queen, standing about the middle of
it, surrounded by the superintendent, the ladies of honour and tirewomen,
her ladies of the palace, the chevalier d’honneur, the chief equerry, her
clergy ready to attend her to mass, and the Princesses of the royal family
who happened to come, accompanied by all their chief attendants and
ladies, passed in order into the gallery as in going to mass. The Queen’s
signatures were generally given at the moment of entry into the chamber.
The secretary for orders presented the pen. Presentations of colonels on
taking leave were usually made at this time. Those of ladies, and, such as
had a right to the tabouret, or sitting in the royal presence, were made on
Sunday evenings before card-playing began, on their coming in from
paying their respects. Ambassadors were introduced to the Queen on
Tuesday mornings, accompanied by the introducer of ambassadors on duty,
and by M. de Sequeville, the secretary for the ambassadors. The introducer
in waiting usually came to the Queen at her toilet to apprise her of the
presentations of foreigners which would be made. The usher of the
chamber, stationed at the entrance, opened the folding doors to none but the
Princes and Princesses of the royal family, and announced them aloud.
Quitting his post, he came forward to name to the lady of honour the
persons who came to be presented, or who came to take leave; that lady
hour of the toilet. The Queen saluted by nodding her head or bending her
body, or leaning upon her toilet-table as if moving to rise; the last mode of
salutation was for the Princes of the blood. The King’s brothers also came
very generally to pay their respects to her Majesty while her hair was being
dressed. In the earlier years of the reign the first part of the dressing was
performed in the bedchamber and according to the laws of etiquette; that is
to say, the lady of honour put on the chemise and poured out the water for
the hands, the tirewoman put on the skirt of the gown or full dress, adjusted
the handkerchief, and tied on the necklace. But when the young Queen
became more seriously devoted to fashion, and the head-dress attained so
extravagant a height that it became necessary to put on the chemise from
below,—when, in short, she determined to have her milliner, Mademoiselle
Benin, with her whilst she was dressing, whom the ladies would have
refused to admit to any share in the honour of attending on the Queen, the
dressing in the bedchamber was discontinued, and the Queen, leaving her
toilet, withdrew into her closet to dress.
On returning into her chamber, the Queen, standing about the middle of
it, surrounded by the superintendent, the ladies of honour and tirewomen,
her ladies of the palace, the chevalier d’honneur, the chief equerry, her
clergy ready to attend her to mass, and the Princesses of the royal family
who happened to come, accompanied by all their chief attendants and
ladies, passed in order into the gallery as in going to mass. The Queen’s
signatures were generally given at the moment of entry into the chamber.
The secretary for orders presented the pen. Presentations of colonels on
taking leave were usually made at this time. Those of ladies, and, such as
had a right to the tabouret, or sitting in the royal presence, were made on
Sunday evenings before card-playing began, on their coming in from
paying their respects. Ambassadors were introduced to the Queen on
Tuesday mornings, accompanied by the introducer of ambassadors on duty,
and by M. de Sequeville, the secretary for the ambassadors. The introducer
in waiting usually came to the Queen at her toilet to apprise her of the
presentations of foreigners which would be made. The usher of the
chamber, stationed at the entrance, opened the folding doors to none but the
Princes and Princesses of the royal family, and announced them aloud.
Quitting his post, he came forward to name to the lady of honour the
persons who came to be presented, or who came to take leave; that lady
Page 103
again named them to the Queen at the moment they saluted her; if she and
the tirewoman were absent, the first woman took the place and did that
duty. The ladies of the bedchamber, chosen solely as companions for the
Queen, had no domestic duties to fulfil, however opinion might dignify
such offices. The King’s letter in appointing them, among other instructions
of etiquette, ran thus: “having chosen you to bear the Queen company.”
There were hardly any emoluments accruing from this place.
The Queen heard mass with the King in the tribune, facing the grand altar
and the choir, with the exception of the days of high ceremony, when their
chairs were placed below upon velvet carpets fringed with gold. These days
were marked by the name of grand chapel day.
The Queen named the collector beforehand, and informed her of it
through her lady of honour, who was besides desired to send the purse to
her. The collectors were almost always chosen from among those who had
been recently presented. After returning from mass the Queen dined every
Sunday with the King only, in public in the cabinet of the nobility, a room
leading to her chamber. Titled ladies having the honours sat during the
dinner upon folding-chairs placed on each side of the table. Ladies without
titles stood round the table; the captain of the Guards and the first
gentleman of the chamber were behind the King’s chair; behind that of the
Queen were her first maitre d’hotel, her chevalier d’honneur, and the chief
equerry. The Queen’s maitre d’hotel was furnished with a large staff, six or
seven feet in length, ornamented with golden fleurs-de-lis, and surmounted
by fleurs-de-lis in the form of a crown. He entered the room with this badge
of his office to announce that the Queen was served. The comptroller put
into his hands the card of the dinner; in the absence of the maitre d’hotel he
presented it to the Queen himself, otherwise he only did him the honours of
the service. The maitre d’hotel did not leave his place, he merely gave the
orders for serving up and removing; the comptroller and gentlemen serving
placed the various dishes upon the table, receiving them from the inferior
servants.
The Prince nearest to the crown presented water to wash the King’s
hands at the moment he placed himself at table, and a princess did the same
service to the Queen.
The table service was formerly performed for the Queen by the lady of
honour and four women in full dress; this part of the women’s service was
the tirewoman were absent, the first woman took the place and did that
duty. The ladies of the bedchamber, chosen solely as companions for the
Queen, had no domestic duties to fulfil, however opinion might dignify
such offices. The King’s letter in appointing them, among other instructions
of etiquette, ran thus: “having chosen you to bear the Queen company.”
There were hardly any emoluments accruing from this place.
The Queen heard mass with the King in the tribune, facing the grand altar
and the choir, with the exception of the days of high ceremony, when their
chairs were placed below upon velvet carpets fringed with gold. These days
were marked by the name of grand chapel day.
The Queen named the collector beforehand, and informed her of it
through her lady of honour, who was besides desired to send the purse to
her. The collectors were almost always chosen from among those who had
been recently presented. After returning from mass the Queen dined every
Sunday with the King only, in public in the cabinet of the nobility, a room
leading to her chamber. Titled ladies having the honours sat during the
dinner upon folding-chairs placed on each side of the table. Ladies without
titles stood round the table; the captain of the Guards and the first
gentleman of the chamber were behind the King’s chair; behind that of the
Queen were her first maitre d’hotel, her chevalier d’honneur, and the chief
equerry. The Queen’s maitre d’hotel was furnished with a large staff, six or
seven feet in length, ornamented with golden fleurs-de-lis, and surmounted
by fleurs-de-lis in the form of a crown. He entered the room with this badge
of his office to announce that the Queen was served. The comptroller put
into his hands the card of the dinner; in the absence of the maitre d’hotel he
presented it to the Queen himself, otherwise he only did him the honours of
the service. The maitre d’hotel did not leave his place, he merely gave the
orders for serving up and removing; the comptroller and gentlemen serving
placed the various dishes upon the table, receiving them from the inferior
servants.
The Prince nearest to the crown presented water to wash the King’s
hands at the moment he placed himself at table, and a princess did the same
service to the Queen.
The table service was formerly performed for the Queen by the lady of
honour and four women in full dress; this part of the women’s service was
Page 104
transferred to them on the suppression of the office of maids of honour. The
Queen put an end to this etiquette in the first year of her reign. When the
dinner was over the Queen returned without the King to her apartment with
her women, and took off her hoop and train.
This unfortunate Princess, against whom the opinions of the French
people were at length so much excited, possessed qualities which deserved
to obtain the greatest popularity. None could doubt this who, like myself,
had heard her with delight describe the patriarchal manners of the House of
Lorraine. She was accustomed to say that, by transplanting their manners
into Austria, the Princes of that house had laid the foundation of the
unassailable popularity enjoyed by the imperial family. She frequently
related to me the interesting manner in which the Ducs de Lorraine levied
the taxes. “The sovereign Prince,” said she, “went to church; after the
sermon he rose, waved his hat in the air, to show that he was about to speak,
and then mentioned the sum whereof he stood in need. Such was the zeal of
the good Lorrainers that men have been known to take away linen or
household utensils without the knowledge of their wives, and sell them to
add the value to their contribution. It sometimes happened, too, that the
Prince received more money than he had asked for, in which case he
restored the surplus.”
All who were acquainted with the Queen’s private qualities knew that she
equally deserved attachment and esteem. Kind and patient to excess in her
relations with her household, she indulgently considered all around her, and
interested herself in their fortunes and in their pleasures., She had, among
her women, young girls from the Maison de St. Cyr, all well born; the
Queen forbade them the play when the performances were not suitable;
sometimes, when old plays were to be represented, if she found she could
not with certainty trust to her memory, she would take the trouble to read
them in the morning, to enable her to decide whether the girls should or
should not go to see them,—rightly considering herself bound to watch over
their morals and conduct.
Queen put an end to this etiquette in the first year of her reign. When the
dinner was over the Queen returned without the King to her apartment with
her women, and took off her hoop and train.
This unfortunate Princess, against whom the opinions of the French
people were at length so much excited, possessed qualities which deserved
to obtain the greatest popularity. None could doubt this who, like myself,
had heard her with delight describe the patriarchal manners of the House of
Lorraine. She was accustomed to say that, by transplanting their manners
into Austria, the Princes of that house had laid the foundation of the
unassailable popularity enjoyed by the imperial family. She frequently
related to me the interesting manner in which the Ducs de Lorraine levied
the taxes. “The sovereign Prince,” said she, “went to church; after the
sermon he rose, waved his hat in the air, to show that he was about to speak,
and then mentioned the sum whereof he stood in need. Such was the zeal of
the good Lorrainers that men have been known to take away linen or
household utensils without the knowledge of their wives, and sell them to
add the value to their contribution. It sometimes happened, too, that the
Prince received more money than he had asked for, in which case he
restored the surplus.”
All who were acquainted with the Queen’s private qualities knew that she
equally deserved attachment and esteem. Kind and patient to excess in her
relations with her household, she indulgently considered all around her, and
interested herself in their fortunes and in their pleasures., She had, among
her women, young girls from the Maison de St. Cyr, all well born; the
Queen forbade them the play when the performances were not suitable;
sometimes, when old plays were to be represented, if she found she could
not with certainty trust to her memory, she would take the trouble to read
them in the morning, to enable her to decide whether the girls should or
should not go to see them,—rightly considering herself bound to watch over
their morals and conduct.
Page 105
CHAPTER VI.
During the first few months of his reign Louis XVI. dwelt at La Muette,
Marly, and Compiegne. When settled at Versailles he occupied himself with
a general examination of his grandfather’s papers. He had promised the
Queen to communicate to her all that he might discover relative to the
history of the man with the iron mask, who, he thought, had become so
inexhaustible a source of conjecture only in consequence of the interest
which the pen of a celebrated writer had excited respecting the detention of
a prisoner of State, who was merely a man of whimsical tastes and habits.
I was with the Queen when the King, having finished his researches,
informed her that he had not found anything among the secret papers
elucidating the existence of this prisoner; that he had conversed on the
matter with M. de Maurepas, whose age made him contemporary with the
epoch during which the story must have been known to the ministers; and
that M. de Maurepas had assured him he was merely a prisoner of a very
dangerous character, in consequence of his disposition for intrigue. He was
a subject of the Duke of Mantua, and was enticed to the frontier, arrested
there, and kept prisoner, first at Pignerol, and afterwards in the Bastille.
This transfer took place in consequence of the appointment of the governor
of the former place to the government of the latter. It was for fear the
prisoner should profit by the inexperience of a new governor that he was
sent with the Governor of Pignerol to the Bastille.
Such was, in fact, the truth about the man on whom people have been
pleased to fix an iron mask. And thus was it related in writing, and
published by M. ——- twenty years ago. He had searched the archives of
the Foreign Office, and laid the real story before the public; but the public,
prepossessed in favour of a marvellous version, would not acknowledge the
authenticity of his account. Every man relied upon the authority of Voltaire;
and it was believed that a natural or a twin brother of Louis XIV. lived
many years in prison with a mask over his face. The story of this mask,
perhaps, had its origin in the old custom, among both men and women in
During the first few months of his reign Louis XVI. dwelt at La Muette,
Marly, and Compiegne. When settled at Versailles he occupied himself with
a general examination of his grandfather’s papers. He had promised the
Queen to communicate to her all that he might discover relative to the
history of the man with the iron mask, who, he thought, had become so
inexhaustible a source of conjecture only in consequence of the interest
which the pen of a celebrated writer had excited respecting the detention of
a prisoner of State, who was merely a man of whimsical tastes and habits.
I was with the Queen when the King, having finished his researches,
informed her that he had not found anything among the secret papers
elucidating the existence of this prisoner; that he had conversed on the
matter with M. de Maurepas, whose age made him contemporary with the
epoch during which the story must have been known to the ministers; and
that M. de Maurepas had assured him he was merely a prisoner of a very
dangerous character, in consequence of his disposition for intrigue. He was
a subject of the Duke of Mantua, and was enticed to the frontier, arrested
there, and kept prisoner, first at Pignerol, and afterwards in the Bastille.
This transfer took place in consequence of the appointment of the governor
of the former place to the government of the latter. It was for fear the
prisoner should profit by the inexperience of a new governor that he was
sent with the Governor of Pignerol to the Bastille.
Such was, in fact, the truth about the man on whom people have been
pleased to fix an iron mask. And thus was it related in writing, and
published by M. ——- twenty years ago. He had searched the archives of
the Foreign Office, and laid the real story before the public; but the public,
prepossessed in favour of a marvellous version, would not acknowledge the
authenticity of his account. Every man relied upon the authority of Voltaire;
and it was believed that a natural or a twin brother of Louis XIV. lived
many years in prison with a mask over his face. The story of this mask,
perhaps, had its origin in the old custom, among both men and women in
Page 106
Italy, of wearing a velvet mask when they exposed themselves to the sun. It
is possible that the Italian captive may have sometimes shown himself upon
the terrace of his prison with his face thus covered. As to the silver plate
which this celebrated prisoner is said to have thrown from his window, it is
known that such a circumstance did happen, but it happened at Valzin, in
the time of Cardinal Richelieu. This anecdote has been mixed up with the
inventions respecting the Piedmontese prisoner.
In this survey of the papers of Louis XV. by his grandson some very
curious particulars relative to his private treasury were found. Shares in
various financial companies afforded him a revenue, and had in course of
time produced him a capital of some amount, which he applied to his secret
expenses. The King collected his vouchers of title to these shares, and made
a present of them to M. Thierry de Ville d’Avray, his chief valet de
chambre.
The Queen was desirous to secure the comfort of Mesdames, the
daughters of Louis XV., who were held in the highest respect. About this
period she contributed to furnish them with a revenue sufficient to provide
them an easy, pleasant existence: The King gave them the Chateau of
Bellevue; and added to the produce of it, which was given up to them, the
expenses of their table and equipage, and payment of all the charges of their
household, the number of which was even increased. During the lifetime of
Louis XV., who was a very selfish prince, his daughters, although they had
attained forty years of age, had no other place of residence than their
apartments in the Chateau of Versailles; no other walks than such as they
could take in the large park of that palace; and no other means of gratifying
their taste for the cultivation of plants but by having boxes and vases, filled
with them, in their balconies or their closets. They had, therefore, reason to
be much pleased with the conduct of Marie Antoinette, who had the greatest
influence in the King’s kindness towards his aunts.
Paris did not cease, during the first years of the reign, to give proofs of
pleasure whenever the Queen appeared at any of the plays of the capital. At
the representation of “Iphigenia in Aulis,” the actor who sang the words,
“Let us sing, let us celebrate our Queen!” which were repeated by the
chorus, directed by a respectful movement the eyes of the whole assembly
upon her Majesty. Reiterated cries of ‘Bis’! and clapping of hands, were
followed by such a burst of enthusiasm that many of the audience added
is possible that the Italian captive may have sometimes shown himself upon
the terrace of his prison with his face thus covered. As to the silver plate
which this celebrated prisoner is said to have thrown from his window, it is
known that such a circumstance did happen, but it happened at Valzin, in
the time of Cardinal Richelieu. This anecdote has been mixed up with the
inventions respecting the Piedmontese prisoner.
In this survey of the papers of Louis XV. by his grandson some very
curious particulars relative to his private treasury were found. Shares in
various financial companies afforded him a revenue, and had in course of
time produced him a capital of some amount, which he applied to his secret
expenses. The King collected his vouchers of title to these shares, and made
a present of them to M. Thierry de Ville d’Avray, his chief valet de
chambre.
The Queen was desirous to secure the comfort of Mesdames, the
daughters of Louis XV., who were held in the highest respect. About this
period she contributed to furnish them with a revenue sufficient to provide
them an easy, pleasant existence: The King gave them the Chateau of
Bellevue; and added to the produce of it, which was given up to them, the
expenses of their table and equipage, and payment of all the charges of their
household, the number of which was even increased. During the lifetime of
Louis XV., who was a very selfish prince, his daughters, although they had
attained forty years of age, had no other place of residence than their
apartments in the Chateau of Versailles; no other walks than such as they
could take in the large park of that palace; and no other means of gratifying
their taste for the cultivation of plants but by having boxes and vases, filled
with them, in their balconies or their closets. They had, therefore, reason to
be much pleased with the conduct of Marie Antoinette, who had the greatest
influence in the King’s kindness towards his aunts.
Paris did not cease, during the first years of the reign, to give proofs of
pleasure whenever the Queen appeared at any of the plays of the capital. At
the representation of “Iphigenia in Aulis,” the actor who sang the words,
“Let us sing, let us celebrate our Queen!” which were repeated by the
chorus, directed by a respectful movement the eyes of the whole assembly
upon her Majesty. Reiterated cries of ‘Bis’! and clapping of hands, were
followed by such a burst of enthusiasm that many of the audience added
Page 107
their voices to those of the actors in order to celebrate, it might too truly be
said, another Iphigenia. The Queen, deeply affected, covered her eyes with
her handkerchief; and this proof of sensibility raised the public enthusiasm
to a still higher pitch.
The King gave Marie Antoinette Petit Trianon.
[The Chateau of Petit Trianon, which was built for Louis
XV., was not remarkably handsome as a building. The
luxuriance of the hothouses rendered the place agreeable to
that Prince. He spent a few days there several times in the
year. It was when he was setting off from Versailles for Petit
Trianon that he was struck in the side by the knife of
Damiens, and it was there that he was attacked by the
smallpox, of which he died on the 10th of May, 1774.—
MADAME CAMPAN.]
Henceforward she amused herself with improving the gardens, without
allowing any addition to the building, or any change in the furniture, which
was very shabby, and remained, in 1789, in the same state as during the
reign of Louis XV. Everything there, without exception, was preserved; and
the Queen slept in a faded bed, which had been used by the Comtesse du
Barry. The charge of extravagance, generally made against the Queen, is the
most unaccountable of all the popular errors respecting her character. She
had exactly the contrary failing; and I could prove that she often carried her
economy to a degree of parsimony actually blamable, especially in a
sovereign. She took a great liking for Trianon, and used to go there alone,
followed by a valet; but she found attendants ready to receive her,—a
concierge and his wife, who served her as femme de chambre, women of
the wardrobe, footmen, etc.
When she first took possession of Petit Trianon, it was reported that she
changed the name of the seat which the King had given her, and called it
Little Vienna, or Little Schoenbrunn. A person who belonged to the Court,
and was silly enough to give this report credit, wishing to visit Petit Trianon
with a party, wrote to M. Campan, requesting the Queen’s permission to do
so. In his note he called Trianon Little Vienna. Similar requests were
usually laid before the Queen just as they were made: she chose to give the
permissions to see her gardens herself, liking to grant these little favours.
said, another Iphigenia. The Queen, deeply affected, covered her eyes with
her handkerchief; and this proof of sensibility raised the public enthusiasm
to a still higher pitch.
The King gave Marie Antoinette Petit Trianon.
[The Chateau of Petit Trianon, which was built for Louis
XV., was not remarkably handsome as a building. The
luxuriance of the hothouses rendered the place agreeable to
that Prince. He spent a few days there several times in the
year. It was when he was setting off from Versailles for Petit
Trianon that he was struck in the side by the knife of
Damiens, and it was there that he was attacked by the
smallpox, of which he died on the 10th of May, 1774.—
MADAME CAMPAN.]
Henceforward she amused herself with improving the gardens, without
allowing any addition to the building, or any change in the furniture, which
was very shabby, and remained, in 1789, in the same state as during the
reign of Louis XV. Everything there, without exception, was preserved; and
the Queen slept in a faded bed, which had been used by the Comtesse du
Barry. The charge of extravagance, generally made against the Queen, is the
most unaccountable of all the popular errors respecting her character. She
had exactly the contrary failing; and I could prove that she often carried her
economy to a degree of parsimony actually blamable, especially in a
sovereign. She took a great liking for Trianon, and used to go there alone,
followed by a valet; but she found attendants ready to receive her,—a
concierge and his wife, who served her as femme de chambre, women of
the wardrobe, footmen, etc.
When she first took possession of Petit Trianon, it was reported that she
changed the name of the seat which the King had given her, and called it
Little Vienna, or Little Schoenbrunn. A person who belonged to the Court,
and was silly enough to give this report credit, wishing to visit Petit Trianon
with a party, wrote to M. Campan, requesting the Queen’s permission to do
so. In his note he called Trianon Little Vienna. Similar requests were
usually laid before the Queen just as they were made: she chose to give the
permissions to see her gardens herself, liking to grant these little favours.
Page 108
When she came to the words I have quoted she was very, much offended,
and exclaimed, angrily, that there were too many, fools ready, to aid the
malicious; that she had been told of the report circulated, which pretended
that she had thought of nothing but her own country, and that she kept an
Austrian heart, while the interests of France alone ought to engage her. She
refused the request so awkwardly made, and desired M. Campan to reply,
that Trianon was not to be seen for some time, and that the Queen was
astonished that any man in good society should believe she would do so ill-
judged a thing as to change the French names of her palaces to foreign ones.
Before the Emperor Joseph II’s first visit to France the Queen received a
visit from the Archduke Maximilian in 1775. A stupid act of the
ambassador, seconded on the part of the Queen by the Abbe de Vermond,
gave rise at that period to a discussion which offended the Princes of the
blood and the chief nobility of the kingdom. Travelling incognito, the young
Prince claimed that the first visit was not due from him to the Princes of the
blood; and the Queen supported his pretension.
From the time of the Regency, and on account of the residence of the
family of Orleans in the bosom of the capital, Paris had preserved a
remarkable degree of attachment and respect for that branch of the royal
house; and although the crown was becoming more and more remote from
the Princes of the House of Orleans, they had the advantage (a great one
with the Parisians) of being the descendants of Henri IV. An affront to that
popular family was a serious ground of dislike to the Queen. It was at this
period that the circles of the city, and even of the Court, expressed
themselves bitterly about her levity, and her partiality for the House of
Austria. The Prince for whom the Queen had embarked in an important
family quarrel—and a quarrel involving national prerogatives—was,
besides, little calculated to inspire interest. Still young, uninformed, and
deficient in natural talent, he was always making blunders.
He went to the Jardin du Roi; M. de Buffon, who received him there,
offered him a copy of his works; the Prince declined accepting the book,
saying to M. de Buffon, in the most polite manner possible, “I should be
very sorry to deprive you of it.”
[Joseph II, on his visit to France, also went to see M. de
Buffon, and said to that celebrated man, “I am come to fetch
and exclaimed, angrily, that there were too many, fools ready, to aid the
malicious; that she had been told of the report circulated, which pretended
that she had thought of nothing but her own country, and that she kept an
Austrian heart, while the interests of France alone ought to engage her. She
refused the request so awkwardly made, and desired M. Campan to reply,
that Trianon was not to be seen for some time, and that the Queen was
astonished that any man in good society should believe she would do so ill-
judged a thing as to change the French names of her palaces to foreign ones.
Before the Emperor Joseph II’s first visit to France the Queen received a
visit from the Archduke Maximilian in 1775. A stupid act of the
ambassador, seconded on the part of the Queen by the Abbe de Vermond,
gave rise at that period to a discussion which offended the Princes of the
blood and the chief nobility of the kingdom. Travelling incognito, the young
Prince claimed that the first visit was not due from him to the Princes of the
blood; and the Queen supported his pretension.
From the time of the Regency, and on account of the residence of the
family of Orleans in the bosom of the capital, Paris had preserved a
remarkable degree of attachment and respect for that branch of the royal
house; and although the crown was becoming more and more remote from
the Princes of the House of Orleans, they had the advantage (a great one
with the Parisians) of being the descendants of Henri IV. An affront to that
popular family was a serious ground of dislike to the Queen. It was at this
period that the circles of the city, and even of the Court, expressed
themselves bitterly about her levity, and her partiality for the House of
Austria. The Prince for whom the Queen had embarked in an important
family quarrel—and a quarrel involving national prerogatives—was,
besides, little calculated to inspire interest. Still young, uninformed, and
deficient in natural talent, he was always making blunders.
He went to the Jardin du Roi; M. de Buffon, who received him there,
offered him a copy of his works; the Prince declined accepting the book,
saying to M. de Buffon, in the most polite manner possible, “I should be
very sorry to deprive you of it.”
[Joseph II, on his visit to France, also went to see M. de
Buffon, and said to that celebrated man, “I am come to fetch
Page 109
the copy of your works which my brother forgot.”—NOTE
BY THE EDITOR.]
It may be supposed that the Parisians were much entertained with this
answer.
The Queen was exceedingly mortified at the mistakes made by her
brother; but what hurt her most was being accused of preserving an
Austrian heart. Marie Antoinette had more than once to endure that
imputation during the long course of her misfortunes. Habit did not stop the
tears such injustice caused; but the first time she was suspected of not
loving France, she gave way to her indignation. All that she could say on
the subject was useless; by seconding the pretensions of the Archduke she
had put arms into her enemies’ hands; they were labouring to deprive her of
the love of the people, and endeavoured, by all possible means, to spread a
belief that the Queen sighed for Germany, and preferred that country to
France.
Marie Antoinette had none but herself to rely on for preserving the fickle
smiles of the Court and the public. The King, too indifferent to serve her as
a guide, as yet had conceived no love for her, notwithstanding the intimacy
that grew between them at Choisy. In his closet Louis XVI. was immersed
in deep study. At the Council he was busied with the welfare of his people;
hunting and mechanical occupations engrossed his leisure moments, and he
never thought on the subject of an heir.
The coronation took place at Rheims, with all the accustomed pomp. At
this period the people’s love for Louis XVI. burst forth in transports not to
be mistaken for party demonstrations or idle curiosity. He replied to this
enthusiasm by marks of confidence, worthy of a people happy in being
governed by a good King; he took a pleasure in repeatedly walking without
guards, in the midst of the crowd which pressed around him, and called
down blessings on his head. I remarked the impression made at this time by
an observation of Louis XVI. On the day of his coronation he put his hand
up to his head, at the moment of the crown being placed upon it, and said,
“It pinches me.” Henri III. had exclaimed, “It pricks me.” Those who were
near the King were struck with the similarity between these two
exclamations, though not of a class likely to be blinded by the superstitious
fears of ignorance.
BY THE EDITOR.]
It may be supposed that the Parisians were much entertained with this
answer.
The Queen was exceedingly mortified at the mistakes made by her
brother; but what hurt her most was being accused of preserving an
Austrian heart. Marie Antoinette had more than once to endure that
imputation during the long course of her misfortunes. Habit did not stop the
tears such injustice caused; but the first time she was suspected of not
loving France, she gave way to her indignation. All that she could say on
the subject was useless; by seconding the pretensions of the Archduke she
had put arms into her enemies’ hands; they were labouring to deprive her of
the love of the people, and endeavoured, by all possible means, to spread a
belief that the Queen sighed for Germany, and preferred that country to
France.
Marie Antoinette had none but herself to rely on for preserving the fickle
smiles of the Court and the public. The King, too indifferent to serve her as
a guide, as yet had conceived no love for her, notwithstanding the intimacy
that grew between them at Choisy. In his closet Louis XVI. was immersed
in deep study. At the Council he was busied with the welfare of his people;
hunting and mechanical occupations engrossed his leisure moments, and he
never thought on the subject of an heir.
The coronation took place at Rheims, with all the accustomed pomp. At
this period the people’s love for Louis XVI. burst forth in transports not to
be mistaken for party demonstrations or idle curiosity. He replied to this
enthusiasm by marks of confidence, worthy of a people happy in being
governed by a good King; he took a pleasure in repeatedly walking without
guards, in the midst of the crowd which pressed around him, and called
down blessings on his head. I remarked the impression made at this time by
an observation of Louis XVI. On the day of his coronation he put his hand
up to his head, at the moment of the crown being placed upon it, and said,
“It pinches me.” Henri III. had exclaimed, “It pricks me.” Those who were
near the King were struck with the similarity between these two
exclamations, though not of a class likely to be blinded by the superstitious
fears of ignorance.
Page 110
While the Queen, neglected as she was, could not even hope for the
happiness of being a mother, she had the mortification of seeing the
Comtesse d’Artois give birth to the Duc d’Angouleme.
Custom required that the royal family and the whole Court should be
present at the accouchement of the Princesses; the Queen was therefore
obliged to stay a whole day in her sister-in-law’s chamber. The moment the
Comtesse d’Artois was informed a prince was born, she put her hand to her
forehead and exclaimed with energy, “My God, how happy I am!” The
Queen felt very differently at this involuntary and natural exclamation.
Nevertheless, her behaviour was perfect. She bestowed all possible marks
of tenderness upon the young mother, and would not leave her until she was
again put into bed; she afterwards passed along the staircase, and through
the hall of the guards, with a calm demeanour, in the midst of an immense
crowd. The poissardes, who had assumed a right of speaking to sovereigns
in their own vulgar language, followed her to the very doors of her
apartments, calling out to her with gross expressions, that she ought to
produce heirs. The Queen reached her inner room, hurried and agitated; he
shut herself up to weep with me alone, not from jealousy of her sister-in-
law’s happiness,—of that he was incapable,—but from sorrow at her own
situation.
Deprived of the happiness of giving an heir to the crown, the Queen
endeavoured to interest herself in the children of the people of her
household. She had long been desirous to bring up one of them herself, and
to make it the constant object of her care. A little village boy, four or five
years old, full of health, with a pleasing countenance, remarkably large blue
eyes, and fine light hair, got under the feet of the Queen’s horses, when she
was taking an airing in a calash, through the hamlet of St. Michel, near
Louveciennes. The coachman and postilions stopped the horses, and the
child was rescued without the slightest injury. Its grandmother rushed out of
the door of her cottage to take it; but the Queen, standing up in her calash
and extending her arms, called out that the child was hers, and that destiny
had given it to her, to console her, no doubt, until she should have the
happiness of having one herself. “Is his mother alive?” asked the Queen.
“No, Madame; my daughter died last winter, and left five small children
upon my hands.” “I will take this one, and provide for all the rest; do you
consent?” “Ah, Madame, they are too fortunate,” replied the cottager; “but
Jacques is a bad boy. I hope he will stay with you!” The Queen, taking little
happiness of being a mother, she had the mortification of seeing the
Comtesse d’Artois give birth to the Duc d’Angouleme.
Custom required that the royal family and the whole Court should be
present at the accouchement of the Princesses; the Queen was therefore
obliged to stay a whole day in her sister-in-law’s chamber. The moment the
Comtesse d’Artois was informed a prince was born, she put her hand to her
forehead and exclaimed with energy, “My God, how happy I am!” The
Queen felt very differently at this involuntary and natural exclamation.
Nevertheless, her behaviour was perfect. She bestowed all possible marks
of tenderness upon the young mother, and would not leave her until she was
again put into bed; she afterwards passed along the staircase, and through
the hall of the guards, with a calm demeanour, in the midst of an immense
crowd. The poissardes, who had assumed a right of speaking to sovereigns
in their own vulgar language, followed her to the very doors of her
apartments, calling out to her with gross expressions, that she ought to
produce heirs. The Queen reached her inner room, hurried and agitated; he
shut herself up to weep with me alone, not from jealousy of her sister-in-
law’s happiness,—of that he was incapable,—but from sorrow at her own
situation.
Deprived of the happiness of giving an heir to the crown, the Queen
endeavoured to interest herself in the children of the people of her
household. She had long been desirous to bring up one of them herself, and
to make it the constant object of her care. A little village boy, four or five
years old, full of health, with a pleasing countenance, remarkably large blue
eyes, and fine light hair, got under the feet of the Queen’s horses, when she
was taking an airing in a calash, through the hamlet of St. Michel, near
Louveciennes. The coachman and postilions stopped the horses, and the
child was rescued without the slightest injury. Its grandmother rushed out of
the door of her cottage to take it; but the Queen, standing up in her calash
and extending her arms, called out that the child was hers, and that destiny
had given it to her, to console her, no doubt, until she should have the
happiness of having one herself. “Is his mother alive?” asked the Queen.
“No, Madame; my daughter died last winter, and left five small children
upon my hands.” “I will take this one, and provide for all the rest; do you
consent?” “Ah, Madame, they are too fortunate,” replied the cottager; “but
Jacques is a bad boy. I hope he will stay with you!” The Queen, taking little
Page 111
Jacques upon her knee, said that she would make him used to her, and gave
orders to proceed. It was necessary, however, to shorten the drive, so
violently did Jacques scream, and kick the Queen and her ladies.
The arrival of her Majesty at her apartments at Versailles, holding the
little rustic by the hand, astonished the whole household; he cried out with
intolerable shrillness that he wanted his grandmother, his brother Louis, and
his sister Marianne; nothing could calm him. He was taken away by the
wife of a servant, who was appointed to attend him as nurse. The other
children were put to school. Little Jacques, whose family name was
Armand, came back to the Queen two days afterwards; a white frock
trimmed with lace, a rose-coloured sash with silver fringe, and a hat
decorated with feathers, were now substituted for the woollen cap, the little
red frock, and the wooden shoes. The child was really very beautiful. The
Queen was enchanted with him; he was brought to her every morning at
nine o’clock; he breakfasted and dined with her, and often even with the
King. She liked to call him my child, and lavished caresses upon him, still
maintaining a deep silence respecting the regrets which constantly occupied
her heart.
[This little unfortunate was nearly twenty in 1792; the
fury of the people and the fear of being thought a favourite
of the Queen’s had made him the most sanguinary terrorist
of Versailles. He was killed at the battle of Jemappes.]
This child remained with the Queen until the time when Madame was old
enough to come home to her august mother, who had particularly taken
upon herself the care of her education.
The Queen talked incessantly of the qualities which she admired in Louis
XVI., and gladly attributed to herself the slightest favourable change in his
manner; perhaps she displayed too unreservedly the joy she felt, and the
share she appropriated in the improvement. One day Louis XVI. saluted her
ladies with more kindness than usual, and the Queen laughingly said to
them, “Now confess, ladies, that for one so badly taught as a child, the King
has saluted you with very good grace!”
The Queen hated M. de La Vauguyon; she accused him alone of those
points in the habits, and even the sentiments, of the King which hurt her. A
former first woman of the bedchamber to Queen Maria Leczinska had
orders to proceed. It was necessary, however, to shorten the drive, so
violently did Jacques scream, and kick the Queen and her ladies.
The arrival of her Majesty at her apartments at Versailles, holding the
little rustic by the hand, astonished the whole household; he cried out with
intolerable shrillness that he wanted his grandmother, his brother Louis, and
his sister Marianne; nothing could calm him. He was taken away by the
wife of a servant, who was appointed to attend him as nurse. The other
children were put to school. Little Jacques, whose family name was
Armand, came back to the Queen two days afterwards; a white frock
trimmed with lace, a rose-coloured sash with silver fringe, and a hat
decorated with feathers, were now substituted for the woollen cap, the little
red frock, and the wooden shoes. The child was really very beautiful. The
Queen was enchanted with him; he was brought to her every morning at
nine o’clock; he breakfasted and dined with her, and often even with the
King. She liked to call him my child, and lavished caresses upon him, still
maintaining a deep silence respecting the regrets which constantly occupied
her heart.
[This little unfortunate was nearly twenty in 1792; the
fury of the people and the fear of being thought a favourite
of the Queen’s had made him the most sanguinary terrorist
of Versailles. He was killed at the battle of Jemappes.]
This child remained with the Queen until the time when Madame was old
enough to come home to her august mother, who had particularly taken
upon herself the care of her education.
The Queen talked incessantly of the qualities which she admired in Louis
XVI., and gladly attributed to herself the slightest favourable change in his
manner; perhaps she displayed too unreservedly the joy she felt, and the
share she appropriated in the improvement. One day Louis XVI. saluted her
ladies with more kindness than usual, and the Queen laughingly said to
them, “Now confess, ladies, that for one so badly taught as a child, the King
has saluted you with very good grace!”
The Queen hated M. de La Vauguyon; she accused him alone of those
points in the habits, and even the sentiments, of the King which hurt her. A
former first woman of the bedchamber to Queen Maria Leczinska had
Page 112
continued in office near the young Queen. She was one of those people who
are fortunate enough to spend their lives in the service of kings without
knowing anything of what is passing at Court. She was a great devotee; the
Abbe Grisel, an ex-Jesuit, was her director. Being rich from her savings and
an income of 50,000 livres, she kept a very good table; in her apartment, at
the Grand Commun, the most distinguished persons who still adhered to the
Order of Jesuits often assembled. The Duc de La Vauguyon was intimate
with her; their chairs at the Eglise des Reollets were placed near each other;
at high mass and at vespers they sang the “Gloria in Excelsis” and the
“Magnificat” together; and the pious virgin, seeing in him only one of
God’s elect, little imagined him to be the declared enemy of a Princess
whom she served and revered. On the day of his death she ran in tears to
relate to the Queen the piety, humility, and repentance of the last moments
of the Duc de La Vauguyon. He had called his people together, she said, to
ask their pardon. “For what?” replied the Queen, sharply; “he has placed
and pensioned off all his servants; it was of the King and his brothers that
the holy man you bewail should have asked pardon, for having paid so little
attention to the education of princes on whom the fate and happiness of
twenty-five millions of men depend. Luckily,” added she, “the King and his
brothers, still young, have incessantly laboured to repair the errors of their
preceptor.”
The progress of time, and the confidence with which the King and the
Princes, his brothers, were inspired by the change in their situation since the
death of Louis XV., had developed their characters. I will endeavour to
depict them.
The features of Louis XVI. were noble enough, though somewhat
melancholy in expression; his walk was heavy and unmajestic; his person
greatly neglected; his hair, whatever might be the skill of his hairdresser,
was soon in disorder. His voice, without being harsh, was not agreeable; if
he grew animated in speaking he often got above his natural pitch, and
became shrill. The Abbe de Radonvilliers, his preceptor, one of the Forty of
the French Academy, a learned and amiable man, had given him and
Monsieur a taste for study. The King had continued to instruct himself; he
knew the English language perfectly; I have often heard him translate some
of the most difficult passages in Milton’s poems. He was a skilful
geographer, and was fond of drawing and colouring maps; he was well
versed in history, but had not perhaps sufficiently studied the spirit of it. He
are fortunate enough to spend their lives in the service of kings without
knowing anything of what is passing at Court. She was a great devotee; the
Abbe Grisel, an ex-Jesuit, was her director. Being rich from her savings and
an income of 50,000 livres, she kept a very good table; in her apartment, at
the Grand Commun, the most distinguished persons who still adhered to the
Order of Jesuits often assembled. The Duc de La Vauguyon was intimate
with her; their chairs at the Eglise des Reollets were placed near each other;
at high mass and at vespers they sang the “Gloria in Excelsis” and the
“Magnificat” together; and the pious virgin, seeing in him only one of
God’s elect, little imagined him to be the declared enemy of a Princess
whom she served and revered. On the day of his death she ran in tears to
relate to the Queen the piety, humility, and repentance of the last moments
of the Duc de La Vauguyon. He had called his people together, she said, to
ask their pardon. “For what?” replied the Queen, sharply; “he has placed
and pensioned off all his servants; it was of the King and his brothers that
the holy man you bewail should have asked pardon, for having paid so little
attention to the education of princes on whom the fate and happiness of
twenty-five millions of men depend. Luckily,” added she, “the King and his
brothers, still young, have incessantly laboured to repair the errors of their
preceptor.”
The progress of time, and the confidence with which the King and the
Princes, his brothers, were inspired by the change in their situation since the
death of Louis XV., had developed their characters. I will endeavour to
depict them.
The features of Louis XVI. were noble enough, though somewhat
melancholy in expression; his walk was heavy and unmajestic; his person
greatly neglected; his hair, whatever might be the skill of his hairdresser,
was soon in disorder. His voice, without being harsh, was not agreeable; if
he grew animated in speaking he often got above his natural pitch, and
became shrill. The Abbe de Radonvilliers, his preceptor, one of the Forty of
the French Academy, a learned and amiable man, had given him and
Monsieur a taste for study. The King had continued to instruct himself; he
knew the English language perfectly; I have often heard him translate some
of the most difficult passages in Milton’s poems. He was a skilful
geographer, and was fond of drawing and colouring maps; he was well
versed in history, but had not perhaps sufficiently studied the spirit of it. He
Page 113
appreciated dramatic beauties, and judged them accurately. At Choisy, one
day, several ladies expressed their dissatisfaction because the French actors
were going to perform one of Moliere’s pieces. The King inquired why they
disapproved of the choice. One of them answered that everybody must
admit that Moliere had very bad taste; the King replied that many things
might be found in Moliere contrary to fashion, but that it appeared to him
difficult to point out any in bad taste?
[The King, having purchased the Chateau of Rambouillet
from the Duc de Penthievre, amused himself with
embellishing it. I have seen a register entirely in his own
handwriting, which proves that he possessed a great variety
of information on the minutiae of various branches of
knowledge. In his accounts he would not omit an outlay of a
franc. His figures and letters, when he wished to write
legibly, were small and very neat, but in general he wrote
very ill. He was so sparing of paper that he divided a sheet
into eight, six, or four pieces, according to the length of
what he had to write. Towards the close of the page he
compressed the letters, and avoided interlineations. The last
words were close to the edge of the paper; he seemed to
regret being obliged to begin another page. He was
methodical and analytical; he divided what he wrote into
chapters and sections. He had extracted from the works of
Nicole and Fenelon, his favourite authors, three or four
hundred concise and sententious phrases; these he had
classed according to subject, and formed a work of them in
the style of Montesquieu. To this treatise he had given the
following general title: “Of Moderate Monarchy” (De la
Monarchie temperee), with chapters entitled, “Of the Person
of the Prince;” “Of the Authority of Bodies in the State;”
“Of the Character of the Executive Functions of the
Monarchy.” Had he been able to carry into effect all the
grand precepts he had observed in Fenelon, Louis XVI.
would have been an accomplished monarch, and France a
powerful kingdom. The King used to accept the speeches his
ministers presented to him to deliver on important
day, several ladies expressed their dissatisfaction because the French actors
were going to perform one of Moliere’s pieces. The King inquired why they
disapproved of the choice. One of them answered that everybody must
admit that Moliere had very bad taste; the King replied that many things
might be found in Moliere contrary to fashion, but that it appeared to him
difficult to point out any in bad taste?
[The King, having purchased the Chateau of Rambouillet
from the Duc de Penthievre, amused himself with
embellishing it. I have seen a register entirely in his own
handwriting, which proves that he possessed a great variety
of information on the minutiae of various branches of
knowledge. In his accounts he would not omit an outlay of a
franc. His figures and letters, when he wished to write
legibly, were small and very neat, but in general he wrote
very ill. He was so sparing of paper that he divided a sheet
into eight, six, or four pieces, according to the length of
what he had to write. Towards the close of the page he
compressed the letters, and avoided interlineations. The last
words were close to the edge of the paper; he seemed to
regret being obliged to begin another page. He was
methodical and analytical; he divided what he wrote into
chapters and sections. He had extracted from the works of
Nicole and Fenelon, his favourite authors, three or four
hundred concise and sententious phrases; these he had
classed according to subject, and formed a work of them in
the style of Montesquieu. To this treatise he had given the
following general title: “Of Moderate Monarchy” (De la
Monarchie temperee), with chapters entitled, “Of the Person
of the Prince;” “Of the Authority of Bodies in the State;”
“Of the Character of the Executive Functions of the
Monarchy.” Had he been able to carry into effect all the
grand precepts he had observed in Fenelon, Louis XVI.
would have been an accomplished monarch, and France a
powerful kingdom. The King used to accept the speeches his
ministers presented to him to deliver on important
Page 114
occasions; but he corrected and modified them; struck out
some parts, and added others; and sometimes consulted the
Queen on the subject. The phrase of the minister erased by
the King was frequently unsuitable, and dictated by the
minister’s private feelings; but the King’s was always the
natural expression. He himself composed, three times or
oftener, his famous answers to the Parliament which he
banished. But in his letters he was negligent, and always
incorrect. Simplicity was the characteristic of the King’s
style; the figurative style of M. Necker did not please him;
the sarcasms of Maurepas were disagreeable to him.
Unfortunate Prince! he would predict, in his observations,
that if such a calamity should happen, the monarchy would
be ruined; and the next day he would consent in Council to
the very measure which he had condemned the day before,
and which brought him nearer the brink of the precipice.—
SOULAVIE, “Historical and Political Memoirs of the Reign
of Louis XVI.,” vol. ii.]
This Prince combined with his attainments the attributes of a good
husband, a tender father, and an indulgent master.
Unfortunately he showed too much predilection for the mechanical arts;
masonry and lock-making so delighted him that he admitted into his private
apartment a common locksmith, with whom he made keys and locks; and
his hands, blackened by that sort of work, were often, in my presence, the
subject of remonstrances and even sharp reproaches from the Queen, who
would have chosen other amusements for her husband.
[Louis XVI. saw that the art of lock-making was capable
of application to a higher study, He was an excellent
geographer. The most valuable and complete instrument for
the study of that science was begun by his orders and under
his direction. It was an immense globe of copper, which was
long preserved, though unfinished, in the Mazarine library.
Louis XVI. invented and had executed under his own eyes
the ingenious mechanism required for this globe.—NOTE BY
THE EDITOR.]
some parts, and added others; and sometimes consulted the
Queen on the subject. The phrase of the minister erased by
the King was frequently unsuitable, and dictated by the
minister’s private feelings; but the King’s was always the
natural expression. He himself composed, three times or
oftener, his famous answers to the Parliament which he
banished. But in his letters he was negligent, and always
incorrect. Simplicity was the characteristic of the King’s
style; the figurative style of M. Necker did not please him;
the sarcasms of Maurepas were disagreeable to him.
Unfortunate Prince! he would predict, in his observations,
that if such a calamity should happen, the monarchy would
be ruined; and the next day he would consent in Council to
the very measure which he had condemned the day before,
and which brought him nearer the brink of the precipice.—
SOULAVIE, “Historical and Political Memoirs of the Reign
of Louis XVI.,” vol. ii.]
This Prince combined with his attainments the attributes of a good
husband, a tender father, and an indulgent master.
Unfortunately he showed too much predilection for the mechanical arts;
masonry and lock-making so delighted him that he admitted into his private
apartment a common locksmith, with whom he made keys and locks; and
his hands, blackened by that sort of work, were often, in my presence, the
subject of remonstrances and even sharp reproaches from the Queen, who
would have chosen other amusements for her husband.
[Louis XVI. saw that the art of lock-making was capable
of application to a higher study, He was an excellent
geographer. The most valuable and complete instrument for
the study of that science was begun by his orders and under
his direction. It was an immense globe of copper, which was
long preserved, though unfinished, in the Mazarine library.
Louis XVI. invented and had executed under his own eyes
the ingenious mechanism required for this globe.—NOTE BY
THE EDITOR.]
Page 115
Austere and rigid with regard to himself alone, the King observed the
laws of the Church with scrupulous exactness. He fasted and abstained
throughout the whole of Lent. He thought it right that the queen should not
observe these customs with the same strictness. Though sincerely pious, the
spirit of the age had disposed his mind to toleration. Turgot, Malesherbes,
and Necker judged that this Prince, modest and simple in his habits, would
willingly sacrifice the royal prerogative to the solid greatness of his people.
His heart, in truth, disposed him towards reforms; but his prejudices and
fears, and the clamours of pious and privileged persons, intimidated him,
and made him abandon plans which his love for the people had suggested.
[During his stay at Avignon, Monsieur, afterwards Louis
XVIII, lodged with the Duc de Crillon; he refused the town-
guard which was offered him, saying, “A son of France,
under the roof of a Crillon, needs no guard.”—NOTE BY
THE EDITOR.]
Monsieur had more dignity of demeanour than the King; but his
corpulence rendered his gait inelegant. He was fond of pageantry and
magnificence. He cultivated the belles lettres, and under assumed names
often contributed verses to the Mercury and other papers.
His wonderful memory was the handmaid of his wit, furnishing him with
the happiest quotations. He knew by heart a varied repertoire, from the
finest passages of the Latin classics to the Latin of all the prayers, from the
works of Racine to the vaudeville of “Rose et Colas.”
The Comte d’Artoisi had an agreeable countenance, was well made,
skilful in bodily exercises, lively, impetuous, fond of pleasure, and very
particular in his dress. Some happy observations made by him were
repeated with approval, and gave a favourable idea of his heart. The
Parisians liked the open and frank character of this Prince, which they
considered national, and showed real affection for him.
The dominion that the Queen gained over the King’s mind, the charms of
a society in which Monsieur displayed his wit, and to which the Comte
d’Artois—[Afterwards Charles X.]—gave life by the vivacity of youth,
gradually softened that ruggedness of manner in Louis XVI. which a better-
conducted education might have prevented. Still, this defect often showed
itself, and, in spite of his extreme simplicity, the King inspired those who
laws of the Church with scrupulous exactness. He fasted and abstained
throughout the whole of Lent. He thought it right that the queen should not
observe these customs with the same strictness. Though sincerely pious, the
spirit of the age had disposed his mind to toleration. Turgot, Malesherbes,
and Necker judged that this Prince, modest and simple in his habits, would
willingly sacrifice the royal prerogative to the solid greatness of his people.
His heart, in truth, disposed him towards reforms; but his prejudices and
fears, and the clamours of pious and privileged persons, intimidated him,
and made him abandon plans which his love for the people had suggested.
[During his stay at Avignon, Monsieur, afterwards Louis
XVIII, lodged with the Duc de Crillon; he refused the town-
guard which was offered him, saying, “A son of France,
under the roof of a Crillon, needs no guard.”—NOTE BY
THE EDITOR.]
Monsieur had more dignity of demeanour than the King; but his
corpulence rendered his gait inelegant. He was fond of pageantry and
magnificence. He cultivated the belles lettres, and under assumed names
often contributed verses to the Mercury and other papers.
His wonderful memory was the handmaid of his wit, furnishing him with
the happiest quotations. He knew by heart a varied repertoire, from the
finest passages of the Latin classics to the Latin of all the prayers, from the
works of Racine to the vaudeville of “Rose et Colas.”
The Comte d’Artoisi had an agreeable countenance, was well made,
skilful in bodily exercises, lively, impetuous, fond of pleasure, and very
particular in his dress. Some happy observations made by him were
repeated with approval, and gave a favourable idea of his heart. The
Parisians liked the open and frank character of this Prince, which they
considered national, and showed real affection for him.
The dominion that the Queen gained over the King’s mind, the charms of
a society in which Monsieur displayed his wit, and to which the Comte
d’Artois—[Afterwards Charles X.]—gave life by the vivacity of youth,
gradually softened that ruggedness of manner in Louis XVI. which a better-
conducted education might have prevented. Still, this defect often showed
itself, and, in spite of his extreme simplicity, the King inspired those who
Page 116
had occasion to speak to him with diffidence. Courtiers, submissive in the
presence of their sovereign, are only the more ready to caricature him; with
little good breeding, they called those answers they so much dreaded, Les
coups de boutoir du Roi.—[The literal meaning of the phrase “coup de
boutoir,” is a thrust from the snout of a boar.]
Methodical in all his habits, the King always went to bed at eleven
precisely. One evening the Queen was going with her usual circle to a party,
either at the Duc de Duras’s or the Princesse de Glumenee’s. The hand of
the clock was slily put forward to hasten the King’s departure by a few
minutes; he thought bed-time was come, retired, and found none of his
attendants ready to wait on him. This joke became known in all the
drawing-rooms of Versailles, and was disapproved of there. Kings have no
privacy. Queens have no boudoirs. If those who are in immediate
attendance upon sovereigns be not themselves disposed to transmit their
private habits to posterity, the meanest valet will relate what he has seen or
heard; his gossip circulates rapidly, and forms public opinion, which at
length ascribes to the most august persons characters which, however
untrue they may be, are almost always indelible.
NOTE. The only passion ever shown by Louis XVI. was
for hunting. He was so much occupied by it that when I went
up into his private closets at Versailles, after the 10th of
August, I saw upon the staircase six frames, in which were
seen statements of all his hunts, when Dauphin and when
King. In them was detailed the number, kind, and quality of
the game he had killed at each hunting party during every
month, every season, and every year of his reign.
The interior of his private apartments was thus arranged: a salon,
ornamented with gilded mouldings, displayed the engravings which had
been dedicated to him, drawings of the canals he had dug, with the model of
that of Burgundy, and the plan of the cones and works of Cherbourg. The
upper hall contained his collection of geographical charts, spheres, globes,
and also his geographical cabinet. There were to be seen drawings of maps
which he had begun, and some that he had finished. He had a clever method
of washing them in. His geographical memory was prodigious. Over the
hall was the turning and joining room, furnished with ingenious instruments
presence of their sovereign, are only the more ready to caricature him; with
little good breeding, they called those answers they so much dreaded, Les
coups de boutoir du Roi.—[The literal meaning of the phrase “coup de
boutoir,” is a thrust from the snout of a boar.]
Methodical in all his habits, the King always went to bed at eleven
precisely. One evening the Queen was going with her usual circle to a party,
either at the Duc de Duras’s or the Princesse de Glumenee’s. The hand of
the clock was slily put forward to hasten the King’s departure by a few
minutes; he thought bed-time was come, retired, and found none of his
attendants ready to wait on him. This joke became known in all the
drawing-rooms of Versailles, and was disapproved of there. Kings have no
privacy. Queens have no boudoirs. If those who are in immediate
attendance upon sovereigns be not themselves disposed to transmit their
private habits to posterity, the meanest valet will relate what he has seen or
heard; his gossip circulates rapidly, and forms public opinion, which at
length ascribes to the most august persons characters which, however
untrue they may be, are almost always indelible.
NOTE. The only passion ever shown by Louis XVI. was
for hunting. He was so much occupied by it that when I went
up into his private closets at Versailles, after the 10th of
August, I saw upon the staircase six frames, in which were
seen statements of all his hunts, when Dauphin and when
King. In them was detailed the number, kind, and quality of
the game he had killed at each hunting party during every
month, every season, and every year of his reign.
The interior of his private apartments was thus arranged: a salon,
ornamented with gilded mouldings, displayed the engravings which had
been dedicated to him, drawings of the canals he had dug, with the model of
that of Burgundy, and the plan of the cones and works of Cherbourg. The
upper hall contained his collection of geographical charts, spheres, globes,
and also his geographical cabinet. There were to be seen drawings of maps
which he had begun, and some that he had finished. He had a clever method
of washing them in. His geographical memory was prodigious. Over the
hall was the turning and joining room, furnished with ingenious instruments
Page 117
for working in wood. He inherited some from Louis XV., and he often
busied himself, with Duret’s assistance, in keeping them clean and bright.
Above was the library of books published during his reign. The prayer
books and manuscript books of Anne of Brittany, Francois I, the later
Valois, Louis XIV., Louis XV., and the Dauphin formed the great hereditary
library of the Chateau. Louis XVI. placed separately, in two apartments
communicating with each other, the works of his own time, including a
complete collection of Didot’s editions, in vellum, every volume enclosed
in a morocco case. There were several English works, among the rest the
debates of the British Parliament, in a great number of volumes in folio
(this is the Moniteur of England, a complete collection of which is so
valuable and so scarce). By the side of this collection was to be seen a
manuscript history of all the schemes for a descent upon that island,
particularly that of Comte de Broglie. One of the presses of this cabinet was
full of cardboard boxes, containing papers relative to the House of Austria,
inscribed in the King’s own hand: “Secret papers of my family respecting
the House of Austria; papers of my family respecting the Houses of Stuart
and Hanover.” In an adjoining press were kept papers relative to Russia.
Satirical works against Catherine II. and against Paul I. were sold in France
under the name of histories; Louis XVIII. collected and sealed up with his
small seal the scandalous anecdotes against Catherine II., as well as the
works of Rhulieres, of which he had a copy, to be certain that the secret life
of that Princess, which attracted the curiosity of her contemporaries, should
not be made public by his means.
Above the King’s private library were a forge, two anvils, and a vast
number of iron tools; various common locks, well made and perfect; some
secret locks, and locks ornamented with gilt copper. It was there that the
infamous Gamin, who afterwards accused the King of having tried to
poison him, and was rewarded for his calumny with a pension of twelve
thousand livres, taught him the art of lock-making. This Gamin, who
became our guide, by order of the department and municipality of
Versailles, did not, however, denounce the King on the 20th December,
1792. He had been made the confidant of that Prince in an immense number
of important commissions; the King had sent him the “Red Book,” from
Paris, in a parcel; and the part which was concealed during the Constituent
Assembly still remained so in 1793. Gamin hid it in a part of the Chateau
inaccessible to everybody, and took it from under the shelves of a secret
busied himself, with Duret’s assistance, in keeping them clean and bright.
Above was the library of books published during his reign. The prayer
books and manuscript books of Anne of Brittany, Francois I, the later
Valois, Louis XIV., Louis XV., and the Dauphin formed the great hereditary
library of the Chateau. Louis XVI. placed separately, in two apartments
communicating with each other, the works of his own time, including a
complete collection of Didot’s editions, in vellum, every volume enclosed
in a morocco case. There were several English works, among the rest the
debates of the British Parliament, in a great number of volumes in folio
(this is the Moniteur of England, a complete collection of which is so
valuable and so scarce). By the side of this collection was to be seen a
manuscript history of all the schemes for a descent upon that island,
particularly that of Comte de Broglie. One of the presses of this cabinet was
full of cardboard boxes, containing papers relative to the House of Austria,
inscribed in the King’s own hand: “Secret papers of my family respecting
the House of Austria; papers of my family respecting the Houses of Stuart
and Hanover.” In an adjoining press were kept papers relative to Russia.
Satirical works against Catherine II. and against Paul I. were sold in France
under the name of histories; Louis XVIII. collected and sealed up with his
small seal the scandalous anecdotes against Catherine II., as well as the
works of Rhulieres, of which he had a copy, to be certain that the secret life
of that Princess, which attracted the curiosity of her contemporaries, should
not be made public by his means.
Above the King’s private library were a forge, two anvils, and a vast
number of iron tools; various common locks, well made and perfect; some
secret locks, and locks ornamented with gilt copper. It was there that the
infamous Gamin, who afterwards accused the King of having tried to
poison him, and was rewarded for his calumny with a pension of twelve
thousand livres, taught him the art of lock-making. This Gamin, who
became our guide, by order of the department and municipality of
Versailles, did not, however, denounce the King on the 20th December,
1792. He had been made the confidant of that Prince in an immense number
of important commissions; the King had sent him the “Red Book,” from
Paris, in a parcel; and the part which was concealed during the Constituent
Assembly still remained so in 1793. Gamin hid it in a part of the Chateau
inaccessible to everybody, and took it from under the shelves of a secret
Page 118
press before our eyes. This is a convincing proof that Louis XVI. hoped to
return to his Chiteau. When teaching Louis XVI. his trade Gamin took upon
himself the tone and authority of a master. “The King was good, forbearing,
timid, inquisitive, and addicted to sleep,” said Gamin to me; “he was fond
to excess of lock-making, and he concealed himself from the Queen and the
Court to file and forge with me. In order to convey his anvil and my own
backwards and forwards we were obliged to use a thousand stratagems, the
history of which would: never end.” Above the King’s and Gamin’s forges
and anvils was an, observatory, erected upon a platform covered with lead.
There, seated on an armchair, and assisted by a telescope, the King
observed all that was passing in the courtyards of Versailles, the avenue of
Paris, and the neighbouring gardens. He had taken a liking to Duret, one of
the indoor servants of the palace, who sharpened his tools, cleaned his
anvils, pasted his maps, and adjusted eyeglasses to the King’s sight, who
was short-sighted. This good Duret, and indeed all the indoor servants,
spoke of their master with regret and affection, and with tears in their eyes.
The King was born weak and delicate; but from the age of twenty-four he
possessed a robust constitution, inherited from his mother, who was of the
House of Saxe, celebrated for generations for its robustness. There were
two men in Louis XVI., the man of knowledge and the man of will. The
King knew the history of his own family and of the first houses of France
perfectly. He composed the instructions for M. de la Peyrouse’s voyage
round the world, which the minister thought were drawn up by several
members of the Academy of Sciences. His memory retained an infinite
number of names and situations. He remembered quantities and numbers
wonderfully. One day an account was presented to him in which the
minister had ranked among the expenses an item inserted in the account of
the preceding year. “There is a double charge,” said the King; “bring me
last year’s account, and I will show it yet there.” When the King was
perfectly master of the details of any matter, and saw injustice, he was
obdurate even to harshness. Then he would be obeyed instantly, in order to
be sure that he was obeyed.
But in important affairs of state the man of will was not to be found.
Louis XVI. was upon the throne exactly what those weak temperaments
whom nature has rendered incapable of an opinion are in society. In his
pusillanimity, he gave his confidence to a minister; and although amidst
various counsels he often knew which was the best, he never had the
return to his Chiteau. When teaching Louis XVI. his trade Gamin took upon
himself the tone and authority of a master. “The King was good, forbearing,
timid, inquisitive, and addicted to sleep,” said Gamin to me; “he was fond
to excess of lock-making, and he concealed himself from the Queen and the
Court to file and forge with me. In order to convey his anvil and my own
backwards and forwards we were obliged to use a thousand stratagems, the
history of which would: never end.” Above the King’s and Gamin’s forges
and anvils was an, observatory, erected upon a platform covered with lead.
There, seated on an armchair, and assisted by a telescope, the King
observed all that was passing in the courtyards of Versailles, the avenue of
Paris, and the neighbouring gardens. He had taken a liking to Duret, one of
the indoor servants of the palace, who sharpened his tools, cleaned his
anvils, pasted his maps, and adjusted eyeglasses to the King’s sight, who
was short-sighted. This good Duret, and indeed all the indoor servants,
spoke of their master with regret and affection, and with tears in their eyes.
The King was born weak and delicate; but from the age of twenty-four he
possessed a robust constitution, inherited from his mother, who was of the
House of Saxe, celebrated for generations for its robustness. There were
two men in Louis XVI., the man of knowledge and the man of will. The
King knew the history of his own family and of the first houses of France
perfectly. He composed the instructions for M. de la Peyrouse’s voyage
round the world, which the minister thought were drawn up by several
members of the Academy of Sciences. His memory retained an infinite
number of names and situations. He remembered quantities and numbers
wonderfully. One day an account was presented to him in which the
minister had ranked among the expenses an item inserted in the account of
the preceding year. “There is a double charge,” said the King; “bring me
last year’s account, and I will show it yet there.” When the King was
perfectly master of the details of any matter, and saw injustice, he was
obdurate even to harshness. Then he would be obeyed instantly, in order to
be sure that he was obeyed.
But in important affairs of state the man of will was not to be found.
Louis XVI. was upon the throne exactly what those weak temperaments
whom nature has rendered incapable of an opinion are in society. In his
pusillanimity, he gave his confidence to a minister; and although amidst
various counsels he often knew which was the best, he never had the
Page 119
resolution to say, “I prefer the opinion of such a one.” Herein originated the
misfortunes of the State.—SOULAVIE’S “Historical and Political Memoirs
Of the Reign Of LOUIS XVI.,” VOL ii.
misfortunes of the State.—SOULAVIE’S “Historical and Political Memoirs
Of the Reign Of LOUIS XVI.,” VOL ii.
Page 120
CHAPTER VII.
The winter following the confinement of the Comtesse d’Artois was very
severe; the recollections of the pleasure which sleighing-parties had given
the Queen in her childhood made her wish to introduce similar ones in
France. This amusement had already been known in that Court, as was
proved by sleighs being found in the stables which had been used by the
Dauphin, the father of Louis XVI. Some were constructed for the Queen in
a more modern style. The Princes also ordered several; and in a few days
there was a tolerable number of these vehicles. They were driven by the
princes and noblemen of the Court. The noise of the bells and balls with
which the harness of the horses was furnished, the elegance and whiteness
of their plumes, the varied forms of the carriages, the gold with which they
were all ornamented, rendered these parties delightful to the eye. The winter
was very favourable to them, the snow remaining on the ground nearly six
weeks; the drives in the park afforded a pleasure shared by the spectators.
[Louis XVI., touched with the wretched condition of the
poor of Versailles during the winter of 1776, had several
cart-loads of wood distributed among them. Seeing one day
a file of those vehicles passing by, while several noblemen
were preparing to be drawn swiftly over the ice, he uttered
these memorable words: “Gentlemen, here are my
sleighs!”—NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
No one imagined that any blame could attach to so innocent an
amusement. But the party were tempted to extend their drives as far as the
Champs Elysees; a few sleighs even crossed the boulevards; the ladies
being masked, the Queen’s enemies took the opportunity of saying that she
had traversed the streets of Paris in a sleigh.
This became a matter of moment. The public discovered in it a
predilection for the habits of Vienna; but all that Marie Antoinette did was
The winter following the confinement of the Comtesse d’Artois was very
severe; the recollections of the pleasure which sleighing-parties had given
the Queen in her childhood made her wish to introduce similar ones in
France. This amusement had already been known in that Court, as was
proved by sleighs being found in the stables which had been used by the
Dauphin, the father of Louis XVI. Some were constructed for the Queen in
a more modern style. The Princes also ordered several; and in a few days
there was a tolerable number of these vehicles. They were driven by the
princes and noblemen of the Court. The noise of the bells and balls with
which the harness of the horses was furnished, the elegance and whiteness
of their plumes, the varied forms of the carriages, the gold with which they
were all ornamented, rendered these parties delightful to the eye. The winter
was very favourable to them, the snow remaining on the ground nearly six
weeks; the drives in the park afforded a pleasure shared by the spectators.
[Louis XVI., touched with the wretched condition of the
poor of Versailles during the winter of 1776, had several
cart-loads of wood distributed among them. Seeing one day
a file of those vehicles passing by, while several noblemen
were preparing to be drawn swiftly over the ice, he uttered
these memorable words: “Gentlemen, here are my
sleighs!”—NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
No one imagined that any blame could attach to so innocent an
amusement. But the party were tempted to extend their drives as far as the
Champs Elysees; a few sleighs even crossed the boulevards; the ladies
being masked, the Queen’s enemies took the opportunity of saying that she
had traversed the streets of Paris in a sleigh.
This became a matter of moment. The public discovered in it a
predilection for the habits of Vienna; but all that Marie Antoinette did was
Page 121
criticised.
Sleigh-driving, savouring of the Northern Courts, had no favour among
the Parisians. The Queen was informed of this; and although all the sleighs
were preserved, and several subsequent winters lent themselves to the
amusement, she would not resume it.
It was at the time of the sleighing-parties that the Queen became
intimately acquainted with the Princesse de Lamballe, who made her
appearance in them wrapped in fur, with all the brilliancy and freshness of
the age of twenty,—the emblem of spring, peeping from under sable and
ermine. Her situation, moreover, rendered her peculiarly interesting;
married, when she was scarcely past childhood, to a young prince, who
ruined himself by the contagious example of the Duc d’Orleans, she had
had nothing to do from the time of her arrival in France but to weep. A
widow at eighteen, and childless, she lived with the Duc de Penthievre as an
adopted daughter. She had the tenderest respect and attachment for that
venerable Prince; but the Queen, though doing justice to his virtues, saw
that the Duc de Penthievre’s way of life, whether at Paris or at his country-
seat, could neither afford his young daughter-in-law the amusements suited
to her time of life, nor ensure her in the future an establishment such as she
was deprived of by her widowhood. She determined, therefore, to establish
her at Versailles; and for her sake revived the office of superintendent,
which had been discontinued at Court since the death of Mademoiselle de
Clermont. It is said that Maria Leczinska had decided that this place should
continue vacant, the superintendent having so extensive a power in the
houses of queens as to be frequently a restraint upon their inclinations.
Differences which soon took place between Marie Antoinette and the
Princesse de Lamballe respecting the official prerogatives of the latter,
proved that the wife of Louis XV. had acted judiciously in abolishing the
office; but a kind of treaty made between the Queen and the Princess
smoothed all difficulties. The blame for too strong an assertion of claims
fell upon a secretary of the superintendent, who had been her adviser; and
everything was so arranged that a firm friendship existed between these two
Princesses down to the disastrous period which terminated their career.
Notwithstanding the enthusiasm which the splendour, grace, and
kindness of the Queen generally inspired, secret intrigues continued in
operation against her. A short time after the ascension of Louis XVI. to the
Sleigh-driving, savouring of the Northern Courts, had no favour among
the Parisians. The Queen was informed of this; and although all the sleighs
were preserved, and several subsequent winters lent themselves to the
amusement, she would not resume it.
It was at the time of the sleighing-parties that the Queen became
intimately acquainted with the Princesse de Lamballe, who made her
appearance in them wrapped in fur, with all the brilliancy and freshness of
the age of twenty,—the emblem of spring, peeping from under sable and
ermine. Her situation, moreover, rendered her peculiarly interesting;
married, when she was scarcely past childhood, to a young prince, who
ruined himself by the contagious example of the Duc d’Orleans, she had
had nothing to do from the time of her arrival in France but to weep. A
widow at eighteen, and childless, she lived with the Duc de Penthievre as an
adopted daughter. She had the tenderest respect and attachment for that
venerable Prince; but the Queen, though doing justice to his virtues, saw
that the Duc de Penthievre’s way of life, whether at Paris or at his country-
seat, could neither afford his young daughter-in-law the amusements suited
to her time of life, nor ensure her in the future an establishment such as she
was deprived of by her widowhood. She determined, therefore, to establish
her at Versailles; and for her sake revived the office of superintendent,
which had been discontinued at Court since the death of Mademoiselle de
Clermont. It is said that Maria Leczinska had decided that this place should
continue vacant, the superintendent having so extensive a power in the
houses of queens as to be frequently a restraint upon their inclinations.
Differences which soon took place between Marie Antoinette and the
Princesse de Lamballe respecting the official prerogatives of the latter,
proved that the wife of Louis XV. had acted judiciously in abolishing the
office; but a kind of treaty made between the Queen and the Princess
smoothed all difficulties. The blame for too strong an assertion of claims
fell upon a secretary of the superintendent, who had been her adviser; and
everything was so arranged that a firm friendship existed between these two
Princesses down to the disastrous period which terminated their career.
Notwithstanding the enthusiasm which the splendour, grace, and
kindness of the Queen generally inspired, secret intrigues continued in
operation against her. A short time after the ascension of Louis XVI. to the
Page 122
throne, the minister of the King’s household was informed that a most
offensive libel against the Queen was about to appear. The lieutenant of
police deputed a man named Goupil, a police inspector, to trace this libel;
he came soon after to say that he had found out the place where the work
was being printed, and that it was at a country house near Yverdun. He had
already got possession of two sheets, which contained the most atrocious
calumnies, conveyed with a degree of art which might make them very
dangerous to the Queen’s reputation. Goupil said that he could obtain the
rest, but that he should want a considerable sum for that purpose. Three
thousand Louis were given him, and very soon afterwards he brought the
whole manuscript and all that had been printed to the lieutenant of police.
He received a thousand louis more as a reward for his address and zeal; and
a much more important office was about to be given him, when another spy,
envious of Goupil’s good fortune, gave information that Goupil himself was
the author of the libel; that, ten years before, he had been put into the
Bicetre for swindling; and that Madame Goupil had been only three years
out of the Salpetriere, where she had been placed under another name. This
Madame Goupil was very pretty and very intriguing; she had found means
to form an intimacy with Cardinal de Rohan, whom she led, it is said, to
hope for a reconciliation with the Queen. All this affair was hushed up; but
it shows that it was the Queen’s fate to be incessantly attacked by the
meanest and most odious machinations.
Another woman, named Cahouette de Millers, whose husband held an
office in the Treasury, being very irregular in conduct, and of a scheming
turn of mind, had a mania for appearing in the eyes of her friends at Paris as
a person in favour at Court, to which she was not entitled by either birth or
office. During the latter years of the life of Louis XV. she had made many
dupes, and picked up considerable sums by passing herself off as the King’s
mistress. The fear of irritating Madame du Barry was, according to her, the
only thing which prevented her enjoying that title openly. She came
regularly to Versailles, kept herself concealed in a furnished lodging, and
her dupes imagined she was secretly summoned to Court.
This woman formed the scheme of getting admission, if possible, to the
presence of the Queen, or at least causing it to be believed that she had done
so. She adopted as her lover Gabriel de Saint Charles, intendant of her
Majesty’s finances,—an office, the privileges of which were confined to the
right of entering the Queen’s apartment on Sunday. Madame de Villers
offensive libel against the Queen was about to appear. The lieutenant of
police deputed a man named Goupil, a police inspector, to trace this libel;
he came soon after to say that he had found out the place where the work
was being printed, and that it was at a country house near Yverdun. He had
already got possession of two sheets, which contained the most atrocious
calumnies, conveyed with a degree of art which might make them very
dangerous to the Queen’s reputation. Goupil said that he could obtain the
rest, but that he should want a considerable sum for that purpose. Three
thousand Louis were given him, and very soon afterwards he brought the
whole manuscript and all that had been printed to the lieutenant of police.
He received a thousand louis more as a reward for his address and zeal; and
a much more important office was about to be given him, when another spy,
envious of Goupil’s good fortune, gave information that Goupil himself was
the author of the libel; that, ten years before, he had been put into the
Bicetre for swindling; and that Madame Goupil had been only three years
out of the Salpetriere, where she had been placed under another name. This
Madame Goupil was very pretty and very intriguing; she had found means
to form an intimacy with Cardinal de Rohan, whom she led, it is said, to
hope for a reconciliation with the Queen. All this affair was hushed up; but
it shows that it was the Queen’s fate to be incessantly attacked by the
meanest and most odious machinations.
Another woman, named Cahouette de Millers, whose husband held an
office in the Treasury, being very irregular in conduct, and of a scheming
turn of mind, had a mania for appearing in the eyes of her friends at Paris as
a person in favour at Court, to which she was not entitled by either birth or
office. During the latter years of the life of Louis XV. she had made many
dupes, and picked up considerable sums by passing herself off as the King’s
mistress. The fear of irritating Madame du Barry was, according to her, the
only thing which prevented her enjoying that title openly. She came
regularly to Versailles, kept herself concealed in a furnished lodging, and
her dupes imagined she was secretly summoned to Court.
This woman formed the scheme of getting admission, if possible, to the
presence of the Queen, or at least causing it to be believed that she had done
so. She adopted as her lover Gabriel de Saint Charles, intendant of her
Majesty’s finances,—an office, the privileges of which were confined to the
right of entering the Queen’s apartment on Sunday. Madame de Villers
Page 123
came every Saturday to Versailles with M. de Saint Charles, and lodged in
his apartment. M. Campan was there several times. She painted tolerably
well, and she requested him to do her the favour to present to the Queen a
portrait of her Majesty which she had just copied. M. Campan knew the
woman’s character, and refused her. A few days after, he saw on her
Majesty’s couch the portrait which he had declined to present to her; the
Queen thought it badly painted, and gave orders that it should be carried
back to the Princesse de Lamballe, who had sent it to her. The ill success of
the portrait did not deter the manoeuvrer from following up her designs; she
easily procured through M. de Saint Charles patents and orders signed by
the Queen; she then set about imitating her writing, and composed a great
number of notes and letters, as if written by her Majesty, in the tenderest
and most familiar style. For many months she showed them as great secrets
to several of her particular friends. Afterwards, she made the Queen appear
to write to her, to procure various fancy articles. Under the pretext of
wishing to execute her Majesty’s commissions accurately, she gave these
letters to the tradesmen to read, and succeeded in having it said, in many
houses, that the Queen had a particular regard for her. She then enlarged her
scheme, and represented the Queen as desiring to borrow 200,000 francs
which she had need of, but which she did not wish to ask of the King from
his private funds. This letter, being shown to M. Beranger, ‘fermier general’
of the finances, took effect; he thought himself fortunate in being able to
render this assistance to his sovereign, and lost no time in sending the
200,000 francs to Madame de Villers. This first step was followed by some
doubts, which he communicated to people better informed than himself of
what was passing at Court; they added to his uneasiness; he then went to M.
de Sartine, who unravelled the whole plot. The woman was sent to St.
Pelagie; and the unfortunate husband was ruined, by replacing the sum
borrowed, and by paying for the jewels fraudulently purchased in the
Queen’s name. The forged letters were sent to her Majesty; I compared
them in her presence with her own handwriting, and the only
distinguishable difference was a little more regularity in the letters.
This trick, discovered and punished with prudence and without passion,
produced no more sensation out of doors than that of the Inspector Goupil.
A year after the nomination of Madame de Lamballe to the post of
superintendent of the Queen’s household, balls and quadrilles gave rise to
the intimacy of her Majesty with the Comtesse Jules de Polignac. This lady
his apartment. M. Campan was there several times. She painted tolerably
well, and she requested him to do her the favour to present to the Queen a
portrait of her Majesty which she had just copied. M. Campan knew the
woman’s character, and refused her. A few days after, he saw on her
Majesty’s couch the portrait which he had declined to present to her; the
Queen thought it badly painted, and gave orders that it should be carried
back to the Princesse de Lamballe, who had sent it to her. The ill success of
the portrait did not deter the manoeuvrer from following up her designs; she
easily procured through M. de Saint Charles patents and orders signed by
the Queen; she then set about imitating her writing, and composed a great
number of notes and letters, as if written by her Majesty, in the tenderest
and most familiar style. For many months she showed them as great secrets
to several of her particular friends. Afterwards, she made the Queen appear
to write to her, to procure various fancy articles. Under the pretext of
wishing to execute her Majesty’s commissions accurately, she gave these
letters to the tradesmen to read, and succeeded in having it said, in many
houses, that the Queen had a particular regard for her. She then enlarged her
scheme, and represented the Queen as desiring to borrow 200,000 francs
which she had need of, but which she did not wish to ask of the King from
his private funds. This letter, being shown to M. Beranger, ‘fermier general’
of the finances, took effect; he thought himself fortunate in being able to
render this assistance to his sovereign, and lost no time in sending the
200,000 francs to Madame de Villers. This first step was followed by some
doubts, which he communicated to people better informed than himself of
what was passing at Court; they added to his uneasiness; he then went to M.
de Sartine, who unravelled the whole plot. The woman was sent to St.
Pelagie; and the unfortunate husband was ruined, by replacing the sum
borrowed, and by paying for the jewels fraudulently purchased in the
Queen’s name. The forged letters were sent to her Majesty; I compared
them in her presence with her own handwriting, and the only
distinguishable difference was a little more regularity in the letters.
This trick, discovered and punished with prudence and without passion,
produced no more sensation out of doors than that of the Inspector Goupil.
A year after the nomination of Madame de Lamballe to the post of
superintendent of the Queen’s household, balls and quadrilles gave rise to
the intimacy of her Majesty with the Comtesse Jules de Polignac. This lady
Page 124
really interested Marie Antoinette. She was not rich, and generally lived
upon her estate at Claye. The Queen was astonished at not having seen her
at Court earlier. The confession that her want of fortune had even prevented
her appearance at the celebration of the marriages of the Princes added to
the interest which she had inspired.
The Queen was full of consideration, and took delight in counteracting
the injustice of fortune. The Countess was induced to come to Court by her
husband’s sister, Madame Diane de Polignac, who had been appointed lady
of honour to the Comtesse d’Artois. The Comtesse Jules was really fond of
a tranquil life; the impression she made at Court affected her but little; she
felt only the attachment manifested for her by the Queen. I had occasion to
see her from the commencement of her favour at Court; she often passed
whole hours with me, while waiting for the Queen. She conversed with me
freely and ingenuously about the honour, and at the same time the danger,
she saw in the kindness of which she was the object. The Queen sought for
the sweets of friendship; but can this gratification, so rare in any rank, exist
between a Queen and a subject, when they are surrounded, moreover, by
snares laid by the artifice of courtiers? This pardonable error was fatal to
the happiness of Marie Antoinette.
The retiring character of the Comtesse Jules, afterwards Duchesse de
Polignac, cannot be spoken of too favourably; but if her heart was incapable
of forming ambitious projects, her family and friends in her fortune beheld
their own, and endeavoured to secure the favour of the Queen.
[The Comtesse, afterwards Duchesse de Polignac, nee
Polastron, Married the Comte (in 1780 the Duc) Jules de
Polignac, the father of the Prince de Polignac of Napoleon’s
and of Charles X.‘s time. She emigrated in 1789, and died in
Vienna in 1793.]
The Comtesse de Diane, sister of M. de Polignac, and the Baron de
Besenval and M. de Vaudreuil, particular friends of the Polignac family,
made use of means, the success of which was infallible. One of my friends
(Comte de Moustier), who was in their secret, came to tell me that Madame
de Polignac was about to quit Versailles suddenly; that she would take leave
of the Queen only in writing; that the Comtesse Diane and M. de Vaudreuil
had dictated her letter, and the whole affair was arranged for the purpose of
upon her estate at Claye. The Queen was astonished at not having seen her
at Court earlier. The confession that her want of fortune had even prevented
her appearance at the celebration of the marriages of the Princes added to
the interest which she had inspired.
The Queen was full of consideration, and took delight in counteracting
the injustice of fortune. The Countess was induced to come to Court by her
husband’s sister, Madame Diane de Polignac, who had been appointed lady
of honour to the Comtesse d’Artois. The Comtesse Jules was really fond of
a tranquil life; the impression she made at Court affected her but little; she
felt only the attachment manifested for her by the Queen. I had occasion to
see her from the commencement of her favour at Court; she often passed
whole hours with me, while waiting for the Queen. She conversed with me
freely and ingenuously about the honour, and at the same time the danger,
she saw in the kindness of which she was the object. The Queen sought for
the sweets of friendship; but can this gratification, so rare in any rank, exist
between a Queen and a subject, when they are surrounded, moreover, by
snares laid by the artifice of courtiers? This pardonable error was fatal to
the happiness of Marie Antoinette.
The retiring character of the Comtesse Jules, afterwards Duchesse de
Polignac, cannot be spoken of too favourably; but if her heart was incapable
of forming ambitious projects, her family and friends in her fortune beheld
their own, and endeavoured to secure the favour of the Queen.
[The Comtesse, afterwards Duchesse de Polignac, nee
Polastron, Married the Comte (in 1780 the Duc) Jules de
Polignac, the father of the Prince de Polignac of Napoleon’s
and of Charles X.‘s time. She emigrated in 1789, and died in
Vienna in 1793.]
The Comtesse de Diane, sister of M. de Polignac, and the Baron de
Besenval and M. de Vaudreuil, particular friends of the Polignac family,
made use of means, the success of which was infallible. One of my friends
(Comte de Moustier), who was in their secret, came to tell me that Madame
de Polignac was about to quit Versailles suddenly; that she would take leave
of the Queen only in writing; that the Comtesse Diane and M. de Vaudreuil
had dictated her letter, and the whole affair was arranged for the purpose of
Page 125
stimulating the attachment of Marie Antoinette. The next day, when I went
up to the palace, I found the Queen with a letter in her hand, which she was
reading with much emotion; it was the letter from the Comtesse Jules; the
Queen showed it to me. The Countess expressed in it her grief at leaving a
princess who had loaded her with kindness. The narrowness of her fortune
compelled her to do so; but she was much more strongly impelled by the
fear that the Queen’s friendship, after having raised up dangerous enemies
against her, might abandon her to their hatred, and to the regret of having
lost the august favour of which she was the object.
This step produced the full effect that had been expected from it. A young
and sensitive queen cannot long bear the idea of contradiction. She busied
herself in settling the Comtesse Jules near her, by making such a provision
for her as should place her beyond anxiety. Her character suited the Queen;
she had merely natural talents, no pedantry, no affectation of knowledge.
She was of middle size; her complexion very fair, her eyebrows and hair
dark brown, her teeth superb, her smile enchanting, and her whole person
graceful. She was seen almost always in a demi-toilet, remarkable only for
neatness and good taste. I do not think I ever once saw diamonds about her,
even at the climax of her fortune, when she had the rank of Duchess at
Court.
I have always believed that her sincere attachment for the Queen, as
much as her love of simplicity, induced her to avoid everything that might
cause her to be thought a wealthy favourite. She had not one of the failings
which usually accompany that position. She loved the persons who shared
the Queen’s affections, and was entirely free from jealousy. Marie
Antoinette flattered herself that the Comtesse Jules and the Princesse de
Lamballe would be her especial friends, and that she should possess a
society formed according to her own taste. “I will receive them in my
closet, or at Trianon,” said she; “I will enjoy the comforts of private life,
which exist not for us, unless we have the good sense to secure them for
ourselves.” The happiness the Queen thought to secure was destined to turn
to vexation. All those courtiers who were not admitted to this intimacy
became so many jealous and vindictive enemies.
It was necessary to make a suitable provision for the Countess. The place
of first equerry, in reversion after the Comte de Tesse, given to Comte Jules
unknown to the titular holder, displeased the family of Noailles. This family
up to the palace, I found the Queen with a letter in her hand, which she was
reading with much emotion; it was the letter from the Comtesse Jules; the
Queen showed it to me. The Countess expressed in it her grief at leaving a
princess who had loaded her with kindness. The narrowness of her fortune
compelled her to do so; but she was much more strongly impelled by the
fear that the Queen’s friendship, after having raised up dangerous enemies
against her, might abandon her to their hatred, and to the regret of having
lost the august favour of which she was the object.
This step produced the full effect that had been expected from it. A young
and sensitive queen cannot long bear the idea of contradiction. She busied
herself in settling the Comtesse Jules near her, by making such a provision
for her as should place her beyond anxiety. Her character suited the Queen;
she had merely natural talents, no pedantry, no affectation of knowledge.
She was of middle size; her complexion very fair, her eyebrows and hair
dark brown, her teeth superb, her smile enchanting, and her whole person
graceful. She was seen almost always in a demi-toilet, remarkable only for
neatness and good taste. I do not think I ever once saw diamonds about her,
even at the climax of her fortune, when she had the rank of Duchess at
Court.
I have always believed that her sincere attachment for the Queen, as
much as her love of simplicity, induced her to avoid everything that might
cause her to be thought a wealthy favourite. She had not one of the failings
which usually accompany that position. She loved the persons who shared
the Queen’s affections, and was entirely free from jealousy. Marie
Antoinette flattered herself that the Comtesse Jules and the Princesse de
Lamballe would be her especial friends, and that she should possess a
society formed according to her own taste. “I will receive them in my
closet, or at Trianon,” said she; “I will enjoy the comforts of private life,
which exist not for us, unless we have the good sense to secure them for
ourselves.” The happiness the Queen thought to secure was destined to turn
to vexation. All those courtiers who were not admitted to this intimacy
became so many jealous and vindictive enemies.
It was necessary to make a suitable provision for the Countess. The place
of first equerry, in reversion after the Comte de Tesse, given to Comte Jules
unknown to the titular holder, displeased the family of Noailles. This family
Page 126
had just sustained another mortification, the appointment of the Princesse
de Lamballe having in some degree rendered necessary the resignation of
the Comtesse de Noailles, whose husband was thereupon made a marshal of
France. The Princesse de Lamballe, although she did not quarrel with the
Queen, was alarmed at the establishment of the Comtesse Jules at Court,
and did not form, as her Majesty had hoped, a part of that intimate society,
which was in turn composed of Mesdames Jules and Diane de Polignac,
d’Andlau and de Chalon, and Messieurs de Guignes, de Coigny,
d’Adhemar, de Besenval, lieutenant-colonel of the Swiss, de Polignac, de
Vaudreuil, and de Guiche; the Prince de Ligne and the Duke of Dorset, the
English ambassador, were also admitted.
It was a long time before the Comtesse Jules maintained any great state at
Court. The Queen contented herself with giving her very fine apartments at
the top of the marble staircase. The salary of first equerry, the trifling
emoluments derived from M. de Polignac’s regiment, added to their slender
patrimony, and perhaps some small pension, at that time formed the whole
fortune of the favourite. I never saw the Queen make her a present of value;
I was even astonished one day at hearing her Majesty mention, with
pleasure, that the Countess had gained ten thousand francs in the lottery.
“She was in great want of it,” added the Queen.
Thus the Polignacs were not settled at Court in any degree of splendour
which could justify complaints from others, and the substantial favours
bestowed upon that family were less envied than the intimacy between them
and their proteges and the Queen. Those who had no hope of entering the
circle of the Comtesse Jules were made jealous by the opportunities of
advancement it afforded.
However, at the time I speak of, the society around the Comtesse Jules
was fully engaged in gratifying the young Queen. Of this the Marquis de
Vaudreuil was a conspicuous member; he was a brilliant man, the friend and
protector of men of letters and celebrated artists.
The Baron de Besenval added to the bluntness of the Swiss all the
adroitness of a French courtier. His fifty years and gray hairs made him
enjoy among women the confidence inspired by mature age, although he
had not given up the thought of love affairs. He talked of his native
mountains with enthusiasm. He would at any time sing the “Ranz des
Vaches” with tears in his eyes, and was the best story-teller in the Comtesse
de Lamballe having in some degree rendered necessary the resignation of
the Comtesse de Noailles, whose husband was thereupon made a marshal of
France. The Princesse de Lamballe, although she did not quarrel with the
Queen, was alarmed at the establishment of the Comtesse Jules at Court,
and did not form, as her Majesty had hoped, a part of that intimate society,
which was in turn composed of Mesdames Jules and Diane de Polignac,
d’Andlau and de Chalon, and Messieurs de Guignes, de Coigny,
d’Adhemar, de Besenval, lieutenant-colonel of the Swiss, de Polignac, de
Vaudreuil, and de Guiche; the Prince de Ligne and the Duke of Dorset, the
English ambassador, were also admitted.
It was a long time before the Comtesse Jules maintained any great state at
Court. The Queen contented herself with giving her very fine apartments at
the top of the marble staircase. The salary of first equerry, the trifling
emoluments derived from M. de Polignac’s regiment, added to their slender
patrimony, and perhaps some small pension, at that time formed the whole
fortune of the favourite. I never saw the Queen make her a present of value;
I was even astonished one day at hearing her Majesty mention, with
pleasure, that the Countess had gained ten thousand francs in the lottery.
“She was in great want of it,” added the Queen.
Thus the Polignacs were not settled at Court in any degree of splendour
which could justify complaints from others, and the substantial favours
bestowed upon that family were less envied than the intimacy between them
and their proteges and the Queen. Those who had no hope of entering the
circle of the Comtesse Jules were made jealous by the opportunities of
advancement it afforded.
However, at the time I speak of, the society around the Comtesse Jules
was fully engaged in gratifying the young Queen. Of this the Marquis de
Vaudreuil was a conspicuous member; he was a brilliant man, the friend and
protector of men of letters and celebrated artists.
The Baron de Besenval added to the bluntness of the Swiss all the
adroitness of a French courtier. His fifty years and gray hairs made him
enjoy among women the confidence inspired by mature age, although he
had not given up the thought of love affairs. He talked of his native
mountains with enthusiasm. He would at any time sing the “Ranz des
Vaches” with tears in his eyes, and was the best story-teller in the Comtesse
Page 127
Jules’s circle. The last new song or ‘bon mot’ and the gossip of the day were
the sole topics of conversation in the Queen’s parties. Wit was banished
from them. The Comtesse Diane, more inclined to literary pursuits than her
sister-in-law, one day, recommended her to read the “Iliad” and “Odyssey.”
The latter replied, laughing, that she was perfectly acquainted with the
Greek poet, and said to prove it:
“Homere etait aveugle et jouait du hautbois.”
(Homer was blind and played on the hautboy.)
[This lively repartee of the Duchesse de Polignac is a
droll imitation of a line in the “Mercure Galant.” In the
quarrel scene one of the lawyers says to his brother quill:
‘Ton pere etait aveugle et jouait du hautbois.‘]
The Queen found this sort of humour very much to her taste, and said
that no pedant should ever be her friend.
Before the Queen fixed her assemblies at Madame de Polignac’s, she
occasionally passed the evening at the house of the Duc and Duchesse de
Duras, where a brilliant party of young persons met together. They
introduced a taste for trifling games, such as question and answer, ‘guerre
panpan’, blind man’s buff, and especially a game called ‘descampativos’.
The people of Paris, always criticising, but always imitating the customs of
the Court, were infected with the mania for these childish sports. Madame
de Genlis, sketching the follies of the day in one of her plays, speaks of
these famous ‘descampativos’; and also of the rage for making a friend,
called the ‘inseparable’, until a whim or the slightest difference might
occasion a total rupture.
the sole topics of conversation in the Queen’s parties. Wit was banished
from them. The Comtesse Diane, more inclined to literary pursuits than her
sister-in-law, one day, recommended her to read the “Iliad” and “Odyssey.”
The latter replied, laughing, that she was perfectly acquainted with the
Greek poet, and said to prove it:
“Homere etait aveugle et jouait du hautbois.”
(Homer was blind and played on the hautboy.)
[This lively repartee of the Duchesse de Polignac is a
droll imitation of a line in the “Mercure Galant.” In the
quarrel scene one of the lawyers says to his brother quill:
‘Ton pere etait aveugle et jouait du hautbois.‘]
The Queen found this sort of humour very much to her taste, and said
that no pedant should ever be her friend.
Before the Queen fixed her assemblies at Madame de Polignac’s, she
occasionally passed the evening at the house of the Duc and Duchesse de
Duras, where a brilliant party of young persons met together. They
introduced a taste for trifling games, such as question and answer, ‘guerre
panpan’, blind man’s buff, and especially a game called ‘descampativos’.
The people of Paris, always criticising, but always imitating the customs of
the Court, were infected with the mania for these childish sports. Madame
de Genlis, sketching the follies of the day in one of her plays, speaks of
these famous ‘descampativos’; and also of the rage for making a friend,
called the ‘inseparable’, until a whim or the slightest difference might
occasion a total rupture.
Page 128
CHAPTER VIII.
The Duc de Choiseul had reappeared at Court on the ceremony of the
King’s coronation for the first time after his disgrace under Louis XV. in
1770. The state of public feeling on the subject gave his friends hope of
seeing him again in administration, or in the Council of State; but the
opposite party was too firmly seated at Versailles, and the young Queen’s
influence was outweighed, in the mind of the King, by long-standing
prejudices; she therefore gave up for ever her attempt to reinstate the Duke.
Thus this Princess, who has been described as so ambitious, and so
strenuously supporting the interest of the House of Austria, failed twice in
the only scheme which could forward the views constantly attributed to her;
and spent the whole of her reign surrounded by enemies of herself and her
house.
Marie Antoinette took little pains to promote literature and the fine arts.
She had been annoyed in consequence of having ordered a performance of
the “Connstable de Bourbon,” on the celebration of the marriage of
Madame Clotilde with the Prince of Piedmont. The Court and the people of
Paris censured as indecorous the naming characters in the piece after the
reigning family, and that with which the new alliance was formed. The
reading of this piece by the Comte de Guibert in the Queen’s closet had
produced in her Majesty’s circle that sort of enthusiasm which obscures the
judgment. She promised herself she would have no more readings. Yet, at
the request of M. de Cubieres, the King’s equerry, the Queen agreed to hear
the reading of a comedy written by his brother. She collected her intimate
circle, Messieurs de Coigny, de Vaudreuil, de Besenval, Mesdames de
Polignac, de Chalon, etc., and to increase the number of judges, she
admitted the two Parnys, the Chevalier de Bertin, my father-in-law, and
myself.
Mold read for the author. I never could satisfy myself by what magic the
skilful reader gained our unanimous approbation of a ridiculous work.
Surely the delightful voice of Mold, by awakening our recollection of the
The Duc de Choiseul had reappeared at Court on the ceremony of the
King’s coronation for the first time after his disgrace under Louis XV. in
1770. The state of public feeling on the subject gave his friends hope of
seeing him again in administration, or in the Council of State; but the
opposite party was too firmly seated at Versailles, and the young Queen’s
influence was outweighed, in the mind of the King, by long-standing
prejudices; she therefore gave up for ever her attempt to reinstate the Duke.
Thus this Princess, who has been described as so ambitious, and so
strenuously supporting the interest of the House of Austria, failed twice in
the only scheme which could forward the views constantly attributed to her;
and spent the whole of her reign surrounded by enemies of herself and her
house.
Marie Antoinette took little pains to promote literature and the fine arts.
She had been annoyed in consequence of having ordered a performance of
the “Connstable de Bourbon,” on the celebration of the marriage of
Madame Clotilde with the Prince of Piedmont. The Court and the people of
Paris censured as indecorous the naming characters in the piece after the
reigning family, and that with which the new alliance was formed. The
reading of this piece by the Comte de Guibert in the Queen’s closet had
produced in her Majesty’s circle that sort of enthusiasm which obscures the
judgment. She promised herself she would have no more readings. Yet, at
the request of M. de Cubieres, the King’s equerry, the Queen agreed to hear
the reading of a comedy written by his brother. She collected her intimate
circle, Messieurs de Coigny, de Vaudreuil, de Besenval, Mesdames de
Polignac, de Chalon, etc., and to increase the number of judges, she
admitted the two Parnys, the Chevalier de Bertin, my father-in-law, and
myself.
Mold read for the author. I never could satisfy myself by what magic the
skilful reader gained our unanimous approbation of a ridiculous work.
Surely the delightful voice of Mold, by awakening our recollection of the
Page 129
dramatic beauties of the French stage, prevented the wretched lines of Dorat
Cubieres from striking on our ears. I can assert that the exclamation
Charming! charming! repeatedly interrupted the reader. The piece was
admitted for performance at Fontainebleau; and for the first time the King
had the curtain dropped before the end of the play. It was called the
“Dramomane” or “Dramaturge.” All the characters died of eating poison in
a pie. The Queen, highly disconcerted at having recommended this absurd
production, announced that she would never hear another reading; and this
time she kept her word.
The tragedy of “Mustapha and Mangir,” by M. de Chamfort, was highly
successful at the Court theatre at Fontainebleau. The Queen procured the
author a pension of 1,200 francs, but his play failed on being performed at
Paris.
The spirit of opposition which prevailed in that city delighted in
reversing the verdicts of the Court. The Queen determined never again to
give any marked countenance to new dramatic works. She reserved her
patronage for musical composers, and in a few years their art arrived at a
perfection it had never before attained in France.
It was solely to gratify the Queen that the manager of the Opera brought
the first company of comic actors to Paris. Gluck, Piccini, and Sacchini
were attracted there in succession. These eminent composers were treated
with great distinction at Court. Immediately on his arrival in France, Gluck
was admitted to the Queen’s toilet, and she talked to him all the time he
remained with her. She asked him one day whether he had nearly brought
his grand opera of “Armide” to a conclusion, and whether it pleased him.
Gluck replied very coolly, in his German accent, “Madame, it will soon be
finished, and really it will be superb.” There was a great outcry against the
confidence with which the composer had spoken of one of his own
productions. The Queen defended him warmly; she insisted that he could
not be ignorant of the merit of his works; that he well knew they were
generally admired, and that no doubt he was afraid lest a modesty, merely
dictated by politeness, should look like affectation in him.
[Gluck often had to deal with self-sufficiency equal to his
own. He was very reluctant to introduce long ballets into
“Iphigenia.” Vestris deeply regretted that the opera was not
terminated by a piece they called a chaconne, in which he
Cubieres from striking on our ears. I can assert that the exclamation
Charming! charming! repeatedly interrupted the reader. The piece was
admitted for performance at Fontainebleau; and for the first time the King
had the curtain dropped before the end of the play. It was called the
“Dramomane” or “Dramaturge.” All the characters died of eating poison in
a pie. The Queen, highly disconcerted at having recommended this absurd
production, announced that she would never hear another reading; and this
time she kept her word.
The tragedy of “Mustapha and Mangir,” by M. de Chamfort, was highly
successful at the Court theatre at Fontainebleau. The Queen procured the
author a pension of 1,200 francs, but his play failed on being performed at
Paris.
The spirit of opposition which prevailed in that city delighted in
reversing the verdicts of the Court. The Queen determined never again to
give any marked countenance to new dramatic works. She reserved her
patronage for musical composers, and in a few years their art arrived at a
perfection it had never before attained in France.
It was solely to gratify the Queen that the manager of the Opera brought
the first company of comic actors to Paris. Gluck, Piccini, and Sacchini
were attracted there in succession. These eminent composers were treated
with great distinction at Court. Immediately on his arrival in France, Gluck
was admitted to the Queen’s toilet, and she talked to him all the time he
remained with her. She asked him one day whether he had nearly brought
his grand opera of “Armide” to a conclusion, and whether it pleased him.
Gluck replied very coolly, in his German accent, “Madame, it will soon be
finished, and really it will be superb.” There was a great outcry against the
confidence with which the composer had spoken of one of his own
productions. The Queen defended him warmly; she insisted that he could
not be ignorant of the merit of his works; that he well knew they were
generally admired, and that no doubt he was afraid lest a modesty, merely
dictated by politeness, should look like affectation in him.
[Gluck often had to deal with self-sufficiency equal to his
own. He was very reluctant to introduce long ballets into
“Iphigenia.” Vestris deeply regretted that the opera was not
terminated by a piece they called a chaconne, in which he
Page 130
displayed all his power. He complained to Gluck about it.
Gluck, who treated his art with all the dignity it merits,
replied that in so interesting a subject dancing would be
misplaced. Being pressed another time by Vestris on the
same subject, “A chaconne! A chaconne!” roared out the
enraged musician; “we must describe the Greeks; and had
the Greeks chaconnes?” “They had not?” returned the
astonished dancer; “why, then, so much the worse for
them!”—NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
Gluck, who treated his art with all the dignity it merits,
replied that in so interesting a subject dancing would be
misplaced. Being pressed another time by Vestris on the
same subject, “A chaconne! A chaconne!” roared out the
enraged musician; “we must describe the Greeks; and had
the Greeks chaconnes?” “They had not?” returned the
astonished dancer; “why, then, so much the worse for
them!”—NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
Page 131
The Queen did not confine her admiration to the lofty style of the French
and Italian operas; she greatly valued Gretry’s music, so well adapted to the
spirit and feeling of the words. A great deal of the poetry set to music by
Gretry is by Marmontel. The day after the first performance of “Zemira and
Azor,” Marmontel and Gretry were presented to the Queen as she was
passing through the gallery of Fontainebleau to go to mass. The Queen
congratulated Gretry on the success of the new opera, and told him that she
had dreamed of the enchanting effect of the trio by Zemira’s father and
sisters behind the magic mirror. Gretry, in a transport of joy, took
Marmontel in his arms, “Ah! my friend,” cried he, “excellent music may be
made of this.”—“And execrable words,” coolly observed Marmontel, to
whom her Majesty had not addressed a single compliment.
The most indifferent artists were permitted to have the honour of painting
the Queen. A full-length portrait, representing her in all the pomp of royalty,
was exhibited in the gallery of Versailles. This picture, which was intended
for the Court of Vienna, was executed by a man who does not deserve even
to be named, and disgusted all people of taste. It seemed as if this art had, in
France, retrograded several centuries.
The Queen had not that enlightened judgment, or even that mere taste,
which enables princes to foster and protect great talents. She confessed
frankly that she saw no merit in any portrait beyond the likeness. When she
went to the Louvre, she would run hastily over all the little “genre” pictures,
and come out, as she acknowledged, without having once raised her eyes to
the grand compositions.
There is no good portrait of the Queen, save that by Werthmuller, chief
painter to the King of Sweden, which was sent to Stockholm, and that by
Madame Lebrun, which was saved from the revolutionary fury by the
commissioners for the care of the furniture at Versailles.
[A sketch of very great interest made when the Queen was
in the Temple and discovered many years afterwards there,
recently reproduced in the memoirs of the Marquise de
and Italian operas; she greatly valued Gretry’s music, so well adapted to the
spirit and feeling of the words. A great deal of the poetry set to music by
Gretry is by Marmontel. The day after the first performance of “Zemira and
Azor,” Marmontel and Gretry were presented to the Queen as she was
passing through the gallery of Fontainebleau to go to mass. The Queen
congratulated Gretry on the success of the new opera, and told him that she
had dreamed of the enchanting effect of the trio by Zemira’s father and
sisters behind the magic mirror. Gretry, in a transport of joy, took
Marmontel in his arms, “Ah! my friend,” cried he, “excellent music may be
made of this.”—“And execrable words,” coolly observed Marmontel, to
whom her Majesty had not addressed a single compliment.
The most indifferent artists were permitted to have the honour of painting
the Queen. A full-length portrait, representing her in all the pomp of royalty,
was exhibited in the gallery of Versailles. This picture, which was intended
for the Court of Vienna, was executed by a man who does not deserve even
to be named, and disgusted all people of taste. It seemed as if this art had, in
France, retrograded several centuries.
The Queen had not that enlightened judgment, or even that mere taste,
which enables princes to foster and protect great talents. She confessed
frankly that she saw no merit in any portrait beyond the likeness. When she
went to the Louvre, she would run hastily over all the little “genre” pictures,
and come out, as she acknowledged, without having once raised her eyes to
the grand compositions.
There is no good portrait of the Queen, save that by Werthmuller, chief
painter to the King of Sweden, which was sent to Stockholm, and that by
Madame Lebrun, which was saved from the revolutionary fury by the
commissioners for the care of the furniture at Versailles.
[A sketch of very great interest made when the Queen was
in the Temple and discovered many years afterwards there,
recently reproduced in the memoirs of the Marquise de
Page 132
Tourzel (Paris, Plon), is the last authentic portrait of the
unhappy Queen. See also the catalogue of portraits made by
Lord Ronald Gower.]
The composition of the latter picture resembles that of Henriette of
France, the wife of the unfortunate Charles I., painted by Vandyke. Like
Marie Antoinette, she is seated, surrounded by her children, and that
resemblance adds to the melancholy interest raised by this beautiful
production.
While admitting that the Queen gave no direct encouragement to any art
but that of music, I should be wrong to pass over in silence the patronage
conferred by her and the Princes, brothers of the King, on the art of
printing.
[In 1790 the King gave a proof of his particular good-will
to the bookselling trade. A company consisting of the first
Parisian booksellers, being on the eve of stopping payment,
succeeded in laying before the King a statement of their
distressed situation. The monarch was affected by it; he took
from the civil list the sum of which the society stood in
immediate need, and became security for the repayment of
the remainder of the 1,200,000 livres, which they wanted to
borrow, and for the repayment of which he fixed no
particular time.]
To Marie Antoinette we are indebted for a splendid quarto edition of the
works of Metastasio; to Monsieur, the King’s brother, for a quarto Tasso,
embellished with engravings after Cochin; and to the Comte d’Artois for a
small collection of select works, which is considered one of the chef
d’oeuvres of the press of the celebrated Didot.
In 1775, on the death of the Marechal du Muy, the ascendency obtained
by the sect of innovators occasioned M. de Saint-Germain to be recalled to
Court and made Minister of War. His first care was the destruction of the
King’s military household establishment, an imposing and effectual rampart
round the sovereign power.
When Chancellor Maupeou obtained from Louis XV. the destruction of
the Parliament and the exile of all the ancient magistrates, the
unhappy Queen. See also the catalogue of portraits made by
Lord Ronald Gower.]
The composition of the latter picture resembles that of Henriette of
France, the wife of the unfortunate Charles I., painted by Vandyke. Like
Marie Antoinette, she is seated, surrounded by her children, and that
resemblance adds to the melancholy interest raised by this beautiful
production.
While admitting that the Queen gave no direct encouragement to any art
but that of music, I should be wrong to pass over in silence the patronage
conferred by her and the Princes, brothers of the King, on the art of
printing.
[In 1790 the King gave a proof of his particular good-will
to the bookselling trade. A company consisting of the first
Parisian booksellers, being on the eve of stopping payment,
succeeded in laying before the King a statement of their
distressed situation. The monarch was affected by it; he took
from the civil list the sum of which the society stood in
immediate need, and became security for the repayment of
the remainder of the 1,200,000 livres, which they wanted to
borrow, and for the repayment of which he fixed no
particular time.]
To Marie Antoinette we are indebted for a splendid quarto edition of the
works of Metastasio; to Monsieur, the King’s brother, for a quarto Tasso,
embellished with engravings after Cochin; and to the Comte d’Artois for a
small collection of select works, which is considered one of the chef
d’oeuvres of the press of the celebrated Didot.
In 1775, on the death of the Marechal du Muy, the ascendency obtained
by the sect of innovators occasioned M. de Saint-Germain to be recalled to
Court and made Minister of War. His first care was the destruction of the
King’s military household establishment, an imposing and effectual rampart
round the sovereign power.
When Chancellor Maupeou obtained from Louis XV. the destruction of
the Parliament and the exile of all the ancient magistrates, the
Page 133
Mousquetaires were charged with the execution of the commission for this
purpose; and at the stroke of midnight, the presidents and members were all
arrested, each by two Mousquetaires. In the spring of 1775 a popular
insurrection had taken place in consequence of the high price of bread. M.
Turgot’s new regulation, which permitted unlimited trade in corn, was
either its cause or the pretext for it; and the King’s household troops again
rendered the greatest services to public tranquillity.
I have never be enable to discover the true cause of the support given to
M. de Saint-Germain’s policy by the Queen, unless in the marked favour
shown to the captains and officers of the Body Guards, who by this
reduction became the only soldiers of their rank entrusted with the safety of
the sovereign; or else in the Queen’s strong prejudice against the Duc
d’Aiguillon, then commander of the light-horse. M. de Saint-Germain,
however, retained fifty gens d’armes and fifty light-horse to form a royal
escort on state occasions; but in 1787 the King reduced both these military
bodies. The Queen then said with satisfaction that at last she should see no
more red coats in the gallery of Versailles.
From 1775 to 1781 were the gayest years of the Queen’s life. In the little
journeys to Choisy, performances frequently took place at the theatre twice
in one day: grand opera and French or Italian comedy at the usual hour; and
at eleven at night they returned to the theatre for parodies in which the best
actors of the Opera presented themselves in whimsical parts and costumes.
The celebrated dancer Guimard always took the leading characters in the
latter performance; she danced better than she acted; her extreme leanness,
and her weak, hoarse voice added to the burlesque in the parodied
characters of Ernelinde and Iphigenie.
The most magnificent fete ever given to the Queen was one prepared for
her by Monsieur, the King’s brother, at Brunoy. That Prince did me the
honour to admit me, and I followed her Majesty into the gardens, where she
found in the first copse knights in full armour asleep at the foot of trees, on
which hung their spears and shields. The absence of the beauties who had
incited the nephews of Charlemagne and the gallants of that period to lofty
deeds was supposed to occasion this lethargic slumber. But when the Queen
appeared at the entrance of the copse they were on foot in an instant, and
melodious voices announced their eagerness to display their valour. They
then hastened into a vast arena, magnificently decorated in the exact style of
purpose; and at the stroke of midnight, the presidents and members were all
arrested, each by two Mousquetaires. In the spring of 1775 a popular
insurrection had taken place in consequence of the high price of bread. M.
Turgot’s new regulation, which permitted unlimited trade in corn, was
either its cause or the pretext for it; and the King’s household troops again
rendered the greatest services to public tranquillity.
I have never be enable to discover the true cause of the support given to
M. de Saint-Germain’s policy by the Queen, unless in the marked favour
shown to the captains and officers of the Body Guards, who by this
reduction became the only soldiers of their rank entrusted with the safety of
the sovereign; or else in the Queen’s strong prejudice against the Duc
d’Aiguillon, then commander of the light-horse. M. de Saint-Germain,
however, retained fifty gens d’armes and fifty light-horse to form a royal
escort on state occasions; but in 1787 the King reduced both these military
bodies. The Queen then said with satisfaction that at last she should see no
more red coats in the gallery of Versailles.
From 1775 to 1781 were the gayest years of the Queen’s life. In the little
journeys to Choisy, performances frequently took place at the theatre twice
in one day: grand opera and French or Italian comedy at the usual hour; and
at eleven at night they returned to the theatre for parodies in which the best
actors of the Opera presented themselves in whimsical parts and costumes.
The celebrated dancer Guimard always took the leading characters in the
latter performance; she danced better than she acted; her extreme leanness,
and her weak, hoarse voice added to the burlesque in the parodied
characters of Ernelinde and Iphigenie.
The most magnificent fete ever given to the Queen was one prepared for
her by Monsieur, the King’s brother, at Brunoy. That Prince did me the
honour to admit me, and I followed her Majesty into the gardens, where she
found in the first copse knights in full armour asleep at the foot of trees, on
which hung their spears and shields. The absence of the beauties who had
incited the nephews of Charlemagne and the gallants of that period to lofty
deeds was supposed to occasion this lethargic slumber. But when the Queen
appeared at the entrance of the copse they were on foot in an instant, and
melodious voices announced their eagerness to display their valour. They
then hastened into a vast arena, magnificently decorated in the exact style of
Page 134
the ancient tournaments. Fifty dancers dressed as pages presented to the
knights twenty-five superb black horses, and twenty-five of a dazzling
whiteness, all most richly caparisoned. The party led by Augustus Vestris
wore the Queen’s colours. Picq, balletmaster at the Russian Court,
commanded the opposing band. There was running at the negro’s head,
tilting, and, lastly, combats ‘a outrance’, perfectly well imitated. Although
the spectators were aware that the Queen’s colours could not but be
victorious, they did not the less enjoy the apparent uncertainty.
Nearly all the agreeable women of Paris were ranged upon the steps
which surrounded the area of the tourney. The Queen, surrounded by the
royal family and the whole Court, was placed beneath an elevated canopy.
A play, followed by a ballet-pantomime and a ball, terminated the fete.
Fireworks and illuminations were not spared. Finally, from a prodigiously
high scaffold, placed on a rising ground, the words ‘Vive Louis! Vive Marie
Antoinette!’ were shown in the air in the midst of a very dark but calm
night.
Pleasure was the sole pursuit of every one of this young family, with the
exception of the King. Their love of it was perpetually encouraged by a
crowd of those officious people who, by anticipating the desires and even
the passions of princes, find means of showing their zeal, and hope to gain
or maintain favour for themselves.
Who would have dared to check the amusements of a queen, young,
lively, and handsome? A mother or a husband alone would have had the
right to do it; and the King threw no impediment in the way of Marie
Antoinette’s inclinations. His long indifference had been followed by
admiration and love. He was a slave to all the wishes of the Queen, who,
delighted with the happy change in the heart and habits of the King, did not
sufficiently conceal the ascendency she was gaining over him.
The King went to bed every night at eleven precisely; he was very
methodical, and nothing was allowed to interfere with his rules. The noise
which the Queen unavoidably made when she returned very late from the
evenings which she spent with the Princesse de Gugmenee or the Duc de
Duras, at last annoyed the King, and it was amicably agreed that the Queen
should apprise him when she intended to sit up late. He then began to sleep
in his own apartment, which had never before happened from the time of
their marriage.
knights twenty-five superb black horses, and twenty-five of a dazzling
whiteness, all most richly caparisoned. The party led by Augustus Vestris
wore the Queen’s colours. Picq, balletmaster at the Russian Court,
commanded the opposing band. There was running at the negro’s head,
tilting, and, lastly, combats ‘a outrance’, perfectly well imitated. Although
the spectators were aware that the Queen’s colours could not but be
victorious, they did not the less enjoy the apparent uncertainty.
Nearly all the agreeable women of Paris were ranged upon the steps
which surrounded the area of the tourney. The Queen, surrounded by the
royal family and the whole Court, was placed beneath an elevated canopy.
A play, followed by a ballet-pantomime and a ball, terminated the fete.
Fireworks and illuminations were not spared. Finally, from a prodigiously
high scaffold, placed on a rising ground, the words ‘Vive Louis! Vive Marie
Antoinette!’ were shown in the air in the midst of a very dark but calm
night.
Pleasure was the sole pursuit of every one of this young family, with the
exception of the King. Their love of it was perpetually encouraged by a
crowd of those officious people who, by anticipating the desires and even
the passions of princes, find means of showing their zeal, and hope to gain
or maintain favour for themselves.
Who would have dared to check the amusements of a queen, young,
lively, and handsome? A mother or a husband alone would have had the
right to do it; and the King threw no impediment in the way of Marie
Antoinette’s inclinations. His long indifference had been followed by
admiration and love. He was a slave to all the wishes of the Queen, who,
delighted with the happy change in the heart and habits of the King, did not
sufficiently conceal the ascendency she was gaining over him.
The King went to bed every night at eleven precisely; he was very
methodical, and nothing was allowed to interfere with his rules. The noise
which the Queen unavoidably made when she returned very late from the
evenings which she spent with the Princesse de Gugmenee or the Duc de
Duras, at last annoyed the King, and it was amicably agreed that the Queen
should apprise him when she intended to sit up late. He then began to sleep
in his own apartment, which had never before happened from the time of
their marriage.
Page 135
During the winter the Queen attended the Opera balls with a single lady
of the palace, and always found there Monsieur and the Comte d’Artois.
Her people concealed their liveries under gray cloth greatcoats. She never
thought she was recognized, while all the time she was known to the whole
assembly, from the first moment she entered the theatre; they pretended,
however, not to recognise her, and some masquerade manoeuvre was
always adopted to give her the pleasure of fancying herself incognito.
Louis XVI. determined once to accompany the Queen to a masked ball; it
was agreed that the King should hold not only the grand but the petit
coucher, as if actually going to bed. The Queen went to his apartment
through the inner corridors of the palace, followed by one of her women
with a black domino; she assisted him to put it on, and they went alone to
the chapel court, where a carriage waited for them, with the captain of the
Guard of the quarter, and a lady of the palace. The King was but little
amused, spoke only to two or three persons, who knew him immediately,
and found nothing to admire at the masquerade but Punches and
Harlequins, which served as a joke against him for the royal family, who
often amused themselves with laughing at him about it.
An event, simple in itself, brought dire suspicion upon the Queen. She
was going out one evening with the Duchesse de Lupnes, lady of the palace,
when her carriage broke down at the entrance into Paris; she was obliged to
alight; the Duchess led her into a shop, while a footman called a ‘fiacre’. As
they were masked, if they had but known how to keep silence, the event
would never have been known; but to ride in a fiacre is so unusual an
adventure for a queen that she had hardly entered the Opera-house when
she could not help saying to some persons whom she met there: “That I
should be in a fiacre! Is it not droll?”
From that moment all Paris was informed of the adventure of the fiacre.
It was said that everything connected with it was mysterious; that the Queen
had kept an assignation in a private house with the Duc de Coigny. He was
indeed very well received at Court, but equally so by the King and Queen.
These accusations of gallantry once set afloat, there were no longer any
bounds to the calumnies circulated at Paris. If, during the chase or at cards,
the Queen spoke to Lord Edward Dillon, De Lambertye, or others, they
were so many favoured lovers. The people of Paris did not know that none
of those young persons were admitted into the Queen’s private circle of
of the palace, and always found there Monsieur and the Comte d’Artois.
Her people concealed their liveries under gray cloth greatcoats. She never
thought she was recognized, while all the time she was known to the whole
assembly, from the first moment she entered the theatre; they pretended,
however, not to recognise her, and some masquerade manoeuvre was
always adopted to give her the pleasure of fancying herself incognito.
Louis XVI. determined once to accompany the Queen to a masked ball; it
was agreed that the King should hold not only the grand but the petit
coucher, as if actually going to bed. The Queen went to his apartment
through the inner corridors of the palace, followed by one of her women
with a black domino; she assisted him to put it on, and they went alone to
the chapel court, where a carriage waited for them, with the captain of the
Guard of the quarter, and a lady of the palace. The King was but little
amused, spoke only to two or three persons, who knew him immediately,
and found nothing to admire at the masquerade but Punches and
Harlequins, which served as a joke against him for the royal family, who
often amused themselves with laughing at him about it.
An event, simple in itself, brought dire suspicion upon the Queen. She
was going out one evening with the Duchesse de Lupnes, lady of the palace,
when her carriage broke down at the entrance into Paris; she was obliged to
alight; the Duchess led her into a shop, while a footman called a ‘fiacre’. As
they were masked, if they had but known how to keep silence, the event
would never have been known; but to ride in a fiacre is so unusual an
adventure for a queen that she had hardly entered the Opera-house when
she could not help saying to some persons whom she met there: “That I
should be in a fiacre! Is it not droll?”
From that moment all Paris was informed of the adventure of the fiacre.
It was said that everything connected with it was mysterious; that the Queen
had kept an assignation in a private house with the Duc de Coigny. He was
indeed very well received at Court, but equally so by the King and Queen.
These accusations of gallantry once set afloat, there were no longer any
bounds to the calumnies circulated at Paris. If, during the chase or at cards,
the Queen spoke to Lord Edward Dillon, De Lambertye, or others, they
were so many favoured lovers. The people of Paris did not know that none
of those young persons were admitted into the Queen’s private circle of
Page 136
friends; the Queen went about Paris in disguise, and had made use of a
fiacre; and a single instance of levity gives room for the suspicion of others.
Conscious of innocence, and well knowing that all about her must do
justice to her private life, the Queen spoke of these reports with contempt,
contenting herself with the supposition that some folly in the young men
mentioned had given rise to them. She therefore left off speaking to them or
even looking at them. Their vanity took alarm at this, and revenge induced
them either to say, or to leave others to think, that they were unfortunate
enough to please no longer. Other young coxcombs, placing themselves
near the private box which the Queen occupied incognito when she attended
the public theatre at Versailles, had the presumption to imagine that they
were noticed by her; and I have known such notions entertained merely on
account of the Queen’s requesting one of those gentlemen to inquire behind
the scenes whether it would be long before the commencement of the
second piece.
The list of persons received into the Queen’s closet which I gave in the
preceding chapter was placed in the hands of the ushers of the chamber by
the Princesse de Lamballe; and the persons there enumerated could present
themselves to enjoy the distinction only on those days when the Queen
chose to be with her intimates in a private manner; and this was only when
she was slightly indisposed. People of the first rank at Court sometimes
requested special audiences of her; the Queen then received them in a room
within that called the closet of the women on duty, and these women
announced them in her Majesty’s apartment.
The Duc de Lauzun had a good deal of wit, and chivalrous manners. The
Queen was accustomed to see him at the King’s suppers, and at the house of
the Princesse de Guemenee, and always showed him attention. One day he
made his appearance at Madame de Guemenee’s in uniform, and with the
most magnificent plume of white heron’s feathers that it was possible to
behold. The Queen admired the plume, and he offered it to her through the
Princesse de Guemenee. As he had worn it the Queen had not imagined that
he could think of giving it to her; much embarrassed with the present which
she had, as it were, drawn upon herself, she did not like to refuse it, nor did
she know whether she ought to make one in return; afraid, if she did give
anything, of giving either too much or too little, she contented herself with
once letting M. de Lauzun see her adorned with the plume. In his secret
fiacre; and a single instance of levity gives room for the suspicion of others.
Conscious of innocence, and well knowing that all about her must do
justice to her private life, the Queen spoke of these reports with contempt,
contenting herself with the supposition that some folly in the young men
mentioned had given rise to them. She therefore left off speaking to them or
even looking at them. Their vanity took alarm at this, and revenge induced
them either to say, or to leave others to think, that they were unfortunate
enough to please no longer. Other young coxcombs, placing themselves
near the private box which the Queen occupied incognito when she attended
the public theatre at Versailles, had the presumption to imagine that they
were noticed by her; and I have known such notions entertained merely on
account of the Queen’s requesting one of those gentlemen to inquire behind
the scenes whether it would be long before the commencement of the
second piece.
The list of persons received into the Queen’s closet which I gave in the
preceding chapter was placed in the hands of the ushers of the chamber by
the Princesse de Lamballe; and the persons there enumerated could present
themselves to enjoy the distinction only on those days when the Queen
chose to be with her intimates in a private manner; and this was only when
she was slightly indisposed. People of the first rank at Court sometimes
requested special audiences of her; the Queen then received them in a room
within that called the closet of the women on duty, and these women
announced them in her Majesty’s apartment.
The Duc de Lauzun had a good deal of wit, and chivalrous manners. The
Queen was accustomed to see him at the King’s suppers, and at the house of
the Princesse de Guemenee, and always showed him attention. One day he
made his appearance at Madame de Guemenee’s in uniform, and with the
most magnificent plume of white heron’s feathers that it was possible to
behold. The Queen admired the plume, and he offered it to her through the
Princesse de Guemenee. As he had worn it the Queen had not imagined that
he could think of giving it to her; much embarrassed with the present which
she had, as it were, drawn upon herself, she did not like to refuse it, nor did
she know whether she ought to make one in return; afraid, if she did give
anything, of giving either too much or too little, she contented herself with
once letting M. de Lauzun see her adorned with the plume. In his secret
Page 137
“Memoirs” the Duke attaches an importance to his present, which proves
him utterly unworthy of an honour accorded only to his name and rank.
A short time afterwards he solicited an audience; the Queen granted it, as
she would have done to any other courtier of equal rank. I was in the room
adjoining that in which he was received; a few minutes after his arrival the
Queen reopened the door, and said aloud, and in an angry tone of voice,
“Go, monsieur.” M. de Lauzun bowed low, and withdrew. The Queen was
much agitated. She said to me: “That man shall never again come within
my doors.” A few years before the Revolution of 1789 the Marechal de
Biron died. The Duc de Lauzun, heir to his name, aspired to the important
post of colonel of the regiment of French guards. The Queen, however,
procured it for the Duc du Chaatelet. The Duc de Biron espoused the cause
of the Duc d’Orleans, and became one of the most violent enemies of Marie
Antoinette.
It is with reluctance that I enter minutely on a defence of the Queen
against two infamous accusations with which libellers have dared to swell
their envenomed volumes. I mean the unworthy suspicions of too strong an
attachment for the Comte d’Artois, and of the motives for the tender
friendship which subsisted between the Queen, the Princesse de Lamballe,
and the Duchesse de Polignac. I do not believe that the Comte d’Artois was,
during his own youth and that of the Queen, so much smitten as has been
said with the loveliness of his sister-in-law; I can affirm that I always saw
that Prince maintain the most respectful demeanour towards the Queen; that
she always spoke of his good-nature and cheerfulness with that freedom
which attends only the purest sentiments; and that none of those about the
Queen ever saw in the affection she manifested towards the Comte d’Artois
more than that of a kind and tender sister for her youngest brother. As to the
intimate connection between Marie Antoinette and the ladies I have named,
it never had, nor could have, any other motive than the very innocent wish
to secure herself two friends in the midst of a numerous Court; and
notwithstanding this intimacy, that tone of respect observed by persons of
the most exalted rank towards majesty never ceased to be maintained.
The Queen, much occupied with the society of Madame de Polignac, and
an unbroken series of amusements, found less time for the Abbe de
Vermond; he therefore resolved to retire from Court. The world did him the
honour to believe that he had hazarded remonstrances upon his august
him utterly unworthy of an honour accorded only to his name and rank.
A short time afterwards he solicited an audience; the Queen granted it, as
she would have done to any other courtier of equal rank. I was in the room
adjoining that in which he was received; a few minutes after his arrival the
Queen reopened the door, and said aloud, and in an angry tone of voice,
“Go, monsieur.” M. de Lauzun bowed low, and withdrew. The Queen was
much agitated. She said to me: “That man shall never again come within
my doors.” A few years before the Revolution of 1789 the Marechal de
Biron died. The Duc de Lauzun, heir to his name, aspired to the important
post of colonel of the regiment of French guards. The Queen, however,
procured it for the Duc du Chaatelet. The Duc de Biron espoused the cause
of the Duc d’Orleans, and became one of the most violent enemies of Marie
Antoinette.
It is with reluctance that I enter minutely on a defence of the Queen
against two infamous accusations with which libellers have dared to swell
their envenomed volumes. I mean the unworthy suspicions of too strong an
attachment for the Comte d’Artois, and of the motives for the tender
friendship which subsisted between the Queen, the Princesse de Lamballe,
and the Duchesse de Polignac. I do not believe that the Comte d’Artois was,
during his own youth and that of the Queen, so much smitten as has been
said with the loveliness of his sister-in-law; I can affirm that I always saw
that Prince maintain the most respectful demeanour towards the Queen; that
she always spoke of his good-nature and cheerfulness with that freedom
which attends only the purest sentiments; and that none of those about the
Queen ever saw in the affection she manifested towards the Comte d’Artois
more than that of a kind and tender sister for her youngest brother. As to the
intimate connection between Marie Antoinette and the ladies I have named,
it never had, nor could have, any other motive than the very innocent wish
to secure herself two friends in the midst of a numerous Court; and
notwithstanding this intimacy, that tone of respect observed by persons of
the most exalted rank towards majesty never ceased to be maintained.
The Queen, much occupied with the society of Madame de Polignac, and
an unbroken series of amusements, found less time for the Abbe de
Vermond; he therefore resolved to retire from Court. The world did him the
honour to believe that he had hazarded remonstrances upon his august
Page 138
pupil’s frivolous employment of her time, and that he considered himself,
both as an ecclesiastic and as instructor, now out of place at Court. But the
world was deceived his dissatisfaction arose purely from the favour shown
to the Comtesse Jules. After a fortnight’s absence we saw him at Versailles
again, resuming his usual functions.
The Queen could express herself with winning graciousness to persons
who merited her praise. When M. Loustonneau was appointed to the
reversion of the post of first surgeon to the King, he came to make his
acknowledgments. He was much beloved by the poor, to whom he had
chiefly devoted his talents, spending nearly thirty thousand francs a year on
indigent sufferers. The Queen replied to his thanks by saying: “You are
satisfied, Monsieur; but I am far from being so with the inhabitants of
Versailles. On the news of your appointment the town should have been
illuminated.”—“How so, Madame?” asked the astonished surgeon, who
was very modest. “Why,” replied the Queen, “if the poor whom you have
succoured for the past twenty years had each placed a single candle in their
windows it would have been the most beautiful illumination ever
witnessed.”
The Queen did not limit her kindness to friendly words. There was
frequently seen in the apartments of Versailles a veteran captain of the
grenadiers of France, called the Chevalier d’Orville, who for four years had
been soliciting from the Minister of War the post of major, or of King’s
lieutenant. He was known to be very poor; but he supported his lot without
complaining of this vexatious delay in rewarding his honourable services.
He regularly attended the Marechal de Segur, at the hour appointed for
receiving the numerous solicitations in his department. One day the Marshal
said to him: “You are still at Versailles, M. d’Orville?”—“Monsieur,” he
replied, “you may observe that by this board of the flooring where I
regularly place myself; it is already worn down several lines by the weight
of my body.” The Queen frequently stood at the window of her bedchamber
to observe with her glass the people walking in the park. Sometimes she
inquired the names of those who were unknown to her. One day she saw the
Chevalier d’Orville passing, and asked me the name of that knight of Saint
Louis, whom she had seen everywhere for a long time past. I knew who he
was, and related his history. “That must be put an end to,” said the Queen,
with some vivacity. “Such an example of indifference is calculated to
discourage our soldiers.” Next day, in crossing the gallery to go to mass, the
both as an ecclesiastic and as instructor, now out of place at Court. But the
world was deceived his dissatisfaction arose purely from the favour shown
to the Comtesse Jules. After a fortnight’s absence we saw him at Versailles
again, resuming his usual functions.
The Queen could express herself with winning graciousness to persons
who merited her praise. When M. Loustonneau was appointed to the
reversion of the post of first surgeon to the King, he came to make his
acknowledgments. He was much beloved by the poor, to whom he had
chiefly devoted his talents, spending nearly thirty thousand francs a year on
indigent sufferers. The Queen replied to his thanks by saying: “You are
satisfied, Monsieur; but I am far from being so with the inhabitants of
Versailles. On the news of your appointment the town should have been
illuminated.”—“How so, Madame?” asked the astonished surgeon, who
was very modest. “Why,” replied the Queen, “if the poor whom you have
succoured for the past twenty years had each placed a single candle in their
windows it would have been the most beautiful illumination ever
witnessed.”
The Queen did not limit her kindness to friendly words. There was
frequently seen in the apartments of Versailles a veteran captain of the
grenadiers of France, called the Chevalier d’Orville, who for four years had
been soliciting from the Minister of War the post of major, or of King’s
lieutenant. He was known to be very poor; but he supported his lot without
complaining of this vexatious delay in rewarding his honourable services.
He regularly attended the Marechal de Segur, at the hour appointed for
receiving the numerous solicitations in his department. One day the Marshal
said to him: “You are still at Versailles, M. d’Orville?”—“Monsieur,” he
replied, “you may observe that by this board of the flooring where I
regularly place myself; it is already worn down several lines by the weight
of my body.” The Queen frequently stood at the window of her bedchamber
to observe with her glass the people walking in the park. Sometimes she
inquired the names of those who were unknown to her. One day she saw the
Chevalier d’Orville passing, and asked me the name of that knight of Saint
Louis, whom she had seen everywhere for a long time past. I knew who he
was, and related his history. “That must be put an end to,” said the Queen,
with some vivacity. “Such an example of indifference is calculated to
discourage our soldiers.” Next day, in crossing the gallery to go to mass, the
Page 139
Queen perceived the Chevalier d’Orville; she went directly towards him.
The poor man fell back in the recess of a window, looking to the right and
left to discover the person whom the Queen was seeking, when she thus
addressed him: “M. d’Orville, you have been several years at Versailles,
soliciting a majority or a King’s lieutenancy. You must have very powerless
patrons.”—“I have none, Madame,” replied the Chevalier, in great
confusion. “Well! I will take you under my protection. To-morrow at the
same hour be here with a petition, and a memorial of your services.” A
fortnight after, M. d’Orville was appointed King’s lieutenant, either at La
Rochelle or at Rochefort.
[Louis XVI. vied with his Queen in benevolent actions of
this kind. An old officer had in vain solicited a pension
during the administration of the Duc de Choiseul. He
returned to the charge in the times of the Marquis de
Montesnard and the Duc d’Aiguillon. He urged his claims,
to Comte du Muy, who made a note of them. Tired of so
many fruitless efforts, he at last appeared at the King’s
supper, and, having placed himself so as to be seen and
heard, cried out at a moment when silence prevailed, “Sire.”
The people near him said, “What are you about? This is not
the way to speak to the King.”—“I fear nothing,” said he,
and raising his voice, repeated, “Sire.” The King, much
surprised, looked at him and said, “What do you want,
monsieur.”—“Sire,” answered he, “I am seventy years of
age; I have served your Majesty more than fifty years, and I
am dying for want.”—“Have you a memorial?” replied the
King. “Yes, Sire, I have.”—“Give it to me;” and his Majesty
took it without saying anything more. Next morning he was
sent for by the, King, who said, “Monsieur, I grant you an
annuity of 1,500 livres out of my privy purse, and you may
go and receive the first year’s payment, which is now due.”
(“Secret Correspondence of the Court: Reign of Louis
XVI.”) The King preferred to spend money in charity rather
than in luxury or magnificence. Once during his absence, M.
d’Augivillers caused an unused room in the King’s
apartment to be repaired at a cost of 30,000 francs. On his
The poor man fell back in the recess of a window, looking to the right and
left to discover the person whom the Queen was seeking, when she thus
addressed him: “M. d’Orville, you have been several years at Versailles,
soliciting a majority or a King’s lieutenancy. You must have very powerless
patrons.”—“I have none, Madame,” replied the Chevalier, in great
confusion. “Well! I will take you under my protection. To-morrow at the
same hour be here with a petition, and a memorial of your services.” A
fortnight after, M. d’Orville was appointed King’s lieutenant, either at La
Rochelle or at Rochefort.
[Louis XVI. vied with his Queen in benevolent actions of
this kind. An old officer had in vain solicited a pension
during the administration of the Duc de Choiseul. He
returned to the charge in the times of the Marquis de
Montesnard and the Duc d’Aiguillon. He urged his claims,
to Comte du Muy, who made a note of them. Tired of so
many fruitless efforts, he at last appeared at the King’s
supper, and, having placed himself so as to be seen and
heard, cried out at a moment when silence prevailed, “Sire.”
The people near him said, “What are you about? This is not
the way to speak to the King.”—“I fear nothing,” said he,
and raising his voice, repeated, “Sire.” The King, much
surprised, looked at him and said, “What do you want,
monsieur.”—“Sire,” answered he, “I am seventy years of
age; I have served your Majesty more than fifty years, and I
am dying for want.”—“Have you a memorial?” replied the
King. “Yes, Sire, I have.”—“Give it to me;” and his Majesty
took it without saying anything more. Next morning he was
sent for by the, King, who said, “Monsieur, I grant you an
annuity of 1,500 livres out of my privy purse, and you may
go and receive the first year’s payment, which is now due.”
(“Secret Correspondence of the Court: Reign of Louis
XVI.”) The King preferred to spend money in charity rather
than in luxury or magnificence. Once during his absence, M.
d’Augivillers caused an unused room in the King’s
apartment to be repaired at a cost of 30,000 francs. On his
Page 140
return the King made Versailles resound with complaints
against M. d’Augivillers: “With that sum I could have made
thirty families happy,” he said.]
against M. d’Augivillers: “With that sum I could have made
thirty families happy,” he said.]
Page 141
CHAPTER IX.
From the time of Louis XVI.‘s accession to the throne, the Queen had
been expecting a visit from her brother, the Emperor Joseph II. That Prince
was the constant theme of her discourse. She boasted of his intelligence, his
love of occupation, his military knowledge, and the perfect simplicity of his
manners. Those about her Majesty ardently wished to see at Versailles a
prince so worthy of his rank. At length the coming of Joseph II., under the
title of Count Falkenstein, was announced, and the very day on which he
would be at Versailles was mentioned. The first embraces between the
Queen and her august brother took place in the presence of all the Queen’s
household. The sight of their emotion was extremely affecting.
The Emperor was at first generally admired in France; learned men, well-
informed officers, and celebrated artists appreciated the extent of his
information. He made less impression at Court, and very little in the private
circle of the King and Queen. His eccentric manners, his frankness, often
degenerating into rudeness, and his evidently affected simplicity,—all these
characteristics caused him to be looked upon as a prince rather singular than
admirable. The Queen spoke to him about the apartment she had prepared
for him in the Chateau; the Emperor answered that he would not accept it,
and that while travelling he always lodged at a cabaret (that was his very
expression); the Queen insisted, and assured him that he should be at
perfect liberty, and placed out of the reach of noise. He replied that he knew
the Chateau of Versailles was very large, and that so many scoundrels lived
there that he could well find a place; but that his valet de chambre had made
up his camp-bed in a lodging-house, and there he would stay.
He dined with the King and Queen, and supped with the whole family.
He appeared to take an interest in the young Princesse Elisabeth, then just
past childhood, and blooming in all the freshness of that age. An intended
marriage between him and this young sister of the King was reported at the
time, but I believe it had no foundation in truth.
From the time of Louis XVI.‘s accession to the throne, the Queen had
been expecting a visit from her brother, the Emperor Joseph II. That Prince
was the constant theme of her discourse. She boasted of his intelligence, his
love of occupation, his military knowledge, and the perfect simplicity of his
manners. Those about her Majesty ardently wished to see at Versailles a
prince so worthy of his rank. At length the coming of Joseph II., under the
title of Count Falkenstein, was announced, and the very day on which he
would be at Versailles was mentioned. The first embraces between the
Queen and her august brother took place in the presence of all the Queen’s
household. The sight of their emotion was extremely affecting.
The Emperor was at first generally admired in France; learned men, well-
informed officers, and celebrated artists appreciated the extent of his
information. He made less impression at Court, and very little in the private
circle of the King and Queen. His eccentric manners, his frankness, often
degenerating into rudeness, and his evidently affected simplicity,—all these
characteristics caused him to be looked upon as a prince rather singular than
admirable. The Queen spoke to him about the apartment she had prepared
for him in the Chateau; the Emperor answered that he would not accept it,
and that while travelling he always lodged at a cabaret (that was his very
expression); the Queen insisted, and assured him that he should be at
perfect liberty, and placed out of the reach of noise. He replied that he knew
the Chateau of Versailles was very large, and that so many scoundrels lived
there that he could well find a place; but that his valet de chambre had made
up his camp-bed in a lodging-house, and there he would stay.
He dined with the King and Queen, and supped with the whole family.
He appeared to take an interest in the young Princesse Elisabeth, then just
past childhood, and blooming in all the freshness of that age. An intended
marriage between him and this young sister of the King was reported at the
time, but I believe it had no foundation in truth.
Page 142
The table was still served by women only, when the Queen dined in
private with the King, the royal family, or crowned heads.
[The custom was, even supposing dinner to have
commenced, if a princess of the blood arrived, and she was
asked to sit down at the Queen’s table, the comptrollers and
gentlemen-in-waiting came immediately to attend, and the
Queen’s women withdrew. These had succeeded the maids of
honour in several parts of their service, and had preserved
some of their privileges. One day the Duchesse d’Orleans
arrived at Fontainebleau, at the Queen’s dinner-hour. The
Queen invited her to the table, and herself motioned to her
women to leave the room, and let the men take their places.
Her Majesty said she was resolved to continue a privilege
which kept places of that description most honourable, and
render them suitable for ladies of nobility without fortune.
Madame de Misery, Baronne de Biache, the Queen’s first
lady of the chamber, to whom I was made reversioner, was a
daughter of M. le Comte de Chemant, and her grandmother
was a Montmorency. M. le Prince de Tingry, in the presence
of the Queen, used to call her cousin. The ancient household
of the Kings of France had prerogatives acknowledged in
the state. Many of the offices were tenable only by those of
noble blood, and were sold at from 40,000 to 300,000
franca. A collection of edicts of the Kings in favour of the
prerogatives and right of precedence of the persons holding
office in the royal household is still in existence.]
I was present at the Queen’s dinner almost every day. The Emperor
would talk much and fluently; he expressed himself in French with facility,
and the singularity, of his expressions added a zest to his conversation. I
have often heard him say that he liked spectaculous objects, when he meant
to express such things as formed a show, or a scene worthy of interest. He
disguised none of his prejudices against the etiquette and customs of the
Court of France; and even in the presence of the King made them the
subject of his sarcasms. The King smiled, but never made any answer; the
Queen appeared pained. The Emperor frequently terminated his
private with the King, the royal family, or crowned heads.
[The custom was, even supposing dinner to have
commenced, if a princess of the blood arrived, and she was
asked to sit down at the Queen’s table, the comptrollers and
gentlemen-in-waiting came immediately to attend, and the
Queen’s women withdrew. These had succeeded the maids of
honour in several parts of their service, and had preserved
some of their privileges. One day the Duchesse d’Orleans
arrived at Fontainebleau, at the Queen’s dinner-hour. The
Queen invited her to the table, and herself motioned to her
women to leave the room, and let the men take their places.
Her Majesty said she was resolved to continue a privilege
which kept places of that description most honourable, and
render them suitable for ladies of nobility without fortune.
Madame de Misery, Baronne de Biache, the Queen’s first
lady of the chamber, to whom I was made reversioner, was a
daughter of M. le Comte de Chemant, and her grandmother
was a Montmorency. M. le Prince de Tingry, in the presence
of the Queen, used to call her cousin. The ancient household
of the Kings of France had prerogatives acknowledged in
the state. Many of the offices were tenable only by those of
noble blood, and were sold at from 40,000 to 300,000
franca. A collection of edicts of the Kings in favour of the
prerogatives and right of precedence of the persons holding
office in the royal household is still in existence.]
I was present at the Queen’s dinner almost every day. The Emperor
would talk much and fluently; he expressed himself in French with facility,
and the singularity, of his expressions added a zest to his conversation. I
have often heard him say that he liked spectaculous objects, when he meant
to express such things as formed a show, or a scene worthy of interest. He
disguised none of his prejudices against the etiquette and customs of the
Court of France; and even in the presence of the King made them the
subject of his sarcasms. The King smiled, but never made any answer; the
Queen appeared pained. The Emperor frequently terminated his
Page 143
observations upon the objects in Paris which he had admired by reproaching
the King for suffering himself to remain in ignorance of them. He could not
conceive how such a wealth of pictures should remain shut up in the dust of
immense stores; and told him one day that but for the practice of placing
some of them in the apartments of Versailles he would not know even the
principal chef d’oeuvres that he possessed.
[The Emperor loudly censured the existing practice of
allowing shopkeepers to erect shops near the outward walls
of all the palaces, and even to establish something like a fair
in the galleries of Versailles and Fontainebleau, and even
upon the landings of the staircases.]
He also reproached him for not having visited the Hotel des Invalides nor
the Ecole Militaire; and even went so far as to tell him before us that he
ought not only to know what Paris contained, but to travel in France, and
reside a few days in each of his large towns.
At last the Queen was really hurt at the Emperor’s remarks, and gave him
a few lectures upon the freedom with which he allowed himself to lecture
others. One day she was busied in signing warrants and orders for payment
for her household, and was conversing with M. Augeard, her secretary for
such matters, who presented the papers one after another to be signed, and
replaced them in his portfolio. While this was going forward, the Emperor
walked about the room; all at once he stood still, to reproach the Queen
rather severely for signing all those papers without reading them, or, at
least, without running her eye over them; and he spoke most judiciously to
her upon the danger of signing her name inconsiderately. The Queen
answered that very wise principles might be very ill applied; that her
secretary, who deserved her implicit confidence, was at that moment laying
before her nothing but orders for payment of the quarter’s expenses of her
household, registered in the Chamber of Accounts; and that she ran no risk
of incautiously giving her signature.
The Queen’s toilet was likewise a never-failing subject for animadversion
with the Emperor. He blamed her for having introduced too many new
fashions; and teased her about her use of rouge. One day, while she was
laying on more of it than usual, before going to the play, he pointed out a
lady who was in the room, and who was, in truth, highly painted. “A little
the King for suffering himself to remain in ignorance of them. He could not
conceive how such a wealth of pictures should remain shut up in the dust of
immense stores; and told him one day that but for the practice of placing
some of them in the apartments of Versailles he would not know even the
principal chef d’oeuvres that he possessed.
[The Emperor loudly censured the existing practice of
allowing shopkeepers to erect shops near the outward walls
of all the palaces, and even to establish something like a fair
in the galleries of Versailles and Fontainebleau, and even
upon the landings of the staircases.]
He also reproached him for not having visited the Hotel des Invalides nor
the Ecole Militaire; and even went so far as to tell him before us that he
ought not only to know what Paris contained, but to travel in France, and
reside a few days in each of his large towns.
At last the Queen was really hurt at the Emperor’s remarks, and gave him
a few lectures upon the freedom with which he allowed himself to lecture
others. One day she was busied in signing warrants and orders for payment
for her household, and was conversing with M. Augeard, her secretary for
such matters, who presented the papers one after another to be signed, and
replaced them in his portfolio. While this was going forward, the Emperor
walked about the room; all at once he stood still, to reproach the Queen
rather severely for signing all those papers without reading them, or, at
least, without running her eye over them; and he spoke most judiciously to
her upon the danger of signing her name inconsiderately. The Queen
answered that very wise principles might be very ill applied; that her
secretary, who deserved her implicit confidence, was at that moment laying
before her nothing but orders for payment of the quarter’s expenses of her
household, registered in the Chamber of Accounts; and that she ran no risk
of incautiously giving her signature.
The Queen’s toilet was likewise a never-failing subject for animadversion
with the Emperor. He blamed her for having introduced too many new
fashions; and teased her about her use of rouge. One day, while she was
laying on more of it than usual, before going to the play, he pointed out a
lady who was in the room, and who was, in truth, highly painted. “A little
Page 144
more under the eyes,” said the Emperor to the Queen; “lay on the rouge like
a fury, as that lady does.” The Queen entreated her brother to refrain from
his jokes, or at all events to address them, when they were so outspoken, to
her alone.
The Queen had made an appointment to meet her brother at the Italian
theatre; she changed her mind, and went to the French theatre, sending a
page to the Italian theatre to request the Emperor to come to her there. He
left his box, lighted by the comedian Clairval, and attended by M. de la
Ferte, comptroller of the Queen’s privy purse, who was much hurt at
hearing his Imperial Majesty, after kindly expressing his regret at not being
present during the Italian performance, say to Clairval, “Your young Queen
is very giddy; but, luckily, you Frenchmen have no great objection to that.”
I was with my father-in-law in one of the Queen’s apartments when the
Emperor came to wait for her there, and, knowing that M. Campan was
librarian, he conversed with him about such books as would of course be
found in the Queen’s library. After talking of our most celebrated authors,
he casually said, “There are doubtless no works on finance or on
administration here?”
These words were followed by his opinion on all that had been written on
those topics, and the different systems of our two famous ministers, Sully
and Colbert; on errors which were daily committed in France, in points
essential to the prosperity of the Empire; and on the reform he himself
would make at Vienna. Holding M. Campan by the button, he spent more
than an hour, talking vehemently, and without the slightest reserve, about
the French Government. My father-in-law and myself maintained profound
silence, as much from astonishment as from respect; and when we were
alone we agreed not to speak of this interview.
The Emperor was fond of describing the Italian Courts that he had
visited. The jealous quarrels between the King and Queen of Naples amused
him highly; he described to the life the manner and speech of that
sovereign, and the simplicity with which he used to go and solicit the first
chamberlain to obtain permission to return to the nuptial bed, when the
angry Queen had banished him from it. The time which he was made to
wait for this reconciliation was calculated between the Queen and her
chamberlain, and always proportioned to the gravity of the offence. He also
related several very amusing stories relative to the Court of Parma, of which
a fury, as that lady does.” The Queen entreated her brother to refrain from
his jokes, or at all events to address them, when they were so outspoken, to
her alone.
The Queen had made an appointment to meet her brother at the Italian
theatre; she changed her mind, and went to the French theatre, sending a
page to the Italian theatre to request the Emperor to come to her there. He
left his box, lighted by the comedian Clairval, and attended by M. de la
Ferte, comptroller of the Queen’s privy purse, who was much hurt at
hearing his Imperial Majesty, after kindly expressing his regret at not being
present during the Italian performance, say to Clairval, “Your young Queen
is very giddy; but, luckily, you Frenchmen have no great objection to that.”
I was with my father-in-law in one of the Queen’s apartments when the
Emperor came to wait for her there, and, knowing that M. Campan was
librarian, he conversed with him about such books as would of course be
found in the Queen’s library. After talking of our most celebrated authors,
he casually said, “There are doubtless no works on finance or on
administration here?”
These words were followed by his opinion on all that had been written on
those topics, and the different systems of our two famous ministers, Sully
and Colbert; on errors which were daily committed in France, in points
essential to the prosperity of the Empire; and on the reform he himself
would make at Vienna. Holding M. Campan by the button, he spent more
than an hour, talking vehemently, and without the slightest reserve, about
the French Government. My father-in-law and myself maintained profound
silence, as much from astonishment as from respect; and when we were
alone we agreed not to speak of this interview.
The Emperor was fond of describing the Italian Courts that he had
visited. The jealous quarrels between the King and Queen of Naples amused
him highly; he described to the life the manner and speech of that
sovereign, and the simplicity with which he used to go and solicit the first
chamberlain to obtain permission to return to the nuptial bed, when the
angry Queen had banished him from it. The time which he was made to
wait for this reconciliation was calculated between the Queen and her
chamberlain, and always proportioned to the gravity of the offence. He also
related several very amusing stories relative to the Court of Parma, of which
Page 145
he spoke with no little contempt. If what this Prince said of those Courts,
and even of Vienna, had been written down, the whole would have formed
an interesting collection. The Emperor told the King that the Grand Duke of
Tuscany and the King of Naples being together, the former said a great deal
about the changes he had effected in his State. The Grand Duke had issued
a mass of new edicts, in order to carry the precepts of the economists into
execution, and trusted that in so doing he was labouring for the welfare of
his people. The King of Naples suffered him to go on speaking for a long
time, and then casually asked how many Neapolitan families there were in
Tuscany. The Duke soon reckoned them up, as they were but few. “Well,
brother,” replied the King of Naples, “I do not understand the indifference
of your people towards your great reforms; for I have four times the number
of Tuscan families settled in my States that you have of Neapolitan families
in yours.”
The Queen being at the Opera with the Emperor, the latter did not wish to
show himself; but she took him by the hand, and gently drew him to the
front of the box. This kind of presentation to the public was most warmly
received. The performance was “Iphigenia in Aulis,” and for the second
time the chorus, “Chantons, celebrons notre Reine!” was called for with
universal plaudits.
A fete of a novel description was given at Petit Trianon. The art with
which the English garden was not illuminated, but lighted, produced a
charming effect. Earthen lamps, concealed by boards painted green, threw
light upon the beds of shrubs and flowers, and brought out their varied tints.
Several hundred burning fagots in the moat behind the Temple of Love
made a blaze of light, which rendered that spot the most brilliant in the
garden. After all, this evening’s entertainment had nothing remarkable about
it but the good taste of the artists, yet it was much talked of. The situation
did not allow the admission of a great part of the Court; those who were
uninvited were dissatisfied; and the people, who never forgive any fetes but
those they share in, so exaggerated the cost of this little fete as to make it
appear that the fagots burnt in the moat had required the destruction of a
whole forest. The Queen being informed of these reports, was determined to
know exactly how much wood had been consumed; and she found that
fifteen hundred fagots had sufficed to keep up the fire until four o’clock in
the morning.
and even of Vienna, had been written down, the whole would have formed
an interesting collection. The Emperor told the King that the Grand Duke of
Tuscany and the King of Naples being together, the former said a great deal
about the changes he had effected in his State. The Grand Duke had issued
a mass of new edicts, in order to carry the precepts of the economists into
execution, and trusted that in so doing he was labouring for the welfare of
his people. The King of Naples suffered him to go on speaking for a long
time, and then casually asked how many Neapolitan families there were in
Tuscany. The Duke soon reckoned them up, as they were but few. “Well,
brother,” replied the King of Naples, “I do not understand the indifference
of your people towards your great reforms; for I have four times the number
of Tuscan families settled in my States that you have of Neapolitan families
in yours.”
The Queen being at the Opera with the Emperor, the latter did not wish to
show himself; but she took him by the hand, and gently drew him to the
front of the box. This kind of presentation to the public was most warmly
received. The performance was “Iphigenia in Aulis,” and for the second
time the chorus, “Chantons, celebrons notre Reine!” was called for with
universal plaudits.
A fete of a novel description was given at Petit Trianon. The art with
which the English garden was not illuminated, but lighted, produced a
charming effect. Earthen lamps, concealed by boards painted green, threw
light upon the beds of shrubs and flowers, and brought out their varied tints.
Several hundred burning fagots in the moat behind the Temple of Love
made a blaze of light, which rendered that spot the most brilliant in the
garden. After all, this evening’s entertainment had nothing remarkable about
it but the good taste of the artists, yet it was much talked of. The situation
did not allow the admission of a great part of the Court; those who were
uninvited were dissatisfied; and the people, who never forgive any fetes but
those they share in, so exaggerated the cost of this little fete as to make it
appear that the fagots burnt in the moat had required the destruction of a
whole forest. The Queen being informed of these reports, was determined to
know exactly how much wood had been consumed; and she found that
fifteen hundred fagots had sufficed to keep up the fire until four o’clock in
the morning.
Page 146
After staying a few months the Emperor left France, promising his sister
to come and see her again. All the officers of the Queen’s chamber had
many opportunities of serving him during his stay, and expected that he
would make them presents before his departure. Their oath of office
positively forbade them to receive a gift from any foreign prince; they had
therefore agreed to refuse the Emperor’s presents at first, but to ask the time
necessary for obtaining permission to accept them. The Emperor, probably
informed of this custom, relieved the good people from their difficulty by
setting off without making a single present.
About the latter end of 1777 the Queen, being alone in her closet, sent for
my father-in-law and myself, and, giving us her hand to kiss; told us that,
looking upon us both as persons deeply interested in her happiness, she
wished to receive our congratulations,—that at length she was the Queen of
France, and that she hoped soon to have children; that till now she had
concealed her grief, but that she had shed many tears in secret.
Dating from this happy but long-delayed moment, the King’s attachment
to the Queen assumed every characteristic of love. The good Lassone, first
physician to the King and Queen, frequently spoke to me of the uneasiness
that the King’s indifference, the cause of which he had been so long in
overcoming, had given him, and appeared to me at that time to entertain no
anxiety except of a very different description.
In the winter of 1778 the King’s permission for the return of Voltaire;
after an absence of twenty-seven years, was obtained. A few strict persons
considered this concession on the part of the Court very injudicious. The
Emperor, on leaving France, passed by the Chateau of Ferney without
stopping there. He had advised the Queen not to suffer Voltaire to be
presented to her. A lady belonging to the Court learned the Emperor’s
opinion on that point, and reproached him with his want of enthusiasm
towards the greatest genius of the age. He replied that for the good of the
people he should always endeavour to profit by the knowledge of the
philosophers; but that his own business of sovereign would always prevent
his ranking himself amongst that sect. The clergy also took steps to hinder
Voltaire’s appearance at Court. Paris, however, carried to the highest pitch
the honours and enthusiasm shown to the great poet.
It was very unwise to let Paris pronounce with such transport an opinion
so opposite to that of the Court. This was pointed out to the Queen, and she
to come and see her again. All the officers of the Queen’s chamber had
many opportunities of serving him during his stay, and expected that he
would make them presents before his departure. Their oath of office
positively forbade them to receive a gift from any foreign prince; they had
therefore agreed to refuse the Emperor’s presents at first, but to ask the time
necessary for obtaining permission to accept them. The Emperor, probably
informed of this custom, relieved the good people from their difficulty by
setting off without making a single present.
About the latter end of 1777 the Queen, being alone in her closet, sent for
my father-in-law and myself, and, giving us her hand to kiss; told us that,
looking upon us both as persons deeply interested in her happiness, she
wished to receive our congratulations,—that at length she was the Queen of
France, and that she hoped soon to have children; that till now she had
concealed her grief, but that she had shed many tears in secret.
Dating from this happy but long-delayed moment, the King’s attachment
to the Queen assumed every characteristic of love. The good Lassone, first
physician to the King and Queen, frequently spoke to me of the uneasiness
that the King’s indifference, the cause of which he had been so long in
overcoming, had given him, and appeared to me at that time to entertain no
anxiety except of a very different description.
In the winter of 1778 the King’s permission for the return of Voltaire;
after an absence of twenty-seven years, was obtained. A few strict persons
considered this concession on the part of the Court very injudicious. The
Emperor, on leaving France, passed by the Chateau of Ferney without
stopping there. He had advised the Queen not to suffer Voltaire to be
presented to her. A lady belonging to the Court learned the Emperor’s
opinion on that point, and reproached him with his want of enthusiasm
towards the greatest genius of the age. He replied that for the good of the
people he should always endeavour to profit by the knowledge of the
philosophers; but that his own business of sovereign would always prevent
his ranking himself amongst that sect. The clergy also took steps to hinder
Voltaire’s appearance at Court. Paris, however, carried to the highest pitch
the honours and enthusiasm shown to the great poet.
It was very unwise to let Paris pronounce with such transport an opinion
so opposite to that of the Court. This was pointed out to the Queen, and she
Page 147
was told that, without conferring on Voltaire the honour of a presentation,
she might see him in the State apartments. She was not averse to following
this advice, and appeared embarrassed solely about what she should say to
him. She was recommended to talk about nothing but the “Henriade,”
“Merope,” and “Zaira.” The Queen replied that she would still consult a few
other persons in whom she had great confidence. The next day she
announced that it was irrevocably decided Voltaire should not see any
member of the royal family,—his writings being too antagonistic to religion
and morals. “It is, however, strange,” said the Queen, “that while we refuse
to admit Voltaire into our presence as the leader of philosophical writers,
the Marechale de Mouchy should have presented to me some years ago
Madame Geoffrin, who owed her celebrity to the title of foster-mother of
the philosophers.”
On the occasion of the duel of the Comte d’Artois with the Prince de
Bourbon the Queen determined privately to see the Baron de Besenval, who
was to be one of the witnesses, in order to communicate the King’s
intentions. I have read with infinite pain the manner in which that simple
fact is perverted in the first volume of M. de Besenval’s “Memoirs.” He is
right in saying that M. Campan led him through the upper corridors of the
Chateau, and introduced him into an apartment unknown to him; but the air
of romance given to the interview is equally culpable and ridiculous. M. de
Besenval says that he found himself, without knowing how he came there,
in an apartment unadorned, but very conveniently furnished, of the
existence of which he was till then utterly ignorant. He was astonished, he
adds, not that the Queen should have so many facilities, but that she should
have ventured to procure them. Ten printed sheets of the woman Lamotte’s
libels contain nothing so injurious to the character of Marie Antoinette as
these lines, written by a man whom she honoured by undeserved kindness.
He could not have had any opportunity of knowing the existence of the
apartments, which consisted of a very small antechamber, a bedchamber,
and a closet. Ever since the Queen had occupied her own apartment, these
had been appropriated to her Majesty’s lady of honour in cases of illness,
and were actually so used when the Queen was confined. It was so
important that it should not be known the Queen had spoken to the Baron
before the duel that she had determined to go through her inner room into
this little apartment, to which M. Campan was to conduct him. When men
she might see him in the State apartments. She was not averse to following
this advice, and appeared embarrassed solely about what she should say to
him. She was recommended to talk about nothing but the “Henriade,”
“Merope,” and “Zaira.” The Queen replied that she would still consult a few
other persons in whom she had great confidence. The next day she
announced that it was irrevocably decided Voltaire should not see any
member of the royal family,—his writings being too antagonistic to religion
and morals. “It is, however, strange,” said the Queen, “that while we refuse
to admit Voltaire into our presence as the leader of philosophical writers,
the Marechale de Mouchy should have presented to me some years ago
Madame Geoffrin, who owed her celebrity to the title of foster-mother of
the philosophers.”
On the occasion of the duel of the Comte d’Artois with the Prince de
Bourbon the Queen determined privately to see the Baron de Besenval, who
was to be one of the witnesses, in order to communicate the King’s
intentions. I have read with infinite pain the manner in which that simple
fact is perverted in the first volume of M. de Besenval’s “Memoirs.” He is
right in saying that M. Campan led him through the upper corridors of the
Chateau, and introduced him into an apartment unknown to him; but the air
of romance given to the interview is equally culpable and ridiculous. M. de
Besenval says that he found himself, without knowing how he came there,
in an apartment unadorned, but very conveniently furnished, of the
existence of which he was till then utterly ignorant. He was astonished, he
adds, not that the Queen should have so many facilities, but that she should
have ventured to procure them. Ten printed sheets of the woman Lamotte’s
libels contain nothing so injurious to the character of Marie Antoinette as
these lines, written by a man whom she honoured by undeserved kindness.
He could not have had any opportunity of knowing the existence of the
apartments, which consisted of a very small antechamber, a bedchamber,
and a closet. Ever since the Queen had occupied her own apartment, these
had been appropriated to her Majesty’s lady of honour in cases of illness,
and were actually so used when the Queen was confined. It was so
important that it should not be known the Queen had spoken to the Baron
before the duel that she had determined to go through her inner room into
this little apartment, to which M. Campan was to conduct him. When men
Page 148
write of recent times they should be scrupulously exact, and not indulge in
exaggerations or inventions.
The Baron de Besenval appears mightily surprised at the Queen’s sudden
coolness, and refers it to the fickleness of her disposition. I can explain the
reason for the change by repeating what her Majesty said to me at the time;
and I will not alter one of her expressions. Speaking of the strange
presumption of men, and the reserve with which women ought always to
treat them, the Queen added that age did not deprive them of the hope of
pleasing, if they retained any agreeable qualities; that she had treated the
Baron de Besenval as a brave Swiss, agreeable, polished, and witty, whose
gray hairs had induced her to look upon him as a man whom she might see
without harm; but that she had been much deceived. Her Majesty, after
having enjoined me to the strictest secrecy, told me that, finding herself
alone with the Baron, he began to address her with so much gallantry that
she was thrown into the utmost astonishment, and that he was mad enough
to fall upon his knees, and make her a declaration in form. The Queen
added that she said to him: “Rise, monsieur; the King shall be ignorant of
an offence which would disgrace you for ever;” that the Baron grew pale
and stammered apologies; that she left her closet without saying another
word, and that since that time she hardly ever spoke to him. “It is delightful
to have friends,” said the Queen; “but in a situation like mine it is
sometimes difficult for the friends of our friends to suit us.”
In the beginning of the year 1778 Mademoiselle d’Eon obtained
permission to return to France, on condition that she should appear there in
female dress. The Comte de Vergennes entreated my father, M. Genet, chief
clerk of Foreign Affairs, who had long known the Chevalier d’Eon, to
receive that strange personage at his house, to guide and restrain, if
possible, her ardent disposition. The Queen, on learning her arrival at
Versailles, sent a footman to desire my father to bring her into her presence;
my father thought it his duty first to inform the Minister of her Majesty’s
wish. The Comte de Vergennes expressed himself pleased with my father’s
prudence, and desired that he would accompany him to the Queen. The
Minister had a few minutes’ audience; her Majesty came out of her closet
with him, and condescended to express to my father the regret she felt at
having troubled him to no purpose; and added, smiling, that a few words
from M. de Vergennes had for ever cured her of her curiosity. The discovery
exaggerations or inventions.
The Baron de Besenval appears mightily surprised at the Queen’s sudden
coolness, and refers it to the fickleness of her disposition. I can explain the
reason for the change by repeating what her Majesty said to me at the time;
and I will not alter one of her expressions. Speaking of the strange
presumption of men, and the reserve with which women ought always to
treat them, the Queen added that age did not deprive them of the hope of
pleasing, if they retained any agreeable qualities; that she had treated the
Baron de Besenval as a brave Swiss, agreeable, polished, and witty, whose
gray hairs had induced her to look upon him as a man whom she might see
without harm; but that she had been much deceived. Her Majesty, after
having enjoined me to the strictest secrecy, told me that, finding herself
alone with the Baron, he began to address her with so much gallantry that
she was thrown into the utmost astonishment, and that he was mad enough
to fall upon his knees, and make her a declaration in form. The Queen
added that she said to him: “Rise, monsieur; the King shall be ignorant of
an offence which would disgrace you for ever;” that the Baron grew pale
and stammered apologies; that she left her closet without saying another
word, and that since that time she hardly ever spoke to him. “It is delightful
to have friends,” said the Queen; “but in a situation like mine it is
sometimes difficult for the friends of our friends to suit us.”
In the beginning of the year 1778 Mademoiselle d’Eon obtained
permission to return to France, on condition that she should appear there in
female dress. The Comte de Vergennes entreated my father, M. Genet, chief
clerk of Foreign Affairs, who had long known the Chevalier d’Eon, to
receive that strange personage at his house, to guide and restrain, if
possible, her ardent disposition. The Queen, on learning her arrival at
Versailles, sent a footman to desire my father to bring her into her presence;
my father thought it his duty first to inform the Minister of her Majesty’s
wish. The Comte de Vergennes expressed himself pleased with my father’s
prudence, and desired that he would accompany him to the Queen. The
Minister had a few minutes’ audience; her Majesty came out of her closet
with him, and condescended to express to my father the regret she felt at
having troubled him to no purpose; and added, smiling, that a few words
from M. de Vergennes had for ever cured her of her curiosity. The discovery
Page 149
in London of the true sex of this pretended woman makes it probable that
the few words uttered by the Minister contained a solution of the enigma.
The Chevalier d’Eon had been useful in Russia as a spy of Louis XV.
while very young he had found means to introduce himself at the Court of
the Empress Elizabeth, and served that sovereign in the capacity of reader.
Resuming afterwards his military dress, he served with honour and was
wounded. Appointed chief secretary of legation, and afterwards minister
plenipotentiary at London, he unpardonably insulted Comte de Guerchy, the
ambassador. The official order for the Chevalier’s return to France was
actually delivered to the King’s Council; but Louis XV. delayed the
departure of the courier who was to be its bearer, and sent off another
courier privately, who gave the Chevalier d’Eon a letter in his own writing,
in which he said, “I know that you have served me as effectually in the
dress of a woman as in that which you now wear. Resume it instantly;
withdraw into the city; I warn you that the King yesterday signed an order
for your return to France; you are not safe in your hotel, and you would
here find too powerful enemies.” I heard the Chevalier d’Eon repeat the
contents of this letter, in which Louis XV. thus separated himself from the
King of France, several times at my father’s. The Chevalier, or rather the
Chevalaere d’Eon had preserved all the King’s letters. Messieurs de
Maurepas and de Vergennes wished to get them out of his hands, as they
were afraid he would print them. This eccentric being had long solicited
permission to return to France; but it was necessary to find a way of sparing
the family he had offended the insult they would see in his return; he was
therefore made to resume the costume of that sex to which in France
everything is pardoned. The desire to see his native land once more
determined him to submit to the condition, but he revenged himself by
combining the long train of his gown and the three deep ruffles on his
sleeves with the attitude and conversation of a grenadier, which made him
very disagreeable company.
[The account given by Madame Campan of the Chevalier
d’Eon is now known to be incorrect in many particulars.
Enough details for most readers will be found in the Duc de
Broglie’s “Secret of the King,” vol. ii., chaps. vi. and g., and
at p. 89, vol. ii. of that work, where the Duke refers to the
letter of most dubious authenticity spoken of by Madame
the few words uttered by the Minister contained a solution of the enigma.
The Chevalier d’Eon had been useful in Russia as a spy of Louis XV.
while very young he had found means to introduce himself at the Court of
the Empress Elizabeth, and served that sovereign in the capacity of reader.
Resuming afterwards his military dress, he served with honour and was
wounded. Appointed chief secretary of legation, and afterwards minister
plenipotentiary at London, he unpardonably insulted Comte de Guerchy, the
ambassador. The official order for the Chevalier’s return to France was
actually delivered to the King’s Council; but Louis XV. delayed the
departure of the courier who was to be its bearer, and sent off another
courier privately, who gave the Chevalier d’Eon a letter in his own writing,
in which he said, “I know that you have served me as effectually in the
dress of a woman as in that which you now wear. Resume it instantly;
withdraw into the city; I warn you that the King yesterday signed an order
for your return to France; you are not safe in your hotel, and you would
here find too powerful enemies.” I heard the Chevalier d’Eon repeat the
contents of this letter, in which Louis XV. thus separated himself from the
King of France, several times at my father’s. The Chevalier, or rather the
Chevalaere d’Eon had preserved all the King’s letters. Messieurs de
Maurepas and de Vergennes wished to get them out of his hands, as they
were afraid he would print them. This eccentric being had long solicited
permission to return to France; but it was necessary to find a way of sparing
the family he had offended the insult they would see in his return; he was
therefore made to resume the costume of that sex to which in France
everything is pardoned. The desire to see his native land once more
determined him to submit to the condition, but he revenged himself by
combining the long train of his gown and the three deep ruffles on his
sleeves with the attitude and conversation of a grenadier, which made him
very disagreeable company.
[The account given by Madame Campan of the Chevalier
d’Eon is now known to be incorrect in many particulars.
Enough details for most readers will be found in the Duc de
Broglie’s “Secret of the King,” vol. ii., chaps. vi. and g., and
at p. 89, vol. ii. of that work, where the Duke refers to the
letter of most dubious authenticity spoken of by Madame
Page 150
Campan. The following details will be sufficient for these
memoirs: The Chevalier Charles d’Eon de Beaumont (who
was born in 1728) was an ex-captain of dragoons, employed
in both the open and secret diplomacy of Louis XV. When at
the embassy in London he quarrelled with the ambassador,
his superior, the Comte de Guerchy (Marquis do Nangis),
and used his possession of papers concerning the secret
diplomacy to shield himself. It was when hiding in London,
in 1765, on account of this business, that he seems first to
have assumed woman’s dress, which he retained apparently
chiefly from love of notoriety. In 1775 a formal agreement
with the French Court, made by the instrumentality of
Beaumarchais, of all people in the world, permitted him to
return to France, retaining the dress of a woman. He went
back to France, but again came to England, and died there,
at his residence in Millman Street, near the Foundling
Hospital, May 22, 1710. He had been a brave and
distinguished officer, but his form and a certain coldness of
temperament always remarked in him assisted him in his
assumption of another sex. There appears to be no truth in
the story of his proceedings at the Russian Court, and his
appearing in female attire was a surprise to those who must
have known of any earlier affair of the sort.]
At last, the event so long desired by the Queen, and by all those who
wished her well, took place; her Majesty became enceinte. The King was in
ecstasies. Never was there a more united or happier couple. The disposition
of Louis XVI. entirely altered, and became prepossessing and conciliatory;
and the Queen was amply compensated for the uneasiness which the King’s
indifference during the early part of their union had caused her.
The summer of 1778 was extremely hot. July and August passed, but the
air was not cooled by a single storm. The Queen spent whole days in close
rooms, and could not sleep until she had breathed the fresh night air,
walking with the Princesses and her brothers upon the terrace under her
apartments. These promenades at first gave rise to no remark; but it
occurred to some of the party to enjoy the music of wind instruments during
these fine summer nights. The musicians belonging to the chapel were
memoirs: The Chevalier Charles d’Eon de Beaumont (who
was born in 1728) was an ex-captain of dragoons, employed
in both the open and secret diplomacy of Louis XV. When at
the embassy in London he quarrelled with the ambassador,
his superior, the Comte de Guerchy (Marquis do Nangis),
and used his possession of papers concerning the secret
diplomacy to shield himself. It was when hiding in London,
in 1765, on account of this business, that he seems first to
have assumed woman’s dress, which he retained apparently
chiefly from love of notoriety. In 1775 a formal agreement
with the French Court, made by the instrumentality of
Beaumarchais, of all people in the world, permitted him to
return to France, retaining the dress of a woman. He went
back to France, but again came to England, and died there,
at his residence in Millman Street, near the Foundling
Hospital, May 22, 1710. He had been a brave and
distinguished officer, but his form and a certain coldness of
temperament always remarked in him assisted him in his
assumption of another sex. There appears to be no truth in
the story of his proceedings at the Russian Court, and his
appearing in female attire was a surprise to those who must
have known of any earlier affair of the sort.]
At last, the event so long desired by the Queen, and by all those who
wished her well, took place; her Majesty became enceinte. The King was in
ecstasies. Never was there a more united or happier couple. The disposition
of Louis XVI. entirely altered, and became prepossessing and conciliatory;
and the Queen was amply compensated for the uneasiness which the King’s
indifference during the early part of their union had caused her.
The summer of 1778 was extremely hot. July and August passed, but the
air was not cooled by a single storm. The Queen spent whole days in close
rooms, and could not sleep until she had breathed the fresh night air,
walking with the Princesses and her brothers upon the terrace under her
apartments. These promenades at first gave rise to no remark; but it
occurred to some of the party to enjoy the music of wind instruments during
these fine summer nights. The musicians belonging to the chapel were
Page 151
ordered to perform pieces suited to instruments of that description, upon
steps constructed in the middle of the garden. The Queen, seated on one of
the terrace benches, enjoyed the effect of this music, surrounded by all the
royal family with the exception of the King, who joined them but, twice,
disliking to change his hour of going to bed.
Nothing could be more innocent than these parties; yet Paris, France, nay,
all Europe, were soon canvassing them in a manner most disadvantageous
to the reputation of Marie Antoinette. It is true that all the inhabitants of
Versailles enjoyed these serenades, and that there was a crowd near the spot
from eleven at night until two or three in the morning. The windows of the
ground floor occupied by Monsieur and Madame—[The wife of Monsieur,
the Comte de Provence.]—were kept open, and the terrace was perfectly
well lighted by the numerous wax candles burning in the two apartments.
Lamps were likewise placed in the garden, and the lights of the orchestra
illuminated the rest of the place.
I do not know whether a few incautious women might not have ventured
farther, and wandered to the bottom of the park; it may have been so; but
the Queen, Madame, and the Comtesse d’Artois were always arm-in-arm,
and never left the terrace. The Princesses were not remarkable when seated
on the benches, being dressed in cambric muslin gowns, with large straw
hats and muslin veils, a costume universally adopted by women at that time;
but when standing up their different figures always distinguished them; and
the persons present stood on one side to let them pass. It is true that when
they seated themselves upon the benches private individuals would
sometimes, to their great amusement, sit down by their side.
A young clerk in the War Department, either not knowing or pretending
not to know the Queen, spoke to her of the beauty of the night, and the
delightful effect of the music. The Queen, fancying she was not recognised,
amused herself by keeping up the incognito, and they talked of several
private families of Versailles, consisting of persons belonging to the King’s
household or her own. After a few minutes the Queen and Princesses rose to
walk, and on leaving the bench curtsied to the clerk. The young man
knowing, or having subsequently discovered, that he had been conversing
with the Queen, boasted of it in his office. He was merely, desired to hold
his tongue; and so little attention did he excite that the Revolution found
him still only a clerk.
steps constructed in the middle of the garden. The Queen, seated on one of
the terrace benches, enjoyed the effect of this music, surrounded by all the
royal family with the exception of the King, who joined them but, twice,
disliking to change his hour of going to bed.
Nothing could be more innocent than these parties; yet Paris, France, nay,
all Europe, were soon canvassing them in a manner most disadvantageous
to the reputation of Marie Antoinette. It is true that all the inhabitants of
Versailles enjoyed these serenades, and that there was a crowd near the spot
from eleven at night until two or three in the morning. The windows of the
ground floor occupied by Monsieur and Madame—[The wife of Monsieur,
the Comte de Provence.]—were kept open, and the terrace was perfectly
well lighted by the numerous wax candles burning in the two apartments.
Lamps were likewise placed in the garden, and the lights of the orchestra
illuminated the rest of the place.
I do not know whether a few incautious women might not have ventured
farther, and wandered to the bottom of the park; it may have been so; but
the Queen, Madame, and the Comtesse d’Artois were always arm-in-arm,
and never left the terrace. The Princesses were not remarkable when seated
on the benches, being dressed in cambric muslin gowns, with large straw
hats and muslin veils, a costume universally adopted by women at that time;
but when standing up their different figures always distinguished them; and
the persons present stood on one side to let them pass. It is true that when
they seated themselves upon the benches private individuals would
sometimes, to their great amusement, sit down by their side.
A young clerk in the War Department, either not knowing or pretending
not to know the Queen, spoke to her of the beauty of the night, and the
delightful effect of the music. The Queen, fancying she was not recognised,
amused herself by keeping up the incognito, and they talked of several
private families of Versailles, consisting of persons belonging to the King’s
household or her own. After a few minutes the Queen and Princesses rose to
walk, and on leaving the bench curtsied to the clerk. The young man
knowing, or having subsequently discovered, that he had been conversing
with the Queen, boasted of it in his office. He was merely, desired to hold
his tongue; and so little attention did he excite that the Revolution found
him still only a clerk.
Page 152
Another evening one of Monsieur’s body-guard seated himself near the
Princesses, and, knowing them, left the place where he was sitting, and
placed himself before the Queen, to tell her that he was very fortunate in
being able to seize an opportunity of imploring the kindness of his
sovereign; that he was “soliciting at Court”—at the word soliciting the
Queen and Princesses rose hastily and withdrew into Madame’s apartment.
—[Soulavie has most criminally perverted these two facts.—MADAME
CAMPAN.]—I was at the Queen’s residence that day. She talked of this
little occurrence all the time of her ‘coucher’; though she only complained
that one of Monsieur’s guards should have had the effrontery to speak to
her. Her Majesty added that he ought to have respected her incognito; and
that that was not the place where he should have ventured to make a
request. Madame had recognised him, and talked of making a complaint to
his captain; the Queen opposed it, attributing his error to his ignorance and
provincial origin.
The most scandalous libels were based on these two insignificant
occurrences, which I have related with scrupulous exactness. Nothing could
be more false than those calumnies. It must be confessed, however, that
such meetings were liable to ill consequences. I ventured to say as much to
the Queen, and informed her that one evening, when her Majesty beckoned
to me to go and speak to her, I thought I recognised on the bench on which
she was sitting two women deeply veiled, and keeping profound silence;
that those women were the Comtesse du Barry and her sister-in-law; and
that my suspicions were confirmed, when, at a few paces from the seat, and
nearer to her Majesty, I met a tall footman belonging to Madame du Barry,
whom I had seen in her service all the time she resided at Court.
My advice was disregarded. Misled by the pleasure she found in these
promenades, and secure in the consciousness of blameless conduct, the
Queen would not see the lamentable results which must necessarily follow.
This was very unfortunate; for besides the mortifications they brought upon
her, it is highly probable that they prompted the vile plot which gave rise to
the Cardinal de Rohan’s fatal error.
Having enjoyed these evening promenades about a month, the Queen
ordered a private concert within the colonnade which contained the group
of Pluto and Proserpine. Sentinels were placed at all the entrances, and
ordered to admit within the colonnade only such persons as should produce
Princesses, and, knowing them, left the place where he was sitting, and
placed himself before the Queen, to tell her that he was very fortunate in
being able to seize an opportunity of imploring the kindness of his
sovereign; that he was “soliciting at Court”—at the word soliciting the
Queen and Princesses rose hastily and withdrew into Madame’s apartment.
—[Soulavie has most criminally perverted these two facts.—MADAME
CAMPAN.]—I was at the Queen’s residence that day. She talked of this
little occurrence all the time of her ‘coucher’; though she only complained
that one of Monsieur’s guards should have had the effrontery to speak to
her. Her Majesty added that he ought to have respected her incognito; and
that that was not the place where he should have ventured to make a
request. Madame had recognised him, and talked of making a complaint to
his captain; the Queen opposed it, attributing his error to his ignorance and
provincial origin.
The most scandalous libels were based on these two insignificant
occurrences, which I have related with scrupulous exactness. Nothing could
be more false than those calumnies. It must be confessed, however, that
such meetings were liable to ill consequences. I ventured to say as much to
the Queen, and informed her that one evening, when her Majesty beckoned
to me to go and speak to her, I thought I recognised on the bench on which
she was sitting two women deeply veiled, and keeping profound silence;
that those women were the Comtesse du Barry and her sister-in-law; and
that my suspicions were confirmed, when, at a few paces from the seat, and
nearer to her Majesty, I met a tall footman belonging to Madame du Barry,
whom I had seen in her service all the time she resided at Court.
My advice was disregarded. Misled by the pleasure she found in these
promenades, and secure in the consciousness of blameless conduct, the
Queen would not see the lamentable results which must necessarily follow.
This was very unfortunate; for besides the mortifications they brought upon
her, it is highly probable that they prompted the vile plot which gave rise to
the Cardinal de Rohan’s fatal error.
Having enjoyed these evening promenades about a month, the Queen
ordered a private concert within the colonnade which contained the group
of Pluto and Proserpine. Sentinels were placed at all the entrances, and
ordered to admit within the colonnade only such persons as should produce
Page 153
tickets signed by my father-in-law. A fine concert was performed there by
the musicians of the chapel and the female musicians belonging to the.
Queen’s chamber. The Queen went with Mesdames de Polignac, de Chalon,
and d’Andlau, and Messieurs de Polignac, de Coigny, de Besenval, and de
Vaudreuil; there were also a few equerries present. Her Majesty gave me
permission to attend the concert with some of my female relations. There
was no music upon the terrace. The crowd of inquisitive people, whom the
sentinels kept at a distance from the enclosure of the colonnade, went away
highly discontented; the small number of persons admitted no doubt
occasioned jealousy, and gave rise to offensive comments which were
caught up by the public with avidity. I do not pretend to apologise for the
kind of amusements with which the Queen indulged herself during this and
the following summer; the consequences were so lamentable that the error
was no doubt very great; but what I have said respecting the character of
these promenades may be relied on as true.
When the season for evening walks was at an end, odious couplets were
circulated in Paris; the ‘Queen was treated in them in the most insulting
manner; her situation ranked among her enemies persons attached to the
only prince who for several years had appeared likely to give heirs to the
crown. People uttered the most inconsiderate language; and those improper
conversations took place in societies wherein the imminent danger of
violating to so criminal an extent both truth and the respect due to
sovereigns ought to have been better understood. A few days before the
Queen’s confinement a whole volume of manuscript songs, concerning her
and all the ladies about her remarkable for rank or station was, thrown
down in the oiel-de-boeuf.—[A large room at Versailles lighted by a bull’s-
eye window, and used as a waiting-room.]—This manuscript was
immediately put into the hands of the King, who was highly incensed at it,
and said that he had himself been at those promenades; that he had seen
nothing connected with them but what was perfectly harmless; that such
songs would disturb the harmony of twenty families in the Court and city;
that it was a capital crime to have made any against the Queen herself; and
that he wished the author of the infamous libels to be discovered and
punished. A fortnight afterwards it was known publicly that the verses were
by M. Champcenetz de Riquebourg, who was not even reprimanded.
the musicians of the chapel and the female musicians belonging to the.
Queen’s chamber. The Queen went with Mesdames de Polignac, de Chalon,
and d’Andlau, and Messieurs de Polignac, de Coigny, de Besenval, and de
Vaudreuil; there were also a few equerries present. Her Majesty gave me
permission to attend the concert with some of my female relations. There
was no music upon the terrace. The crowd of inquisitive people, whom the
sentinels kept at a distance from the enclosure of the colonnade, went away
highly discontented; the small number of persons admitted no doubt
occasioned jealousy, and gave rise to offensive comments which were
caught up by the public with avidity. I do not pretend to apologise for the
kind of amusements with which the Queen indulged herself during this and
the following summer; the consequences were so lamentable that the error
was no doubt very great; but what I have said respecting the character of
these promenades may be relied on as true.
When the season for evening walks was at an end, odious couplets were
circulated in Paris; the ‘Queen was treated in them in the most insulting
manner; her situation ranked among her enemies persons attached to the
only prince who for several years had appeared likely to give heirs to the
crown. People uttered the most inconsiderate language; and those improper
conversations took place in societies wherein the imminent danger of
violating to so criminal an extent both truth and the respect due to
sovereigns ought to have been better understood. A few days before the
Queen’s confinement a whole volume of manuscript songs, concerning her
and all the ladies about her remarkable for rank or station was, thrown
down in the oiel-de-boeuf.—[A large room at Versailles lighted by a bull’s-
eye window, and used as a waiting-room.]—This manuscript was
immediately put into the hands of the King, who was highly incensed at it,
and said that he had himself been at those promenades; that he had seen
nothing connected with them but what was perfectly harmless; that such
songs would disturb the harmony of twenty families in the Court and city;
that it was a capital crime to have made any against the Queen herself; and
that he wished the author of the infamous libels to be discovered and
punished. A fortnight afterwards it was known publicly that the verses were
by M. Champcenetz de Riquebourg, who was not even reprimanded.
Page 154
[The author of a great many songs, some of which are
very well written. Lively and satirical by nature, he did not
lose either his cheerfulness or his carelessness before the
revolutionary tribunal. After hearing his own sentence read,
he asked his judges if he might not be allowed to find a
substitute.—MADAME CAMPAN.]
I knew for a certainty that the King spoke to M. de Maurepas, before two
of his most confidential servants, respecting the risk which he saw the
Queen ran from these night walks upon the terrace of Versailles, which the
public ventured to censure thus openly, and that the old minister had the
cruelty to advise that she should be suffered to go on; she possessed talent;
her friends were very ambitious, and longed to see her take a part in public
affairs; and to let her acquire the reputation of levity would do no harm. M.
de Vergennes was as hostile to the Queen’s influence as M. de Maurepas. It
may therefore be fairly presumed, since the Prime Minister durst point out
to his King an advantage to be gained by the Queen’s discrediting herself,
that he and M. de Vergennes employed all means within the reach of
powerful ministers in order to ruin her in the opinion of the public.
The Queen’s accouchement approached; Te Deums were sung and
prayers offered up in all the cathedrals. On the 11th of December, 1778, the
royal family, the Princes of the blood, and the great officers of State passed
the night in the rooms adjoining the Queen’s bedchamber. Madame, the
King’s daughter, came into the world before mid-day on the 19th of
December.—[Marie Therese Charlotte (1778-1861), Madame Royale;
married in 1799 Louis, Duc d’Angouleme, eldest son of the Comte
d’Artois.]—The etiquette of allowing all persons indiscriminately to enter
at the moment of the delivery of a queen was observed with such
exaggeration that when the accoucheur said aloud, “La Reine va
s’accoucher,” the persons who poured into the chamber were so numerous
that the rush nearly destroyed the Queen. During the night the King had
taken the precaution to have the enormous tapestry screens which
surrounded her Majesty’s bed secured with cords; but for this they certainly
would have been thrown down upon her. It was impossible to move about
the chamber, which was filled with so motley a crowd that one might have
fancied himself in some place of public amusement. Two Savoyards got
very well written. Lively and satirical by nature, he did not
lose either his cheerfulness or his carelessness before the
revolutionary tribunal. After hearing his own sentence read,
he asked his judges if he might not be allowed to find a
substitute.—MADAME CAMPAN.]
I knew for a certainty that the King spoke to M. de Maurepas, before two
of his most confidential servants, respecting the risk which he saw the
Queen ran from these night walks upon the terrace of Versailles, which the
public ventured to censure thus openly, and that the old minister had the
cruelty to advise that she should be suffered to go on; she possessed talent;
her friends were very ambitious, and longed to see her take a part in public
affairs; and to let her acquire the reputation of levity would do no harm. M.
de Vergennes was as hostile to the Queen’s influence as M. de Maurepas. It
may therefore be fairly presumed, since the Prime Minister durst point out
to his King an advantage to be gained by the Queen’s discrediting herself,
that he and M. de Vergennes employed all means within the reach of
powerful ministers in order to ruin her in the opinion of the public.
The Queen’s accouchement approached; Te Deums were sung and
prayers offered up in all the cathedrals. On the 11th of December, 1778, the
royal family, the Princes of the blood, and the great officers of State passed
the night in the rooms adjoining the Queen’s bedchamber. Madame, the
King’s daughter, came into the world before mid-day on the 19th of
December.—[Marie Therese Charlotte (1778-1861), Madame Royale;
married in 1799 Louis, Duc d’Angouleme, eldest son of the Comte
d’Artois.]—The etiquette of allowing all persons indiscriminately to enter
at the moment of the delivery of a queen was observed with such
exaggeration that when the accoucheur said aloud, “La Reine va
s’accoucher,” the persons who poured into the chamber were so numerous
that the rush nearly destroyed the Queen. During the night the King had
taken the precaution to have the enormous tapestry screens which
surrounded her Majesty’s bed secured with cords; but for this they certainly
would have been thrown down upon her. It was impossible to move about
the chamber, which was filled with so motley a crowd that one might have
fancied himself in some place of public amusement. Two Savoyards got
Page 155
upon the furniture for a better sight of the Queen, who was placed opposite
the fireplace.
The noise and the sex of the infant, with which the Queen was made
acquainted by a signal previously agreed on, as it is said, with the Princesse
do Lamballe, or some error of the accoucheur, brought on symptoms which
threatened fatal consequences; the accoucheur exclaimed, “Give her air—
warm water—she must be bled in the foot!” The windows were stopped up;
the King opened them with a strength which his affection for the Queen
gave him at the moment. They were of great height, and pasted over with
strips of paper all round. The basin of hot water not being brought quickly
enough, the accoucheur desired the chief surgeon to use his lancet without
waiting for it. He did so; the blood streamed out freely, and the Queen
opened her eyes. The Princesse de Lamballe was carried through the crowd
in a state of insensibility. The valets de chambre and pages dragged out by
the collar such inconsiderate persons as would not leave the room. This
cruel custom was abolished afterwards. The Princes of the family, the
Princes of the blood, the chancellor, and the ministers are surely sufficient
to attest the legitimacy of an hereditary prince. The Queen was snatched
from the very jaws of death; she was not conscious of having been bled, and
on being replaced in bed asked why she had a linen bandage upon her foot.
The delight which succeeded the moment of fear was equally lively and
sincere. We were all embracing each other, and shedding tears of joy. The
Comte d’Esterhazy and the Prince de Poix, to whom I was the first to
announce that the Queen was restored to life, embraced me in the midst of
the cabinet of nobles. We little imagined, in our happiness at her escape
from death, for how much more terrible a fate our beloved Princess was
reserved.
NOTE. The two following specimens of the Emperor Joseph’s
correspondence forcibly demonstrate the vigour, shrewdness, and
originality of his mind, and complete the portrait left of him by Madame
Campan.
Few sovereigns have given their reasons for refusing appointments with
the fullness and point of the following letter:
To a Lady.
MADAM.—I do not think that it is amongst the duties of a monarch to
grant places to one of his subjects merely because he is a gentleman. That,
the fireplace.
The noise and the sex of the infant, with which the Queen was made
acquainted by a signal previously agreed on, as it is said, with the Princesse
do Lamballe, or some error of the accoucheur, brought on symptoms which
threatened fatal consequences; the accoucheur exclaimed, “Give her air—
warm water—she must be bled in the foot!” The windows were stopped up;
the King opened them with a strength which his affection for the Queen
gave him at the moment. They were of great height, and pasted over with
strips of paper all round. The basin of hot water not being brought quickly
enough, the accoucheur desired the chief surgeon to use his lancet without
waiting for it. He did so; the blood streamed out freely, and the Queen
opened her eyes. The Princesse de Lamballe was carried through the crowd
in a state of insensibility. The valets de chambre and pages dragged out by
the collar such inconsiderate persons as would not leave the room. This
cruel custom was abolished afterwards. The Princes of the family, the
Princes of the blood, the chancellor, and the ministers are surely sufficient
to attest the legitimacy of an hereditary prince. The Queen was snatched
from the very jaws of death; she was not conscious of having been bled, and
on being replaced in bed asked why she had a linen bandage upon her foot.
The delight which succeeded the moment of fear was equally lively and
sincere. We were all embracing each other, and shedding tears of joy. The
Comte d’Esterhazy and the Prince de Poix, to whom I was the first to
announce that the Queen was restored to life, embraced me in the midst of
the cabinet of nobles. We little imagined, in our happiness at her escape
from death, for how much more terrible a fate our beloved Princess was
reserved.
NOTE. The two following specimens of the Emperor Joseph’s
correspondence forcibly demonstrate the vigour, shrewdness, and
originality of his mind, and complete the portrait left of him by Madame
Campan.
Few sovereigns have given their reasons for refusing appointments with
the fullness and point of the following letter:
To a Lady.
MADAM.—I do not think that it is amongst the duties of a monarch to
grant places to one of his subjects merely because he is a gentleman. That,
Page 156
however, is the inference from the request you have made to me. Your late
husband was, you say, a distinguished general, a gentleman of good family,
and thence you conclude that my kindness to your family can do no less
than give a company of foot to your second son, lately returned from his
travels.
Madam, a man may be the son of a general and yet have no talent for
command. A man may be of a good family and yet possess no other merit
than that which he owes to chance,—the name of gentleman.
I know your son, and I know what makes the soldier; and this twofold
knowledge convinces me that your son has not the disposition of a warrior,
and that he is too full of his birth to leave the country a hope of his ever
rendering it any important service.
What you are to be pitied for, madam, is, that your son is not fit either for
an officer, a statesman or a priest; in a word, that he is nothing more than a
gentleman in the most extended acceptation of the word.
You may be thankful to that destiny, which, in refusing talents to your
son, has taken care to put him in possession of great wealth, which will
sufficiently compensate him for other deficiencies, and enable him at the
same time to dispense with any favour from me.
I hope you will be impartial enough to see the reasons which prompt me
to refuse your request. It may be disagreeable to you, but I consider it
necessary. Farewell, madam.—Your sincere well-wisher, JOSEPH
LACHSENBURG, 4th August, 1787.
The application of another anxious and somewhat covetous mother was
answered with still more decision and irony:
To a Lady.
MADAM.—You know my disposition; you are not ignorant that the
society of the ladies is to me a mere recreation, and that I have never
sacrificed my principles to the fair sex. I pay but little attention to
recommendations, and I only take them into consideration when the person
in whose behalf I may be solicited possesses real merit.
Two of your sons are already loaded with favours. The eldest, who is not
yet twenty, is chief of a squadron in my army, and the younger has obtained
a canonry at Cologne, from the Elector, my brother. What would you have
more? Would you have the first a general and the second a bishop?
husband was, you say, a distinguished general, a gentleman of good family,
and thence you conclude that my kindness to your family can do no less
than give a company of foot to your second son, lately returned from his
travels.
Madam, a man may be the son of a general and yet have no talent for
command. A man may be of a good family and yet possess no other merit
than that which he owes to chance,—the name of gentleman.
I know your son, and I know what makes the soldier; and this twofold
knowledge convinces me that your son has not the disposition of a warrior,
and that he is too full of his birth to leave the country a hope of his ever
rendering it any important service.
What you are to be pitied for, madam, is, that your son is not fit either for
an officer, a statesman or a priest; in a word, that he is nothing more than a
gentleman in the most extended acceptation of the word.
You may be thankful to that destiny, which, in refusing talents to your
son, has taken care to put him in possession of great wealth, which will
sufficiently compensate him for other deficiencies, and enable him at the
same time to dispense with any favour from me.
I hope you will be impartial enough to see the reasons which prompt me
to refuse your request. It may be disagreeable to you, but I consider it
necessary. Farewell, madam.—Your sincere well-wisher, JOSEPH
LACHSENBURG, 4th August, 1787.
The application of another anxious and somewhat covetous mother was
answered with still more decision and irony:
To a Lady.
MADAM.—You know my disposition; you are not ignorant that the
society of the ladies is to me a mere recreation, and that I have never
sacrificed my principles to the fair sex. I pay but little attention to
recommendations, and I only take them into consideration when the person
in whose behalf I may be solicited possesses real merit.
Two of your sons are already loaded with favours. The eldest, who is not
yet twenty, is chief of a squadron in my army, and the younger has obtained
a canonry at Cologne, from the Elector, my brother. What would you have
more? Would you have the first a general and the second a bishop?
Page 157
In France you may see colonels in leading-strings, and in Spain the royal
princes command armies even at eighteen; hence Prince Stahremberg
forced them to retreat so often that they were never able all the rest of their
lives to comprehend any other manoeuvre.
It is necessary to be sincere at Court, and severe in the field, stoical
without obduracy, magnanimous without weakness, and to gain the esteem
of our enemies by the justice of our actions; and this, madam, is what I aim
at. JOSEPH VIENNA, September, 1787.
(From the inedited Letters of Joseph IL, published at Paris, by Persan,
1822.)
princes command armies even at eighteen; hence Prince Stahremberg
forced them to retreat so often that they were never able all the rest of their
lives to comprehend any other manoeuvre.
It is necessary to be sincere at Court, and severe in the field, stoical
without obduracy, magnanimous without weakness, and to gain the esteem
of our enemies by the justice of our actions; and this, madam, is what I aim
at. JOSEPH VIENNA, September, 1787.
(From the inedited Letters of Joseph IL, published at Paris, by Persan,
1822.)
Page 158
CHAPTER X.
During the alarm for the life of the Queen, regret at not possessing an
heir to the throne was not even thought of. The King himself was wholly
occupied with the care of preserving an adored wife. The young Princess
was presented to her mother. “Poor little one,” said the Queen, “you were
not wished for, but you are not on that account less dear to me. A son would
have been rather the property of the State. You shall be mine; you shall have
my undivided care, shall share all my happiness, and console me in all my
troubles.”
The King despatched a courier to Paris, and wrote letters himself to
Vienna, by the Queen’s bedside; and part of the rejoicings ordered took
place in the capital.
A great number of attendants watched near the Queen during the first
nights of her confinement. This custom distressed her; she knew how to feel
for others, and ordered large armchairs for her women, the backs of which
were capable of being let down by springs, and which served perfectly well
instead of beds.
M. de Lassone, the chief physician, the chief surgeon, the chief
apothecary, the principal officers of the buttery, etc., were likewise nine
nights without going to bed. The royal children were watched for a long
time, and one of the women on duty remained, nightly, up and dressed,
during the first three years from their birth.
The Queen made her entry into Paris for the churching. One hundred
maidens were portioned and married at Notre-Dame. There were few
popular acclamations, but her Majesty was perfectly well received at the
Opera.
A few days after the Queen’s recovery from her confinement, the Cure of
the Magdelaine de la City at Paris wrote to M. Campan and requested a
private interview with him; it was to desire he would deliver into the hands
of the Queen a little box containing her wedding ring, with this note written
During the alarm for the life of the Queen, regret at not possessing an
heir to the throne was not even thought of. The King himself was wholly
occupied with the care of preserving an adored wife. The young Princess
was presented to her mother. “Poor little one,” said the Queen, “you were
not wished for, but you are not on that account less dear to me. A son would
have been rather the property of the State. You shall be mine; you shall have
my undivided care, shall share all my happiness, and console me in all my
troubles.”
The King despatched a courier to Paris, and wrote letters himself to
Vienna, by the Queen’s bedside; and part of the rejoicings ordered took
place in the capital.
A great number of attendants watched near the Queen during the first
nights of her confinement. This custom distressed her; she knew how to feel
for others, and ordered large armchairs for her women, the backs of which
were capable of being let down by springs, and which served perfectly well
instead of beds.
M. de Lassone, the chief physician, the chief surgeon, the chief
apothecary, the principal officers of the buttery, etc., were likewise nine
nights without going to bed. The royal children were watched for a long
time, and one of the women on duty remained, nightly, up and dressed,
during the first three years from their birth.
The Queen made her entry into Paris for the churching. One hundred
maidens were portioned and married at Notre-Dame. There were few
popular acclamations, but her Majesty was perfectly well received at the
Opera.
A few days after the Queen’s recovery from her confinement, the Cure of
the Magdelaine de la City at Paris wrote to M. Campan and requested a
private interview with him; it was to desire he would deliver into the hands
of the Queen a little box containing her wedding ring, with this note written
Page 159
by the Cure: “I have received under the seal of confession the ring which I
send to your Majesty; with an avowal that it was stolen from you in 1771,
in order to be used in sorceries, to prevent your having any children.” On
seeing her ring again the Queen said that she had in fact lost it about seven
years before, while washing her hands, and that she had resolved to use no
endeavour to discover the superstitious woman who had done her the injury.
The Queen’s attachment to the Comtesse Jules increased every day; she
went frequently to her house at Paris, and even took up her own abode at
the Chateau de la Muette to be nearer during her confinement. She married
Mademoiselle de Polignac, when scarcely thirteen years of age, to M. de
Grammont, who, on account of this marriage, was made Duc de Guiche,
and captain of the King’s Guards, in reversion after the Duc de Villeroi. The
Duchesse de Civrac, Madame Victoire’s dame d’honneur, had been
promised the place for the Duc de Lorges, her son. The number of
discontented families at Court increased.
The title of favourite was too openly given to the Comtesse Jules by her
friends. The lot of the favourite of a queen is not, in France, a happy one;
the favourites of kings are treated, out of gallantry, with much greater
indulgence.
A short time after the birth of Madame the Queen became again enceinte;
she had mentioned it only to the King, to her physician, and to a few
persons honoured with her intimate confidence, when, having overexerted
her strength in pulling lip one of the glasses of her carriage, she felt that she
had hurt herself, and eight days afterwards she miscarried. The King spent
the whole morning at her bedside, consoling her, and manifesting the
tenderest concern for her. The Queen wept exceedingly; the King took her
affectionately in his arms, and mingled his tears with hers. The King
enjoined silence among the small number of persons who were informed of
this unfortunate occurrence; and it remained generally unknown. These
particulars furnish an accurate idea of the manner in which this august
couple lived together.
The Empress Maria Theresa did not enjoy the happiness of seeing her
daughter give an heir to the crown of France. That illustrious Princess died
at the close of 1780, after having proved by her example that, as in the
instance of Queen Blanche, the talents of a sovereign might be blended with
the virtues of a pious princess. The King was deeply affected at the death of
send to your Majesty; with an avowal that it was stolen from you in 1771,
in order to be used in sorceries, to prevent your having any children.” On
seeing her ring again the Queen said that she had in fact lost it about seven
years before, while washing her hands, and that she had resolved to use no
endeavour to discover the superstitious woman who had done her the injury.
The Queen’s attachment to the Comtesse Jules increased every day; she
went frequently to her house at Paris, and even took up her own abode at
the Chateau de la Muette to be nearer during her confinement. She married
Mademoiselle de Polignac, when scarcely thirteen years of age, to M. de
Grammont, who, on account of this marriage, was made Duc de Guiche,
and captain of the King’s Guards, in reversion after the Duc de Villeroi. The
Duchesse de Civrac, Madame Victoire’s dame d’honneur, had been
promised the place for the Duc de Lorges, her son. The number of
discontented families at Court increased.
The title of favourite was too openly given to the Comtesse Jules by her
friends. The lot of the favourite of a queen is not, in France, a happy one;
the favourites of kings are treated, out of gallantry, with much greater
indulgence.
A short time after the birth of Madame the Queen became again enceinte;
she had mentioned it only to the King, to her physician, and to a few
persons honoured with her intimate confidence, when, having overexerted
her strength in pulling lip one of the glasses of her carriage, she felt that she
had hurt herself, and eight days afterwards she miscarried. The King spent
the whole morning at her bedside, consoling her, and manifesting the
tenderest concern for her. The Queen wept exceedingly; the King took her
affectionately in his arms, and mingled his tears with hers. The King
enjoined silence among the small number of persons who were informed of
this unfortunate occurrence; and it remained generally unknown. These
particulars furnish an accurate idea of the manner in which this august
couple lived together.
The Empress Maria Theresa did not enjoy the happiness of seeing her
daughter give an heir to the crown of France. That illustrious Princess died
at the close of 1780, after having proved by her example that, as in the
instance of Queen Blanche, the talents of a sovereign might be blended with
the virtues of a pious princess. The King was deeply affected at the death of
Page 160
the Empress; and on the arrival of the courier from Vienna said that he
could not bring himself to afflict the Queen by informing her of an event
which grieved even him so much. His Majesty thought the Abbe de
Vermond, who had possessed the confidence of Maria Theresa during his
stay at Vienna, the most proper person to discharge this painful duty. He
sent his first valet de chambre, M. de Chamilly, to the Abbe on the evening
of the day he received the despatches from Vienna, to order him to come the
next day to the Queen before her breakfast hour, to acquit himself discreetly
of the afflicting commission with which he was charged, and to let his
Majesty know the moment of his entering the Queen’s chamber. It was the
King’s intention to be there precisely a quarter of an hour after him, and he
was punctual to his time; he was announced; the Abbe came out; and his
Majesty said to him, as he drew up at the door to let him pass, “I thank you,
Monsieur l’Abbe, for the service you have just done me.” This was the only
time during nineteen years that the King spoke to him.
Within an hour after learning the event the Queen put on temporary
mourning, while waiting until her Court mourning should be ready; she
kept herself shut up in her apartments for several days; went out only to
mass; saw none but the royal family; and received none but the Princesse de
Lamballe and the Duchesse de Polignac. She talked incessantly of the
courage, the misfortunes, the successes, and the virtues of her mother. The
shroud and dress in which Maria Theresa was to be buried, made entirely by
her own hands, were found ready prepared in one of her closets. She often
regretted that the numerous duties of her august mother had prevented her
from watching in person over the education of her daughters; and modestly
said that she herself would have been more worthy if she had had the good
fortune to receive lessons directly from a sovereign so enlightened and so
deserving of admiration.
The Queen told me one day that her mother was left a widow at an age
when her beauty was yet striking; that she was secretly informed of a plot
laid by her three principal ministers to make themselves agreeable to her; of
a compact made between them, that the losers should not feel any jealousy
towards him who should be fortunate enough to gain his sovereign’s heart;
and that they had sworn that the successful one should be always the friend
of the other two. The Empress being assured of this scheme, one day after
the breaking up of the council over which she had presided, turned the
conversation upon the subject of female sovereigns, and the duties of their
could not bring himself to afflict the Queen by informing her of an event
which grieved even him so much. His Majesty thought the Abbe de
Vermond, who had possessed the confidence of Maria Theresa during his
stay at Vienna, the most proper person to discharge this painful duty. He
sent his first valet de chambre, M. de Chamilly, to the Abbe on the evening
of the day he received the despatches from Vienna, to order him to come the
next day to the Queen before her breakfast hour, to acquit himself discreetly
of the afflicting commission with which he was charged, and to let his
Majesty know the moment of his entering the Queen’s chamber. It was the
King’s intention to be there precisely a quarter of an hour after him, and he
was punctual to his time; he was announced; the Abbe came out; and his
Majesty said to him, as he drew up at the door to let him pass, “I thank you,
Monsieur l’Abbe, for the service you have just done me.” This was the only
time during nineteen years that the King spoke to him.
Within an hour after learning the event the Queen put on temporary
mourning, while waiting until her Court mourning should be ready; she
kept herself shut up in her apartments for several days; went out only to
mass; saw none but the royal family; and received none but the Princesse de
Lamballe and the Duchesse de Polignac. She talked incessantly of the
courage, the misfortunes, the successes, and the virtues of her mother. The
shroud and dress in which Maria Theresa was to be buried, made entirely by
her own hands, were found ready prepared in one of her closets. She often
regretted that the numerous duties of her august mother had prevented her
from watching in person over the education of her daughters; and modestly
said that she herself would have been more worthy if she had had the good
fortune to receive lessons directly from a sovereign so enlightened and so
deserving of admiration.
The Queen told me one day that her mother was left a widow at an age
when her beauty was yet striking; that she was secretly informed of a plot
laid by her three principal ministers to make themselves agreeable to her; of
a compact made between them, that the losers should not feel any jealousy
towards him who should be fortunate enough to gain his sovereign’s heart;
and that they had sworn that the successful one should be always the friend
of the other two. The Empress being assured of this scheme, one day after
the breaking up of the council over which she had presided, turned the
conversation upon the subject of female sovereigns, and the duties of their
Page 161
sex and rank; and then applying her general reflections to herself in
particular, told them that she hoped to guard herself all her life against
weaknesses of the heart; but that if ever an irresistible feeling should make
her alter her resolution, it should be only in favour of a man proof against
ambition, not engaged in State affairs, but attached only to a private life and
its calm enjoyments,—in a word, if her heart should betray her so far as to
lead her to love a man invested with any important office, from the moment
he should discover her sentiments he would forfeit his place and his
influence with the public. This was sufficient; the three ministers, more
ambitious than amorous, gave up their projects for ever.
On the 22d of October, 1781, the Queen gave birth to a Dauphin.—[The
first Dauphin, Louis, born 1781, died 1789.]—So deep a silence prevailed
in the room that the Queen thought her child was a daughter; but after the
Keeper of the Seals had declared the sex of the infant, the King went up to
the Queen’s bed, and said to her, “Madame, you have fulfilled my wishes
and those of France: you are the mother of a Dauphin.” The King’s joy was
boundless; tears streamed from his eyes; he gave his hand to every one
present; and his happiness carried away his habitual reserve. Cheerful and
affable, he was incessantly taking occasion to introduce the words, “my
son,” or “the Dauphin.” As soon as the Queen was in bed, she wished to see
the long-looked-for infant. The Princesse de Guemenee brought him to her.
The Queen said there was no need for commending him to the Princess, but
in order to enable her to attend to him more freely, she would herself share
the care of the education of her daughter. When the Dauphin was settled in
his apartment, he received the customary homages and visits. The Duc
d’Angouleme, meeting his father at the entrance of the Dauphin’s
apartment, said to him, “Oh, papa! how little my cousin is!”—“The day will
come when you will think him great enough, my dear,” answered the
Prince, almost involuntarily.—[Eldest son of the Comte d’Artois, and till
the birth of the Dauphin with near prospects of the succession.]
The birth of the Dauphin appeared to give joy to all classes. Men stopped
one another in the streets, spoke without being acquainted, and those who
were acquainted embraced each other. In the birth of a legitimate heir to the
sovereign every man beholds a pledge of prosperity and tranquillity.
[M. Merard de Saint Just made a quatrain on the birth of
the Dauphin to the following effect:
particular, told them that she hoped to guard herself all her life against
weaknesses of the heart; but that if ever an irresistible feeling should make
her alter her resolution, it should be only in favour of a man proof against
ambition, not engaged in State affairs, but attached only to a private life and
its calm enjoyments,—in a word, if her heart should betray her so far as to
lead her to love a man invested with any important office, from the moment
he should discover her sentiments he would forfeit his place and his
influence with the public. This was sufficient; the three ministers, more
ambitious than amorous, gave up their projects for ever.
On the 22d of October, 1781, the Queen gave birth to a Dauphin.—[The
first Dauphin, Louis, born 1781, died 1789.]—So deep a silence prevailed
in the room that the Queen thought her child was a daughter; but after the
Keeper of the Seals had declared the sex of the infant, the King went up to
the Queen’s bed, and said to her, “Madame, you have fulfilled my wishes
and those of France: you are the mother of a Dauphin.” The King’s joy was
boundless; tears streamed from his eyes; he gave his hand to every one
present; and his happiness carried away his habitual reserve. Cheerful and
affable, he was incessantly taking occasion to introduce the words, “my
son,” or “the Dauphin.” As soon as the Queen was in bed, she wished to see
the long-looked-for infant. The Princesse de Guemenee brought him to her.
The Queen said there was no need for commending him to the Princess, but
in order to enable her to attend to him more freely, she would herself share
the care of the education of her daughter. When the Dauphin was settled in
his apartment, he received the customary homages and visits. The Duc
d’Angouleme, meeting his father at the entrance of the Dauphin’s
apartment, said to him, “Oh, papa! how little my cousin is!”—“The day will
come when you will think him great enough, my dear,” answered the
Prince, almost involuntarily.—[Eldest son of the Comte d’Artois, and till
the birth of the Dauphin with near prospects of the succession.]
The birth of the Dauphin appeared to give joy to all classes. Men stopped
one another in the streets, spoke without being acquainted, and those who
were acquainted embraced each other. In the birth of a legitimate heir to the
sovereign every man beholds a pledge of prosperity and tranquillity.
[M. Merard de Saint Just made a quatrain on the birth of
the Dauphin to the following effect:
Page 162
“This infant Prince our hopes are centred in, will
doubtless make us happy, rich, and free; And since with
somebody he must begin, My fervent prayer is—that it may
be me!”
—NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
The rejoicings were splendid and ingenious. The artificers and tradesmen
of Paris spent considerable sums in order to go to Versailles in a body, with
their various insignia. Almost every troop had music with it. When they
arrived at the court of the palace, they there arranged themselves so as to
present a most interesting living picture. Chimney-sweepers, quite as well
dressed as those that appear upon the stage, carried an ornamented chimney,
at the top of which was perched one of the smallest of their fraternity. The
chairmen carried a sedan highly gilt, in which were to be seen a handsome
nurse and a little Dauphin. The butchers made their appearance with their
fat ox. Cooks, masons, blacksmiths, all trades were on the alert. The smiths
hammered away upon an anvil, the shoemakers finished off a little pair of
boots for the Dauphin, and the tailors a little suit of the uniform of his
regiment. The King remained a long time upon a balcony to enjoy the sight.
The whole Court was delighted with it. So general was the enthusiasm that
(the police not having carefully examined the procession) the grave-diggers
had the imprudence to send their deputation also, with the emblematic
devices of their ill-omened occupation. They were met by the Princesse
Sophie, the King’s aunt, who was thrilled with horror at the sight, and
entreated the King to have the audacious, fellows driven out of the
procession, which was then drawing up on the terrace.
The ‘dames de la halle’ came to congratulate the Queen, and were
received with the suitable ceremonies.
Fifty of them appeared dressed in black silk gowns, the established full
dress of their order, and almost all wore diamonds. The Princesse de
Chimay went to the door of the Queen’s bedroom to receive three of these
ladies, who were led up to the Queen’s bed. One of them addressed her
Majesty in a speech written by M. de la Harpe. It was set down on the
inside of a fan, to which the speaker repeatedly referred, but without any
embarrassment. She was handsome, and had a remarkably fine voice. The
Queen was affected by the address, and answered it with great affability,—
doubtless make us happy, rich, and free; And since with
somebody he must begin, My fervent prayer is—that it may
be me!”
—NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
The rejoicings were splendid and ingenious. The artificers and tradesmen
of Paris spent considerable sums in order to go to Versailles in a body, with
their various insignia. Almost every troop had music with it. When they
arrived at the court of the palace, they there arranged themselves so as to
present a most interesting living picture. Chimney-sweepers, quite as well
dressed as those that appear upon the stage, carried an ornamented chimney,
at the top of which was perched one of the smallest of their fraternity. The
chairmen carried a sedan highly gilt, in which were to be seen a handsome
nurse and a little Dauphin. The butchers made their appearance with their
fat ox. Cooks, masons, blacksmiths, all trades were on the alert. The smiths
hammered away upon an anvil, the shoemakers finished off a little pair of
boots for the Dauphin, and the tailors a little suit of the uniform of his
regiment. The King remained a long time upon a balcony to enjoy the sight.
The whole Court was delighted with it. So general was the enthusiasm that
(the police not having carefully examined the procession) the grave-diggers
had the imprudence to send their deputation also, with the emblematic
devices of their ill-omened occupation. They were met by the Princesse
Sophie, the King’s aunt, who was thrilled with horror at the sight, and
entreated the King to have the audacious, fellows driven out of the
procession, which was then drawing up on the terrace.
The ‘dames de la halle’ came to congratulate the Queen, and were
received with the suitable ceremonies.
Fifty of them appeared dressed in black silk gowns, the established full
dress of their order, and almost all wore diamonds. The Princesse de
Chimay went to the door of the Queen’s bedroom to receive three of these
ladies, who were led up to the Queen’s bed. One of them addressed her
Majesty in a speech written by M. de la Harpe. It was set down on the
inside of a fan, to which the speaker repeatedly referred, but without any
embarrassment. She was handsome, and had a remarkably fine voice. The
Queen was affected by the address, and answered it with great affability,—
Page 163
wishing a distinction to be made between these women and the poissardes,
who always left a disagreeable impression on her mind.
The King ordered a substantial repast for all these women. One of his
Majesty’s maitres d’hotel, wearing his hat, sat as president and did the
honours of the table. The public were admitted, and numbers of people had
the curiosity to go.
The Garden-du-Corps obtained the King’s permission to give the Queen
a dress ball in the great hall of the Opera at Versailles. Her Majesty opened
the ball in a minuet with a private selected by the corps, to whom the King
granted the baton of an exempt. The fete was most splendid. All then was
joy, happiness, and peace.
The Dauphin was a year old when the Prince de Guemenee’s bankruptcy
compelled the Princess, his wife, who was governess to the children of
France, to resign her situation.
The Queen was at La Muette for the inoculation of her daughter. She sent
for me, and condescended to say she wished to converse with me about a
scheme which delighted her, but in the execution of which she foresaw
some inconveniences. Her plan was to appoint the Duchesse de Polignac to
the office lately held by the Princesse de Guemenee. She saw with extreme
pleasure the facilities which this appointment would give her for
superintending the education of her children, without running any risk of
hurting the pride of the governess; and that it would bring together the
objects of her warmest affections, her children and her friend. “The friends
of the Duchesse de Polignac,” continued the Queen, “will be gratified by
the splendour and importance conferred by the employment. As to the
Duchess, I know her; the place by no means suits her simple and quiet
habits, nor the sort of indolence of her disposition. She will give me the
greatest possible proof of her devotion if she yields to my wish.” The Queen
also spoke of the Princesse de Chimay and the Duchesse de Duras, whom
the public pointed out as fit for the post; but she thought the Princesse de
Chimay’s piety too rigid; and as to the Duchesse de Duras, her wit and
learning quite frightened her. What the Queen dreaded as the consequence
of her selection of the Duchesse de Polignac was principally the jealousy of
the courtiers; but she showed so lively a desire to see her scheme executed
that I had no doubt she would soon set at naught all the obstacles she
who always left a disagreeable impression on her mind.
The King ordered a substantial repast for all these women. One of his
Majesty’s maitres d’hotel, wearing his hat, sat as president and did the
honours of the table. The public were admitted, and numbers of people had
the curiosity to go.
The Garden-du-Corps obtained the King’s permission to give the Queen
a dress ball in the great hall of the Opera at Versailles. Her Majesty opened
the ball in a minuet with a private selected by the corps, to whom the King
granted the baton of an exempt. The fete was most splendid. All then was
joy, happiness, and peace.
The Dauphin was a year old when the Prince de Guemenee’s bankruptcy
compelled the Princess, his wife, who was governess to the children of
France, to resign her situation.
The Queen was at La Muette for the inoculation of her daughter. She sent
for me, and condescended to say she wished to converse with me about a
scheme which delighted her, but in the execution of which she foresaw
some inconveniences. Her plan was to appoint the Duchesse de Polignac to
the office lately held by the Princesse de Guemenee. She saw with extreme
pleasure the facilities which this appointment would give her for
superintending the education of her children, without running any risk of
hurting the pride of the governess; and that it would bring together the
objects of her warmest affections, her children and her friend. “The friends
of the Duchesse de Polignac,” continued the Queen, “will be gratified by
the splendour and importance conferred by the employment. As to the
Duchess, I know her; the place by no means suits her simple and quiet
habits, nor the sort of indolence of her disposition. She will give me the
greatest possible proof of her devotion if she yields to my wish.” The Queen
also spoke of the Princesse de Chimay and the Duchesse de Duras, whom
the public pointed out as fit for the post; but she thought the Princesse de
Chimay’s piety too rigid; and as to the Duchesse de Duras, her wit and
learning quite frightened her. What the Queen dreaded as the consequence
of her selection of the Duchesse de Polignac was principally the jealousy of
the courtiers; but she showed so lively a desire to see her scheme executed
that I had no doubt she would soon set at naught all the obstacles she
Page 164
discovered. I was not mistaken; a few days afterwards the Duchess was
appointed governess.
The Queen’s object in sending for me was no doubt to furnish me with
the means of explaining the feelings which induced her to prefer a
governess disposed by friendship to suffer her to enjoy all the privileges of
a mother. Her Majesty knew that I saw a great deal of company.
The Queen frequently dined with the Duchess after having been present
at the King’s private dinner. Sixty-one thousand francs were therefore added
to the salary of the governess as a compensation for this increase of
expense.
The Queen was tired of the excursions to Marly, and had no great
difficulty in setting the King against them. He did not like the expense of
them, for everybody was entertained there gratis. Louis XIV. had
established a kind of parade upon these excursions, differing from that of
Versailles, but still more annoying. Card and supper parties occurred every
day, and required much dress. On Sundays and holidays the fountains
played, the people were admitted into the gardens, and there was as great a
crowd as at the fetes of St. Cloud.
Every age has its peculiar colouring; Marly showed that of Louis XIV.
even more than Versailles. Everything in the former place appeared to have
been produced by the magic power of a fairy’s wand. Not the slightest trace
of all this splendour remains; the revolutionary spoilers even tore up the
pipes which served to supply the fountains. Perhaps a brief description of
this palace and the usages established there by Louis XIV. may be
acceptable.
The very extensive gardens of Marly ascended almost imperceptibly to
the Pavilion of the Sun., which was occupied only by the King and his
family. The pavilions of the twelve zodiacal signs bounded the two sides of
the lawn. They were connected by bowers impervious to the rays of the sun.
The pavilions nearest to that of the sun were reserved for the Princes of the
blood and the ministers; the rest were occupied by persons holding superior
offices at Court, or invited to stay at Marly. Each pavilion was named after
fresco paintings, which covered its walls, and which had been executed by
the most celebrated artists of the age of Louis XIV. On a line with the upper
pavilion there was on the left a chapel; on the right a pavilion called La
Perspective, which concealed along suite of offices, containing a hundred
appointed governess.
The Queen’s object in sending for me was no doubt to furnish me with
the means of explaining the feelings which induced her to prefer a
governess disposed by friendship to suffer her to enjoy all the privileges of
a mother. Her Majesty knew that I saw a great deal of company.
The Queen frequently dined with the Duchess after having been present
at the King’s private dinner. Sixty-one thousand francs were therefore added
to the salary of the governess as a compensation for this increase of
expense.
The Queen was tired of the excursions to Marly, and had no great
difficulty in setting the King against them. He did not like the expense of
them, for everybody was entertained there gratis. Louis XIV. had
established a kind of parade upon these excursions, differing from that of
Versailles, but still more annoying. Card and supper parties occurred every
day, and required much dress. On Sundays and holidays the fountains
played, the people were admitted into the gardens, and there was as great a
crowd as at the fetes of St. Cloud.
Every age has its peculiar colouring; Marly showed that of Louis XIV.
even more than Versailles. Everything in the former place appeared to have
been produced by the magic power of a fairy’s wand. Not the slightest trace
of all this splendour remains; the revolutionary spoilers even tore up the
pipes which served to supply the fountains. Perhaps a brief description of
this palace and the usages established there by Louis XIV. may be
acceptable.
The very extensive gardens of Marly ascended almost imperceptibly to
the Pavilion of the Sun., which was occupied only by the King and his
family. The pavilions of the twelve zodiacal signs bounded the two sides of
the lawn. They were connected by bowers impervious to the rays of the sun.
The pavilions nearest to that of the sun were reserved for the Princes of the
blood and the ministers; the rest were occupied by persons holding superior
offices at Court, or invited to stay at Marly. Each pavilion was named after
fresco paintings, which covered its walls, and which had been executed by
the most celebrated artists of the age of Louis XIV. On a line with the upper
pavilion there was on the left a chapel; on the right a pavilion called La
Perspective, which concealed along suite of offices, containing a hundred
Page 165
lodging-rooms intended for the persons belonging to the service of the
Court, kitchens, and spacious dining-rooms, in which more than thirty
tables were splendidly laid out.
During half of Louis XV.‘s reign the ladies still wore the habit de cour de
Marly, so named by Louis XIV., and which differed little from, that devised
for Versailles. The French gown, gathered in the back, and with great hoops,
replaced this dress, and continued to be worn till the end of the reign of
Louis XVI. The diamonds, feathers, rouge, and embroidered stuffs spangled
with gold, effaced all trace of a rural residence; but the people loved to see
the splendour of their sovereign and a brilliant Court glittering in the shades
of the woods.
After dinner, and before the hour for cards, the Queen, the Princesses,
and their ladies, paraded among the clumps of trees, in little carriages,
beneath canopies richly embroidered with gold, drawn by men in the King’s
livery. The trees planted by Louis XIV. were of prodigious height, which,
however, was surpassed in several of the groups by fountains of the clearest
water; while, among others, cascades over white marble, the waters of
which, met by the sunbeams, looked like draperies of silver gauze, formed a
contrast to the solemn darkness of the groves.
In the evening nothing more was necessary for any well-dressed man to
procure admission to the Queen’s card parties than to be named and
presented, by some officer of the Court, to the gentleman usher of the card-
room. This room, which was very, large, and of octagonal shape, rose to the
top of the Italian roof, and terminated in a cupola furnished with balconies,
in which ladies who had not been presented easily obtained leave to place
themselves, and enjoy, the sight of the brilliant assemblage.
Though not of the number of persons belonging to the Court, gentlemen
admitted into this salon might request one of the ladies seated with the
Queen at lansquenet or faro to bet upon her cards with such gold or notes as
they presented to her. Rich people and the gamblers of Paris did not miss
one of the evenings at the Marly salon, and there were always considerable
sums won and lost. Louis XVI. hated high play, and very often showed
displeasure when the loss of large sums was mentioned. The fashion of
wearing a black coat without being in mourning had not then been
introduced, and the King gave a few of his ‘coups de boutoir’ to certain
chevaliers de St. Louis, dressed in this manner, who came to venture two or
Court, kitchens, and spacious dining-rooms, in which more than thirty
tables were splendidly laid out.
During half of Louis XV.‘s reign the ladies still wore the habit de cour de
Marly, so named by Louis XIV., and which differed little from, that devised
for Versailles. The French gown, gathered in the back, and with great hoops,
replaced this dress, and continued to be worn till the end of the reign of
Louis XVI. The diamonds, feathers, rouge, and embroidered stuffs spangled
with gold, effaced all trace of a rural residence; but the people loved to see
the splendour of their sovereign and a brilliant Court glittering in the shades
of the woods.
After dinner, and before the hour for cards, the Queen, the Princesses,
and their ladies, paraded among the clumps of trees, in little carriages,
beneath canopies richly embroidered with gold, drawn by men in the King’s
livery. The trees planted by Louis XIV. were of prodigious height, which,
however, was surpassed in several of the groups by fountains of the clearest
water; while, among others, cascades over white marble, the waters of
which, met by the sunbeams, looked like draperies of silver gauze, formed a
contrast to the solemn darkness of the groves.
In the evening nothing more was necessary for any well-dressed man to
procure admission to the Queen’s card parties than to be named and
presented, by some officer of the Court, to the gentleman usher of the card-
room. This room, which was very, large, and of octagonal shape, rose to the
top of the Italian roof, and terminated in a cupola furnished with balconies,
in which ladies who had not been presented easily obtained leave to place
themselves, and enjoy, the sight of the brilliant assemblage.
Though not of the number of persons belonging to the Court, gentlemen
admitted into this salon might request one of the ladies seated with the
Queen at lansquenet or faro to bet upon her cards with such gold or notes as
they presented to her. Rich people and the gamblers of Paris did not miss
one of the evenings at the Marly salon, and there were always considerable
sums won and lost. Louis XVI. hated high play, and very often showed
displeasure when the loss of large sums was mentioned. The fashion of
wearing a black coat without being in mourning had not then been
introduced, and the King gave a few of his ‘coups de boutoir’ to certain
chevaliers de St. Louis, dressed in this manner, who came to venture two or
Page 166
three louis, in the hope that fortune would favour the handsome duchesses
who deigned to place them on their cards.
[Bachaumont in his “Memoirs,” (tome xii., p. 189), which
are often satirical; and always somewhat questionable,
speaks of the singular precautions taken at play at Court.
“The bankers at the Queen’s table,” says he, “in order to
prevent the mistakes [I soften the harshness of his
expression] which daily happen, have obtained permission
from her Majesty that before beginning to play the table
shall be bordered by a ribbon entirely round it, and that no
other money than that upon the cards beyond the ribbon
shall be considered as staked.”—NOTE By THE EDITOR.]
Singular contrasts are often seen amidst the grandeur of courts. In order
to manage such high play at the Queen’s faro table, it was necessary to have
a banker provided with large, sums of money; and this necessity placed at
the table, to which none but the highest titled persons were admitted in
general, not only M. de Chalabre, who was its banker, but also a retired
captain of foot, who officiated as his second. A word, trivial, but perfectly
appropriate to express the manner in which the Court was attended there,
was often heard. Gentlemen presented at Court, who had not been invited to
stay at Marly, came there notwithstanding, as they did to Versailles, and
returned again to Paris; under such circumstances, it was said such a one
had been to Marly only ‘en polisson’;—[A contemptuous expression,
meaning literally “as a scamp” or “rascal”]—and it appeared odd to hear a
captivating marquis, in answer to the inquiry whether he was of the royal
party at Marly, say, “No, I am only here ‘en polisson’,” meaning simply “I
am here on the footing of all those whose nobility is of a later date than
1400.” The Marly excursions were exceedingly expensive to the King.
Besides the superior tables, those of the almoners, equerries, maitres
d’hotel, etc., were all supplied with such a degree of magnificence as to
allow of inviting strangers to them; and almost all the visitors from Paris
were boarded at the expense of the Court.
The personal frugality of the unfortunate Prince who sank beneath the
weight of the national debts thus favoured the Queen’s predilection for her
who deigned to place them on their cards.
[Bachaumont in his “Memoirs,” (tome xii., p. 189), which
are often satirical; and always somewhat questionable,
speaks of the singular precautions taken at play at Court.
“The bankers at the Queen’s table,” says he, “in order to
prevent the mistakes [I soften the harshness of his
expression] which daily happen, have obtained permission
from her Majesty that before beginning to play the table
shall be bordered by a ribbon entirely round it, and that no
other money than that upon the cards beyond the ribbon
shall be considered as staked.”—NOTE By THE EDITOR.]
Singular contrasts are often seen amidst the grandeur of courts. In order
to manage such high play at the Queen’s faro table, it was necessary to have
a banker provided with large, sums of money; and this necessity placed at
the table, to which none but the highest titled persons were admitted in
general, not only M. de Chalabre, who was its banker, but also a retired
captain of foot, who officiated as his second. A word, trivial, but perfectly
appropriate to express the manner in which the Court was attended there,
was often heard. Gentlemen presented at Court, who had not been invited to
stay at Marly, came there notwithstanding, as they did to Versailles, and
returned again to Paris; under such circumstances, it was said such a one
had been to Marly only ‘en polisson’;—[A contemptuous expression,
meaning literally “as a scamp” or “rascal”]—and it appeared odd to hear a
captivating marquis, in answer to the inquiry whether he was of the royal
party at Marly, say, “No, I am only here ‘en polisson’,” meaning simply “I
am here on the footing of all those whose nobility is of a later date than
1400.” The Marly excursions were exceedingly expensive to the King.
Besides the superior tables, those of the almoners, equerries, maitres
d’hotel, etc., were all supplied with such a degree of magnificence as to
allow of inviting strangers to them; and almost all the visitors from Paris
were boarded at the expense of the Court.
The personal frugality of the unfortunate Prince who sank beneath the
weight of the national debts thus favoured the Queen’s predilection for her
Page 167
Petit Trianon; and for five or six years preceding the Revolution the Court
very seldom visited Marly.
The King, always attentive to the comfort of his family, gave Mesdames,
his aunts, the use of the Chateau de Bellevue, and afterwards purchased the
Princesse de Guemenee’s house, at the entrance to Paris, for Elisabeth. The
Comtesse de Provence bought a small house at Montreuil; Monsieur
already had Brunoy; the Comtesse d’Artois built Bagatelle; Versailles
became, in the estimation of all the royal family, the least agreeable of
residences. They only fancied themselves at home in the plainest houses,
surrounded by English gardens, where they better enjoyed the beauties of
nature. The taste for cascades and statues was entirely past.
The Queen occasionally remained a whole month at Petit Trianon, and
had established there all the ways of life in a chateau. She entered the
sitting-room without driving the ladies from their pianoforte or embroidery.
The gentlemen continued their billiards or backgammon without suffering
her presence to interrupt them. There was but little room in the small
Chateau of Trianon. Madame Elisabeth accompanied the Queen there, but
the ladies of honour and ladies of the palace had no establishment at
Trianon. When invited by the Queen, they came from Versailles to dinner.
The King and Princes came regularly to sup. A white gown, a gauze
kerchief, and a straw hat were the uniform dress of the Princesses.
[The extreme simplicity of the Queen’s toilet began to be
strongly censured, at first among the courtiers, and
afterwards throughout the kingdom; and through one of
those inconsistencies more common in France than
elsewhere, while the Queen was blamed, she was blindly
imitated. There was not a woman but would have the same
undress, the same cap, and the same feathers as she had
been seen to wear. They crowded to Mademoiselle Bertin,
her milliner; there was an absolute revolution in the dress of
our ladies, which gave importance to that woman. Long
trains, and all those fashions which confer a certain nobility
on dress, were discarded; and at last a duchess could not be
distinguished from an actress. The men caught the mania;
the upper classes had long before given up to their lackeys
feathers, tufts of ribbon, and laced hats. They now got rid of
very seldom visited Marly.
The King, always attentive to the comfort of his family, gave Mesdames,
his aunts, the use of the Chateau de Bellevue, and afterwards purchased the
Princesse de Guemenee’s house, at the entrance to Paris, for Elisabeth. The
Comtesse de Provence bought a small house at Montreuil; Monsieur
already had Brunoy; the Comtesse d’Artois built Bagatelle; Versailles
became, in the estimation of all the royal family, the least agreeable of
residences. They only fancied themselves at home in the plainest houses,
surrounded by English gardens, where they better enjoyed the beauties of
nature. The taste for cascades and statues was entirely past.
The Queen occasionally remained a whole month at Petit Trianon, and
had established there all the ways of life in a chateau. She entered the
sitting-room without driving the ladies from their pianoforte or embroidery.
The gentlemen continued their billiards or backgammon without suffering
her presence to interrupt them. There was but little room in the small
Chateau of Trianon. Madame Elisabeth accompanied the Queen there, but
the ladies of honour and ladies of the palace had no establishment at
Trianon. When invited by the Queen, they came from Versailles to dinner.
The King and Princes came regularly to sup. A white gown, a gauze
kerchief, and a straw hat were the uniform dress of the Princesses.
[The extreme simplicity of the Queen’s toilet began to be
strongly censured, at first among the courtiers, and
afterwards throughout the kingdom; and through one of
those inconsistencies more common in France than
elsewhere, while the Queen was blamed, she was blindly
imitated. There was not a woman but would have the same
undress, the same cap, and the same feathers as she had
been seen to wear. They crowded to Mademoiselle Bertin,
her milliner; there was an absolute revolution in the dress of
our ladies, which gave importance to that woman. Long
trains, and all those fashions which confer a certain nobility
on dress, were discarded; and at last a duchess could not be
distinguished from an actress. The men caught the mania;
the upper classes had long before given up to their lackeys
feathers, tufts of ribbon, and laced hats. They now got rid of
Page 168
red heels and embroidery; and walked about our streets in
plain cloth, short thick shoes, and with knotty cudgels in
their hands. Many humiliating scrapes were the
consequence of this metamorphosis. Bearing no mark to
distinguish them from the common herd, some of the lowest
classes got into quarrels with them, in which the nobles had
not always the best of it.—MONTJOIE, “History of Marie
Antoinette.”]
Examining all the manufactories of the hamlet, seeing the cows milked,
and fishing in the lake delighted the Queen; and every year she showed
increased aversion to the pompous excursions to Marly.
The idea of acting comedies, as was then done in almost all country
houses, followed on the Queen’s wish to live at Trianon without ceremony.
[The Queen got through the characters she assumed
indifferently enough; she could hardly be ignorant of this, as
her performances evidently excited little pleasure. Indeed,
one day while she was thus exhibiting, somebody ventured to
say, by no means inaudibly, “well, this is royally ill played!”
The lesson was thrown away upon her, for never did she
sacrifice to the opinion of another that which she thought
permissible. When she was told that her extreme plainness in
dress, the nature of her amusements, and her dislike to that
splendour which ought always to attend a Queen, had an
appearance of levity, which was misinterpreted by a portion
of the public, she replied with Madame de Maintenon: “I am
upon the stage, and of course I shall be either hissed or
applauded.” Louis XIV. had a similar taste; he danced upon
the stage; but he had shown by brilliant actions that he knew
how to enforce respect; and besides, he unhesitatingly gave
up the amusement from the moment he heard those beautiful
lines in which Racine pointed out how very unworthy of him
such pastimes were.—MONTJOIE, “History of Marie
Antoinette.”]
plain cloth, short thick shoes, and with knotty cudgels in
their hands. Many humiliating scrapes were the
consequence of this metamorphosis. Bearing no mark to
distinguish them from the common herd, some of the lowest
classes got into quarrels with them, in which the nobles had
not always the best of it.—MONTJOIE, “History of Marie
Antoinette.”]
Examining all the manufactories of the hamlet, seeing the cows milked,
and fishing in the lake delighted the Queen; and every year she showed
increased aversion to the pompous excursions to Marly.
The idea of acting comedies, as was then done in almost all country
houses, followed on the Queen’s wish to live at Trianon without ceremony.
[The Queen got through the characters she assumed
indifferently enough; she could hardly be ignorant of this, as
her performances evidently excited little pleasure. Indeed,
one day while she was thus exhibiting, somebody ventured to
say, by no means inaudibly, “well, this is royally ill played!”
The lesson was thrown away upon her, for never did she
sacrifice to the opinion of another that which she thought
permissible. When she was told that her extreme plainness in
dress, the nature of her amusements, and her dislike to that
splendour which ought always to attend a Queen, had an
appearance of levity, which was misinterpreted by a portion
of the public, she replied with Madame de Maintenon: “I am
upon the stage, and of course I shall be either hissed or
applauded.” Louis XIV. had a similar taste; he danced upon
the stage; but he had shown by brilliant actions that he knew
how to enforce respect; and besides, he unhesitatingly gave
up the amusement from the moment he heard those beautiful
lines in which Racine pointed out how very unworthy of him
such pastimes were.—MONTJOIE, “History of Marie
Antoinette.”]
Page 169
It was agreed that no young man except the Comte d’Artois should be
admitted into the company of performers, and that the audience should
consist only of the King, Monsieur, and the Princesses, who did not play;
but in order to stimulate the actors a little, the first boxes were to be
occupied by the readers, the Queen’s ladies, their sisters and daughters,
making altogether about forty persons.
The Queen laughed heartily at the voice of M. d’Adhemar, formerly a
very fine one, but latterly become rather tremulous. His shepherd’s dress in
Colin, in the “Devin du Village,” contrasted very ridiculously with his time
of life, and the Queen said it would be difficult for malevolence itself to
find anything to criticise in the choice of such a lover. The King was highly
amused with these plays, and was present at every performance. Caillot, a
celebrated actor, who had long quitted the stage, and Dazincourt, both of
acknowledged good character, were selected to give lessons, the first in
comic opera, of which the easier sorts were preferred, and the second in
comedy. The office of hearer of rehearsals, prompter, and stage manager
was given to my father-in-law. The Duc de Fronsac, first gentleman of the
chamber, was much hurt at this. He thought himself called upon to make
serious remonstrances upon the subject, and wrote to the Queen, who made
him the following answer: “You cannot be first gentleman when we are the
actors. Besides, I have already intimated to you my determination
respecting Trianon. I hold no court there, I live like a private person, and M.
Campan shall be always employed to execute orders relative to the private
fetes I choose to give there.” This not putting a stop to the Duke’s
remonstrances, the King was obliged to interfere. The Duke continued
obstinate, and insisted that he was entitled to manage the private
amusements as much as those which were public. It became absolutely
necessary to end the argument in a positive manner.
The diminutive Duc de Fronsac never failed, when he came to pay his
respects to the Queen at her toilet, to turn the conversation upon Trianon, in
order to make some ironical remarks on my father-in-law, of whom, from
the time of his appointment, he always spoke as “my colleague Campan.”
The Queen would shrug her shoulders, and say, when he was gone, “It is
quite shocking to find so little a man in the son of the Marechal de
Richelieu.”
admitted into the company of performers, and that the audience should
consist only of the King, Monsieur, and the Princesses, who did not play;
but in order to stimulate the actors a little, the first boxes were to be
occupied by the readers, the Queen’s ladies, their sisters and daughters,
making altogether about forty persons.
The Queen laughed heartily at the voice of M. d’Adhemar, formerly a
very fine one, but latterly become rather tremulous. His shepherd’s dress in
Colin, in the “Devin du Village,” contrasted very ridiculously with his time
of life, and the Queen said it would be difficult for malevolence itself to
find anything to criticise in the choice of such a lover. The King was highly
amused with these plays, and was present at every performance. Caillot, a
celebrated actor, who had long quitted the stage, and Dazincourt, both of
acknowledged good character, were selected to give lessons, the first in
comic opera, of which the easier sorts were preferred, and the second in
comedy. The office of hearer of rehearsals, prompter, and stage manager
was given to my father-in-law. The Duc de Fronsac, first gentleman of the
chamber, was much hurt at this. He thought himself called upon to make
serious remonstrances upon the subject, and wrote to the Queen, who made
him the following answer: “You cannot be first gentleman when we are the
actors. Besides, I have already intimated to you my determination
respecting Trianon. I hold no court there, I live like a private person, and M.
Campan shall be always employed to execute orders relative to the private
fetes I choose to give there.” This not putting a stop to the Duke’s
remonstrances, the King was obliged to interfere. The Duke continued
obstinate, and insisted that he was entitled to manage the private
amusements as much as those which were public. It became absolutely
necessary to end the argument in a positive manner.
The diminutive Duc de Fronsac never failed, when he came to pay his
respects to the Queen at her toilet, to turn the conversation upon Trianon, in
order to make some ironical remarks on my father-in-law, of whom, from
the time of his appointment, he always spoke as “my colleague Campan.”
The Queen would shrug her shoulders, and say, when he was gone, “It is
quite shocking to find so little a man in the son of the Marechal de
Richelieu.”
Page 170
So long as no strangers were admitted to the performances they were but
little censured; but the praise obtained by the performers made them look
for a larger circle of admirers. The company, for a private company, was
good enough, and the acting was applauded to the skies; nevertheless, as the
audience withdrew, adverse criticisms were occasionally heard. The Queen
permitted the officers of the Body Guards and the equerries of the King and
Princes to be present at the plays. Private boxes were provided for some of
the people belonging to the Court; a few more ladies were invited; and
claims arose on all sides for the favour of admission. The Queen refused to
admit the officers of the body guards of the Princes, the officers of the
King’s Cent Suisses, and many other persons, who were highly mortified at
the refusal.
While delight at having given an heir to the throne of the Bourbons, and a
succession of fetes and amusements, filled up the happy days of Marie
Antoinette, the public was engrossed by the Anglo-American war. Two
kings, or rather their ministers, planted and propagated the love of liberty in
the new world; the King of England, by shutting his ears and his heart
against the continued and respectful representations of subjects at a distance
from their native land, who had become numerous, rich, and powerful,
through the resources of the soil they had fertilised; and the King of France,
by giving support to this people in rebellion against their ancient sovereign.
Many young soldiers, belonging to the first families of the country,
followed La Fayette’s example, and forsook luxury, amusement, and love,
to go and tender their aid to the revolted Americans. Beaumarchais, secretly
seconded by Messieurs de Maurepas and de Vergennes, obtained permission
to send out supplies of arms and clothing. Franklin appeared at Court in the
dress of an American agriculturist. His unpowdered hair, his round hat, his
brown cloth coat formed a contrast to the laced and embroidered coats and
the powder and perfume of the courtiers of Versailles. This novelty turned
the light heads of the Frenchwomen. Elegant entertainments were given to
Doctor Franklin, who, to the reputation of a man of science, added the
patriotic virtues which invested him with the character of an apostle of
liberty. I was present at one of these entertainments, when the most
beautiful woman out of three hundred was selected to place a crown of
laurels upon the white head of the American philosopher, and two kisses
upon his cheeks. Even in the palace of Versailles Franklin’s medallion was
little censured; but the praise obtained by the performers made them look
for a larger circle of admirers. The company, for a private company, was
good enough, and the acting was applauded to the skies; nevertheless, as the
audience withdrew, adverse criticisms were occasionally heard. The Queen
permitted the officers of the Body Guards and the equerries of the King and
Princes to be present at the plays. Private boxes were provided for some of
the people belonging to the Court; a few more ladies were invited; and
claims arose on all sides for the favour of admission. The Queen refused to
admit the officers of the body guards of the Princes, the officers of the
King’s Cent Suisses, and many other persons, who were highly mortified at
the refusal.
While delight at having given an heir to the throne of the Bourbons, and a
succession of fetes and amusements, filled up the happy days of Marie
Antoinette, the public was engrossed by the Anglo-American war. Two
kings, or rather their ministers, planted and propagated the love of liberty in
the new world; the King of England, by shutting his ears and his heart
against the continued and respectful representations of subjects at a distance
from their native land, who had become numerous, rich, and powerful,
through the resources of the soil they had fertilised; and the King of France,
by giving support to this people in rebellion against their ancient sovereign.
Many young soldiers, belonging to the first families of the country,
followed La Fayette’s example, and forsook luxury, amusement, and love,
to go and tender their aid to the revolted Americans. Beaumarchais, secretly
seconded by Messieurs de Maurepas and de Vergennes, obtained permission
to send out supplies of arms and clothing. Franklin appeared at Court in the
dress of an American agriculturist. His unpowdered hair, his round hat, his
brown cloth coat formed a contrast to the laced and embroidered coats and
the powder and perfume of the courtiers of Versailles. This novelty turned
the light heads of the Frenchwomen. Elegant entertainments were given to
Doctor Franklin, who, to the reputation of a man of science, added the
patriotic virtues which invested him with the character of an apostle of
liberty. I was present at one of these entertainments, when the most
beautiful woman out of three hundred was selected to place a crown of
laurels upon the white head of the American philosopher, and two kisses
upon his cheeks. Even in the palace of Versailles Franklin’s medallion was
Page 171
sold under the King’s eyes, in the exhibition of Sevres porcelain. The
legend of this medallion was:
“Eripuit coelo fulmen, sceptrumque tyrannis.”
The King never declared his opinion upon an enthusiasm which his
correct judgment no doubt led him to blame. The Queen spoke out more
plainly about the part France was taking respecting the independence of the
American colonies, and constantly opposed it. Far was she from foreseeing
that a revolution at such a distance could excite one in which a misguided
populace would drag her from her palace to a death equally unjust and
cruel. She only saw something ungenerous in the method which France
adopted of checking the power of England.
However, as Queen of France, she enjoyed the sight of a whole people
rendering homage to the prudence, courage, and good qualities of a young
Frenchman; and she shared the enthusiasm inspired by the conduct and
military success of the Marquis de La Fayette. The Queen granted him
several audiences on his first return from America, and, until the 10th of
August, on which day my house was plundered, I preserved some lines
from Gaston and Bayard, in which the friends of M. de La Fayette saw the
exact outline of his character, written by her own hand:
“Why talk of youth,
When all the ripe experience of the old
Dwells with him? In his schemes profound and cool,
He acts with wise precaution, and reserves
For time of action his impetuous fire.
To guard the camp, to scale the leaguered wall,
Or dare the hottest of the fight, are toils
That suit th’ impetuous bearing of his youth;
Yet like the gray-hair’d veteran he can shun
The field of peril. Still before my eyes
I place his bright example, for I love
His lofty courage, and his prudent thought.
Gifted like him, a warrior has no age.”
[During the American war a general officer in the service
of the United States advanced with a score of men under the
English batteries to reconnoitre their position. His aide-de-
camp, struck by a ball, fell at his side. The officers and
orderly dragoons fled precipitately. The general, though
under the fire of the cannon, approached the wounded man
legend of this medallion was:
“Eripuit coelo fulmen, sceptrumque tyrannis.”
The King never declared his opinion upon an enthusiasm which his
correct judgment no doubt led him to blame. The Queen spoke out more
plainly about the part France was taking respecting the independence of the
American colonies, and constantly opposed it. Far was she from foreseeing
that a revolution at such a distance could excite one in which a misguided
populace would drag her from her palace to a death equally unjust and
cruel. She only saw something ungenerous in the method which France
adopted of checking the power of England.
However, as Queen of France, she enjoyed the sight of a whole people
rendering homage to the prudence, courage, and good qualities of a young
Frenchman; and she shared the enthusiasm inspired by the conduct and
military success of the Marquis de La Fayette. The Queen granted him
several audiences on his first return from America, and, until the 10th of
August, on which day my house was plundered, I preserved some lines
from Gaston and Bayard, in which the friends of M. de La Fayette saw the
exact outline of his character, written by her own hand:
“Why talk of youth,
When all the ripe experience of the old
Dwells with him? In his schemes profound and cool,
He acts with wise precaution, and reserves
For time of action his impetuous fire.
To guard the camp, to scale the leaguered wall,
Or dare the hottest of the fight, are toils
That suit th’ impetuous bearing of his youth;
Yet like the gray-hair’d veteran he can shun
The field of peril. Still before my eyes
I place his bright example, for I love
His lofty courage, and his prudent thought.
Gifted like him, a warrior has no age.”
[During the American war a general officer in the service
of the United States advanced with a score of men under the
English batteries to reconnoitre their position. His aide-de-
camp, struck by a ball, fell at his side. The officers and
orderly dragoons fled precipitately. The general, though
under the fire of the cannon, approached the wounded man
Page 172
to see whether any help could be afforded him. Finding the
wound had been mortal, he slowly rejoined the group which
had got out of the reach of the cannon. This instance of
courage and humanity took place at the battle of Monmouth.
General Clinton, who commanded the English troops, knew
that the Marquis de La Fayette generally rode a white horse;
it was upon a white horse that the general officer who
retired so slowly was mounted; Clinton desired the gunners
not to fire. This noble forbearance probably saved M. de La
Fayette’s life, for he it was. At that time he was but twenty-
two years of age.—“Historical Anecdotes of the Reign of
Louis XVI.”]
These lines had been applauded and encored at the French theatre;
everybody’s head was turned. There was no class of persons that did not
heartily approve of the support given openly by the French Government to
the cause of American independence. The constitution planned for the new
nation was digested at Paris, and while liberty, equality, and the rights of
man were commented upon by the Condorcets, Baillys, Mirabeaus, etc., the
minister Segur published the King’s edict, which, by repealing that of 1st
November, 1750, declared all officers not noble by four generations
incapable of filling the rank of captain, and denied all military rank to the
roturiers, excepting sons of the chevaliers de St. Louis.
[“M. de Segur,” says Chamfort, “having published an
ordinance which prohibited the admission of any other than
gentlemen into the artillery corps, and, on the other hand,
none but well-educated persons being proper for admission,
a curious scene took place: the Abbe Bossat, examiner of the
pupils, gave certificates only to plebeians, while Cherin
gave them only to gentlemen. Out of one hundred pupils,
there were not above four or five who were qualified in both
respects.”]
The injustice and absurdity of this law was no doubt a secondary cause of
the Revolution. To understand the despair and rage with which this law
inspired the Tiers Etat one should have belonged to that honourable class.
wound had been mortal, he slowly rejoined the group which
had got out of the reach of the cannon. This instance of
courage and humanity took place at the battle of Monmouth.
General Clinton, who commanded the English troops, knew
that the Marquis de La Fayette generally rode a white horse;
it was upon a white horse that the general officer who
retired so slowly was mounted; Clinton desired the gunners
not to fire. This noble forbearance probably saved M. de La
Fayette’s life, for he it was. At that time he was but twenty-
two years of age.—“Historical Anecdotes of the Reign of
Louis XVI.”]
These lines had been applauded and encored at the French theatre;
everybody’s head was turned. There was no class of persons that did not
heartily approve of the support given openly by the French Government to
the cause of American independence. The constitution planned for the new
nation was digested at Paris, and while liberty, equality, and the rights of
man were commented upon by the Condorcets, Baillys, Mirabeaus, etc., the
minister Segur published the King’s edict, which, by repealing that of 1st
November, 1750, declared all officers not noble by four generations
incapable of filling the rank of captain, and denied all military rank to the
roturiers, excepting sons of the chevaliers de St. Louis.
[“M. de Segur,” says Chamfort, “having published an
ordinance which prohibited the admission of any other than
gentlemen into the artillery corps, and, on the other hand,
none but well-educated persons being proper for admission,
a curious scene took place: the Abbe Bossat, examiner of the
pupils, gave certificates only to plebeians, while Cherin
gave them only to gentlemen. Out of one hundred pupils,
there were not above four or five who were qualified in both
respects.”]
The injustice and absurdity of this law was no doubt a secondary cause of
the Revolution. To understand the despair and rage with which this law
inspired the Tiers Etat one should have belonged to that honourable class.
Page 173
The provinces were full of roturier families, who for ages had lived as
people of property upon their own domains, and paid the taxes. If these
persons had several sons, they would place one in the King’s service, one in
the Church, another in the Order of Malta as a chevalier servant d’armes,
and one in the magistracy; while the eldest preserved the paternal manor,
and if he were situated in a country celebrated for wine, he would, besides
selling his own produce, add a kind of commission trade in the wines of the
canton. I have seen an individual of this justly respected class, who had
been long employed in diplomatic business, and even honoured with the
title of minister plenipotentiary, the son-in-law and nephew of colonels and
town mayors, and, on his mother’s side, nephew of a lieutenant-general
with a cordon rouge, unable to introduce his sons as sous-lieutenants into a
regiment of foot.
Another decision of the Court, which could not be announced by an
edict, was that all ecclesiastical benefices, from the humblest priory up to
the richest abbey, should in future be appanages of the nobility. Being the
son of a village surgeon, the Abbe de Vermond, who had great influence in
the disposition of benefices, was particularly struck with the justice of this
decree.
During the absence of the Abbe in an excursion he made for his health, I
prevailed on the Queen to write a postscript to the petition of a cure, one of
my friends, who was soliciting a priory near his curacy, with the intention
of retiring to it. I obtained it for him. On the Abbe’s return he told me very
harshly that I should act in a manner quite contrary to the King’s wishes if I
again obtained such a favour; that the wealth of the Church was for the
future to be invariably devoted to the support of the poorer nobility; that it
was the interest of the State that it should be so; and a plebeian priest,
happy in a good curacy, had only to remain curate.
Can we be astonished at the part shortly afterwards taken by the deputies
of the Third Estate, when called to the States General?
people of property upon their own domains, and paid the taxes. If these
persons had several sons, they would place one in the King’s service, one in
the Church, another in the Order of Malta as a chevalier servant d’armes,
and one in the magistracy; while the eldest preserved the paternal manor,
and if he were situated in a country celebrated for wine, he would, besides
selling his own produce, add a kind of commission trade in the wines of the
canton. I have seen an individual of this justly respected class, who had
been long employed in diplomatic business, and even honoured with the
title of minister plenipotentiary, the son-in-law and nephew of colonels and
town mayors, and, on his mother’s side, nephew of a lieutenant-general
with a cordon rouge, unable to introduce his sons as sous-lieutenants into a
regiment of foot.
Another decision of the Court, which could not be announced by an
edict, was that all ecclesiastical benefices, from the humblest priory up to
the richest abbey, should in future be appanages of the nobility. Being the
son of a village surgeon, the Abbe de Vermond, who had great influence in
the disposition of benefices, was particularly struck with the justice of this
decree.
During the absence of the Abbe in an excursion he made for his health, I
prevailed on the Queen to write a postscript to the petition of a cure, one of
my friends, who was soliciting a priory near his curacy, with the intention
of retiring to it. I obtained it for him. On the Abbe’s return he told me very
harshly that I should act in a manner quite contrary to the King’s wishes if I
again obtained such a favour; that the wealth of the Church was for the
future to be invariably devoted to the support of the poorer nobility; that it
was the interest of the State that it should be so; and a plebeian priest,
happy in a good curacy, had only to remain curate.
Can we be astonished at the part shortly afterwards taken by the deputies
of the Third Estate, when called to the States General?
Page 174
CHAPTER XI.
About the close of the last century several of the Northern sovereigns
took a fancy for travelling. Christian III., King of Denmark, visited the
Court of France in 1763, during the reign of Louis XV. We have seen the
King of Sweden and Joseph II. at Versailles. The Grand Duke of Russia
(afterwards Paul I.), son of Catherine II., and the Princess of Wurtemberg,
his wife, likewise resolved to visit France. They travelled under the titles of
the Comte and Comtesse du Nord. They were presented on the 20th of May,
1782. The Queen received them with grace and dignity. On the day of their
arrival at Versailles they dined in private with the King and Queen.
The plain, unassuming appearance of Paul I. pleased Louis XVI. He
spoke to him with more confidence and cheerfulness than he had spoken to
Joseph II. The Comtesse du Nord was not at first so successful with the
Queen. This lady was of a fine height, very fat for her age, with all the
German stiffness, well informed, and perhaps displaying her acquirements
with rather too much confidence. When the Comte and Comtesse du Nord
were presented the Queen was exceedingly nervous. She withdrew into her
closet before she went into the room where she was to dine with the
illustrious travellers, and asked for a glass of water, confessing “she had just
experienced how much more difficult it was to play the part of a queen in
the presence of other sovereigns, or of princes born to become so, than
before courtiers.” She soon recovered from her confusion, and reappeared
with ease and confidence. The dinner was tolerably cheerful, and the
conversation very animated.
Brilliant entertainments were given at Court in honour of the King of
Sweden and the Comte du Nord. They were received in private by the King
and Queen, but they were treated with much more ceremony than the
Emperor, and their Majesties always appeared to me to be very, cautious
before these personages. However, the King one day asked the Russian
Grand Duke if it were true that he could not rely on the fidelity of any one
of those who accompanied him. The Prince answered him without
About the close of the last century several of the Northern sovereigns
took a fancy for travelling. Christian III., King of Denmark, visited the
Court of France in 1763, during the reign of Louis XV. We have seen the
King of Sweden and Joseph II. at Versailles. The Grand Duke of Russia
(afterwards Paul I.), son of Catherine II., and the Princess of Wurtemberg,
his wife, likewise resolved to visit France. They travelled under the titles of
the Comte and Comtesse du Nord. They were presented on the 20th of May,
1782. The Queen received them with grace and dignity. On the day of their
arrival at Versailles they dined in private with the King and Queen.
The plain, unassuming appearance of Paul I. pleased Louis XVI. He
spoke to him with more confidence and cheerfulness than he had spoken to
Joseph II. The Comtesse du Nord was not at first so successful with the
Queen. This lady was of a fine height, very fat for her age, with all the
German stiffness, well informed, and perhaps displaying her acquirements
with rather too much confidence. When the Comte and Comtesse du Nord
were presented the Queen was exceedingly nervous. She withdrew into her
closet before she went into the room where she was to dine with the
illustrious travellers, and asked for a glass of water, confessing “she had just
experienced how much more difficult it was to play the part of a queen in
the presence of other sovereigns, or of princes born to become so, than
before courtiers.” She soon recovered from her confusion, and reappeared
with ease and confidence. The dinner was tolerably cheerful, and the
conversation very animated.
Brilliant entertainments were given at Court in honour of the King of
Sweden and the Comte du Nord. They were received in private by the King
and Queen, but they were treated with much more ceremony than the
Emperor, and their Majesties always appeared to me to be very, cautious
before these personages. However, the King one day asked the Russian
Grand Duke if it were true that he could not rely on the fidelity of any one
of those who accompanied him. The Prince answered him without
Page 175
hesitation, and before a considerable number of persons, that he should be
very sorry to have with him even a poodle that was much attached to him,
because his mother would take care to have it thrown into the Seine, with a
stone round its neck, before he should leave Paris. This reply, which I
myself heard, horrified me, whether it depicted the disposition of Catherine,
or only expressed the Prince’s prejudice against her.
The Queen gave the Grand Duke a supper at Trianon, and had the
gardens illuminated as they had been for the Emperor. The Cardinal de
Rohan very indiscreetly ventured to introduce himself there without the
Queen’s knowledge. Having been treated with the utmost coolness ever
since his return from Vienna, he had not dared to ask her himself for
permission to see the illumination; but he persuaded the porter of Trianon to
admit him as soon as the Queen should have set off for Versailles, and his
Eminence engaged to remain in the porter’s lodge until all the carriages
should have left the chateau. He did not keep his word, and while the porter
was busy in the discharge of his duty, the Cardinal, who wore his red
stockings and had merely thrown on a greatcoat, went down into the
garden, and, with an air of mystery, drew up in two different places to see
the royal family and suite pass by.
Her Majesty was highly offended at this piece of boldness, and next day
ordered the porter to be discharged. There was a general feeling of disgust
at the Cardinal’s conduct, and of commiseration towards the porter for the
loss of his place. Affected at the misfortune of the father of a family, I
obtained his forgiveness; and since that time I have often regretted the
feeling which induced me to interfere. The notoriety of the discharge of the
porter of Trianon, and the odium that circumstance would have fixed upon
the Cardinal, would have made the Queen’s dislike to him still more
publicly known, and would probably have prevented the scandalous and
notorious intrigue of the necklace.
The Queen, who was much prejudiced against the King of Sweden,
received him very coldly.
[Gustavus III., King of Sweden, travelled in France under
the title of Comte d’Haga. Upon his accession to the throne,
he managed the revolution which prostrated the authority of
the Senate with equal skill, coolness, and courage. He was
very sorry to have with him even a poodle that was much attached to him,
because his mother would take care to have it thrown into the Seine, with a
stone round its neck, before he should leave Paris. This reply, which I
myself heard, horrified me, whether it depicted the disposition of Catherine,
or only expressed the Prince’s prejudice against her.
The Queen gave the Grand Duke a supper at Trianon, and had the
gardens illuminated as they had been for the Emperor. The Cardinal de
Rohan very indiscreetly ventured to introduce himself there without the
Queen’s knowledge. Having been treated with the utmost coolness ever
since his return from Vienna, he had not dared to ask her himself for
permission to see the illumination; but he persuaded the porter of Trianon to
admit him as soon as the Queen should have set off for Versailles, and his
Eminence engaged to remain in the porter’s lodge until all the carriages
should have left the chateau. He did not keep his word, and while the porter
was busy in the discharge of his duty, the Cardinal, who wore his red
stockings and had merely thrown on a greatcoat, went down into the
garden, and, with an air of mystery, drew up in two different places to see
the royal family and suite pass by.
Her Majesty was highly offended at this piece of boldness, and next day
ordered the porter to be discharged. There was a general feeling of disgust
at the Cardinal’s conduct, and of commiseration towards the porter for the
loss of his place. Affected at the misfortune of the father of a family, I
obtained his forgiveness; and since that time I have often regretted the
feeling which induced me to interfere. The notoriety of the discharge of the
porter of Trianon, and the odium that circumstance would have fixed upon
the Cardinal, would have made the Queen’s dislike to him still more
publicly known, and would probably have prevented the scandalous and
notorious intrigue of the necklace.
The Queen, who was much prejudiced against the King of Sweden,
received him very coldly.
[Gustavus III., King of Sweden, travelled in France under
the title of Comte d’Haga. Upon his accession to the throne,
he managed the revolution which prostrated the authority of
the Senate with equal skill, coolness, and courage. He was
Page 176
assassinated in 1792, at a masked ball, by Auckarstrum.—
NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
All that was said of the private character of that sovereign, his connection
with the Comte de Vergennes, from the time of the Revolution of Sweden,
in 1772, the character of his favourite Armfeldt, and the prejudices of the
monarch himself against the Swedes who were well received at the Court of
Versailles, formed the grounds of this dislike. He came one day uninvited
and unexpected, and requested to dine with the Queen. The Queen received
him in the little closet, and desired me to send for her clerk of the kitchen,
that she might be informed whether there was a proper dinner to set before
Comte d’Haga, and add to it if necessary. The King of Sweden assured her
that there would be enough for him; and I could not help smiling when I
thought of the length of the menu of the dinner of the King and Queen, not
half of which would have made its appearance had they dined in private.
The Queen looked significantly at me, and I withdrew. In the evening she
asked me why I had seemed so astonished when she ordered me to add to
her dinner, saying that I ought instantly to have seen that she was giving the
King of Sweden a lesson for his presumption. I owned to her that the scene
had appeared to me so much in the bourgeois style, that I involuntarily
thought of the cutlets on the gridiron, and the omelette, which in families in
humble circumstances serve to piece out short commons. She was highly
diverted with my answer, and repeated it to the King, who also laughed
heartily at it.
The peace with England satisfied all classes of society interested in the
national honour. The departure of the English commissary from Dunkirk,
who had been fixed at that place ever since the shameful peace of 1763 as
inspector of our navy, occasioned an ecstasy of joy.
[By the Treaty of Utrecht (1713) it was stipulated that the
fortifications and port of Dunkirk should be destroyed. By
the Treaty of Paris (1763) a commissary was to reside at
Dunkirk to see that no attempt was made to break this treaty.
This stipulation was revoked by the Peace of Versailles, in
1783.—see DYER’S “Modern Europe,” 1st edition, vol. i.,
pp. 205-438 and 539.]
NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
All that was said of the private character of that sovereign, his connection
with the Comte de Vergennes, from the time of the Revolution of Sweden,
in 1772, the character of his favourite Armfeldt, and the prejudices of the
monarch himself against the Swedes who were well received at the Court of
Versailles, formed the grounds of this dislike. He came one day uninvited
and unexpected, and requested to dine with the Queen. The Queen received
him in the little closet, and desired me to send for her clerk of the kitchen,
that she might be informed whether there was a proper dinner to set before
Comte d’Haga, and add to it if necessary. The King of Sweden assured her
that there would be enough for him; and I could not help smiling when I
thought of the length of the menu of the dinner of the King and Queen, not
half of which would have made its appearance had they dined in private.
The Queen looked significantly at me, and I withdrew. In the evening she
asked me why I had seemed so astonished when she ordered me to add to
her dinner, saying that I ought instantly to have seen that she was giving the
King of Sweden a lesson for his presumption. I owned to her that the scene
had appeared to me so much in the bourgeois style, that I involuntarily
thought of the cutlets on the gridiron, and the omelette, which in families in
humble circumstances serve to piece out short commons. She was highly
diverted with my answer, and repeated it to the King, who also laughed
heartily at it.
The peace with England satisfied all classes of society interested in the
national honour. The departure of the English commissary from Dunkirk,
who had been fixed at that place ever since the shameful peace of 1763 as
inspector of our navy, occasioned an ecstasy of joy.
[By the Treaty of Utrecht (1713) it was stipulated that the
fortifications and port of Dunkirk should be destroyed. By
the Treaty of Paris (1763) a commissary was to reside at
Dunkirk to see that no attempt was made to break this treaty.
This stipulation was revoked by the Peace of Versailles, in
1783.—see DYER’S “Modern Europe,” 1st edition, vol. i.,
pp. 205-438 and 539.]
Page 177
The Government communicated to the Englishman the order for his
departure before the treaty was made public. But for that precaution the
populace would have probably committed some excess or other, in order to
make the agent of English power feel the effects of the resentment which
had constantly increased during his stay at that port. Those engaged in trade
were the only persons dissatisfied with the treaty of 1783. That article
which provided for, the free admission of English goods annihilated at one
blow the trade of Rouen and the other manufacturing towns throughout the
kingdom. The English swarmed into Paris. A considerable number of them
were presented at Court. The Queen paid them marked attention; doubtless
she wished them to distinguish between the esteem she felt for their noble
nation and the political views of the Government in the support it had
afforded to the Americans. Discontent was, however, manifested at Court in
consequence of the favour bestowed by the Queen on the English
noblemen; these attentions were called infatuations. This was illiberal; and
the Queen justly complained of such absurd jealousy.
The journey to Fontainebleau and the winter at Paris and at Court were
extremely brilliant. The spring brought back those amusements which the
Queen began to prefer to the splendour of fetes. The most perfect harmony
subsisted between the King and Queen; I never saw but one cloud between
them. It was soon dispelled, and the cause of it is perfectly unknown to me.
My father-in-law, whose penetration and experience I respected greatly,
recommended me, when he saw me placed in the service of a young queen,
to shun all kinds of confidence. “It procures,” said he, “but a very fleeting,
and at the same time dangerous sort of favour; serve with zeal to the best of
your judgment, but never do more than obey. Instead of setting your wits to
work to discover why an order or a commission which may appear of
consequence is given to you, use them to prevent the possibility of your
knowing anything of the matter.” I had occasion to act on this wise advice.
One morning at Trianon I went into the Queen’s chamber; there were letters
lying upon the bed, and she was weeping bitterly. Her tears and sobs were
occasionally interrupted by exclamations of “Ah! that I were dead!—
wretches! monsters! What have I done to them?” I offered her orange-
flower water and ether. “Leave me,” said she, “if you love me; it would be
better to kill me at once.” At this moment she threw her arm over my
shoulder and began weeping afresh. I saw that some weighty trouble
oppressed her heart, and that she wanted a confidant. I suggested sending
departure before the treaty was made public. But for that precaution the
populace would have probably committed some excess or other, in order to
make the agent of English power feel the effects of the resentment which
had constantly increased during his stay at that port. Those engaged in trade
were the only persons dissatisfied with the treaty of 1783. That article
which provided for, the free admission of English goods annihilated at one
blow the trade of Rouen and the other manufacturing towns throughout the
kingdom. The English swarmed into Paris. A considerable number of them
were presented at Court. The Queen paid them marked attention; doubtless
she wished them to distinguish between the esteem she felt for their noble
nation and the political views of the Government in the support it had
afforded to the Americans. Discontent was, however, manifested at Court in
consequence of the favour bestowed by the Queen on the English
noblemen; these attentions were called infatuations. This was illiberal; and
the Queen justly complained of such absurd jealousy.
The journey to Fontainebleau and the winter at Paris and at Court were
extremely brilliant. The spring brought back those amusements which the
Queen began to prefer to the splendour of fetes. The most perfect harmony
subsisted between the King and Queen; I never saw but one cloud between
them. It was soon dispelled, and the cause of it is perfectly unknown to me.
My father-in-law, whose penetration and experience I respected greatly,
recommended me, when he saw me placed in the service of a young queen,
to shun all kinds of confidence. “It procures,” said he, “but a very fleeting,
and at the same time dangerous sort of favour; serve with zeal to the best of
your judgment, but never do more than obey. Instead of setting your wits to
work to discover why an order or a commission which may appear of
consequence is given to you, use them to prevent the possibility of your
knowing anything of the matter.” I had occasion to act on this wise advice.
One morning at Trianon I went into the Queen’s chamber; there were letters
lying upon the bed, and she was weeping bitterly. Her tears and sobs were
occasionally interrupted by exclamations of “Ah! that I were dead!—
wretches! monsters! What have I done to them?” I offered her orange-
flower water and ether. “Leave me,” said she, “if you love me; it would be
better to kill me at once.” At this moment she threw her arm over my
shoulder and began weeping afresh. I saw that some weighty trouble
oppressed her heart, and that she wanted a confidant. I suggested sending
Page 178
for the Duchesse de Polignac; this she strongly opposed. I renewed my
arguments, and her opposition grew weaker. I disengaged myself from her
arms, and ran to the antechamber, where I knew that an outrider always
waited, ready to mount and start at a moment’s warning for Versailles. I
ordered him to go full speed, and tell the Duchesse de Polignac that the
Queen was very uneasy, and desired to see her instantly. The Duchess
always had a carriage ready. In less than ten minutes she was at the Queen’s
door. I was the only person there, having been forbidden to send for the
other women. Madame de Polignac came in; the Queen held out her arms to
her, the Duchess rushed towards her. I heard her sobs renewed and
withdrew.
A quarter of an hour afterwards the Queen, who had become calmer, rang
to be dressed. I sent her woman in; she put on her gown and retired to her
boudoir with the Duchess. Very soon afterwards the Comte d’Artois arrived
from Compiegne, where he had been with the King. He eagerly inquired
where the Queen was; remained half an hour with her and the Duchess; and
on coming out told me the Queen asked for me. I found her seated on the
couch by the side of her friend; her features had resumed their usual
cheerful and gracious appearance. She held out her hand to me, and said to
the Duchess, “I know I have made her so uncomfortable this morning that I
must set her poor heart at ease.” She then added, “You must have seen, on
some fine summer’s day, a black cloud suddenly appear and threaten to
pour down upon the country and lay it waste. The lightest wind drives it
away, and the blue sky and serene weather are restored. This is just the
image of what has happened to me this morning.” She afterwards told me
that the King would return from Compiegne after hunting there, and sup
with her; that I must send for her purveyor, to select with him from his bills
of fare all such dishes as the King liked best; that she would have no others
served up in the evening at her table; and that this was a mark of attention
that she wished the King to notice. The Duchesse de Polignac also took me
by the hand, and told me how happy she was that she had been with the
Queen at a moment when she stood in need of a friend. I never knew what
could have created in the Queen so lively and so transient an alarm; but I
guessed from the particular care she took respecting the King that attempts
had been made to irritate him against her; that the malice of her enemies
had been promptly discovered and counteracted by the King’s penetration
arguments, and her opposition grew weaker. I disengaged myself from her
arms, and ran to the antechamber, where I knew that an outrider always
waited, ready to mount and start at a moment’s warning for Versailles. I
ordered him to go full speed, and tell the Duchesse de Polignac that the
Queen was very uneasy, and desired to see her instantly. The Duchess
always had a carriage ready. In less than ten minutes she was at the Queen’s
door. I was the only person there, having been forbidden to send for the
other women. Madame de Polignac came in; the Queen held out her arms to
her, the Duchess rushed towards her. I heard her sobs renewed and
withdrew.
A quarter of an hour afterwards the Queen, who had become calmer, rang
to be dressed. I sent her woman in; she put on her gown and retired to her
boudoir with the Duchess. Very soon afterwards the Comte d’Artois arrived
from Compiegne, where he had been with the King. He eagerly inquired
where the Queen was; remained half an hour with her and the Duchess; and
on coming out told me the Queen asked for me. I found her seated on the
couch by the side of her friend; her features had resumed their usual
cheerful and gracious appearance. She held out her hand to me, and said to
the Duchess, “I know I have made her so uncomfortable this morning that I
must set her poor heart at ease.” She then added, “You must have seen, on
some fine summer’s day, a black cloud suddenly appear and threaten to
pour down upon the country and lay it waste. The lightest wind drives it
away, and the blue sky and serene weather are restored. This is just the
image of what has happened to me this morning.” She afterwards told me
that the King would return from Compiegne after hunting there, and sup
with her; that I must send for her purveyor, to select with him from his bills
of fare all such dishes as the King liked best; that she would have no others
served up in the evening at her table; and that this was a mark of attention
that she wished the King to notice. The Duchesse de Polignac also took me
by the hand, and told me how happy she was that she had been with the
Queen at a moment when she stood in need of a friend. I never knew what
could have created in the Queen so lively and so transient an alarm; but I
guessed from the particular care she took respecting the King that attempts
had been made to irritate him against her; that the malice of her enemies
had been promptly discovered and counteracted by the King’s penetration
Page 179
and attachment; and that the Comte d’Artois had hastened to bring her
intelligence of it.
It was, I think, in the summer of 1787, during one of the Trianon
excursions, that the Queen of Naples—[Caroline, sister of Marie
Antoinette.]—sent the Chevalier de Bressac to her Majesty on a secret
mission relative to a projected marriage between the Hereditary Prince, her
son, and Madame, the King’s daughter; in the absence of the lady of honour
he addressed himself to me. Although he said a great deal to me about the
close confidence with which the Queen of Naples honoured him, and about
his letter of credit, I thought he had the air of an adventurer.—[He
afterwards spent several years shut up in the Chateau de l’Oeuf.]—He had,
indeed, private letters for the Queen, and his mission was not feigned; he
talked to me very rashly even before his admission, and entreated me to do
all that lay in my power to dispose the Queen’s mind in favour of his
sovereign’s wishes; I declined, assuring him that it did not become me to
meddle with State affairs. He endeavoured, but in vain, to prove to me that
the union contemplated by the Queen of Naples ought not to be looked
upon in that light.
I procured M. de Bressac the audience he desired, but without suffering
myself even to seem acquainted with the object of his mission. The Queen
told me what it was; she thought him a person ill-chosen for the occasion;
and yet she thought that the Queen, her sister, had done wisely in not
sending a man worthy to be avowed,—it being impossible that what she
solicited should take place. I had an opportunity on this occasion, as indeed
on many others, of judging to what extent the Queen valued and loved
France and the dignity of our Court. She then told me that Madame, in
marrying her cousin, the Duc d’Angouleme, would not lose her rank as
daughter of the Queen; and that her situation would be far preferable to that
of queen of any other country; and that there was nothing in Europe to be
compared to the Court of France; and that it would be necessary, in order to
avoid exposing a French Princess to feelings of deep regret, in case she
should be married to a foreign prince, to take her from the palace of
Versailles at seven years of age, and send her immediately to the Court in
which she was to dwell; and that at twelve would be too late; for
recollections and comparisons would ruin the happiness of all the rest of her
life. The Queen looked upon the destiny of her sisters as far beneath her
own; and frequently mentioned the mortifications inflicted by the Court of
intelligence of it.
It was, I think, in the summer of 1787, during one of the Trianon
excursions, that the Queen of Naples—[Caroline, sister of Marie
Antoinette.]—sent the Chevalier de Bressac to her Majesty on a secret
mission relative to a projected marriage between the Hereditary Prince, her
son, and Madame, the King’s daughter; in the absence of the lady of honour
he addressed himself to me. Although he said a great deal to me about the
close confidence with which the Queen of Naples honoured him, and about
his letter of credit, I thought he had the air of an adventurer.—[He
afterwards spent several years shut up in the Chateau de l’Oeuf.]—He had,
indeed, private letters for the Queen, and his mission was not feigned; he
talked to me very rashly even before his admission, and entreated me to do
all that lay in my power to dispose the Queen’s mind in favour of his
sovereign’s wishes; I declined, assuring him that it did not become me to
meddle with State affairs. He endeavoured, but in vain, to prove to me that
the union contemplated by the Queen of Naples ought not to be looked
upon in that light.
I procured M. de Bressac the audience he desired, but without suffering
myself even to seem acquainted with the object of his mission. The Queen
told me what it was; she thought him a person ill-chosen for the occasion;
and yet she thought that the Queen, her sister, had done wisely in not
sending a man worthy to be avowed,—it being impossible that what she
solicited should take place. I had an opportunity on this occasion, as indeed
on many others, of judging to what extent the Queen valued and loved
France and the dignity of our Court. She then told me that Madame, in
marrying her cousin, the Duc d’Angouleme, would not lose her rank as
daughter of the Queen; and that her situation would be far preferable to that
of queen of any other country; and that there was nothing in Europe to be
compared to the Court of France; and that it would be necessary, in order to
avoid exposing a French Princess to feelings of deep regret, in case she
should be married to a foreign prince, to take her from the palace of
Versailles at seven years of age, and send her immediately to the Court in
which she was to dwell; and that at twelve would be too late; for
recollections and comparisons would ruin the happiness of all the rest of her
life. The Queen looked upon the destiny of her sisters as far beneath her
own; and frequently mentioned the mortifications inflicted by the Court of
Page 180
Spain upon her sister, the Queen of Naples, and the necessity she was under
of imploring the mediation of the King of France.
She showed me several letters that she had received from the Queen of
Naples relative to her differences with the Court of Madrid respecting the
Minister Acton. She thought him useful to her people, inasmuch as he was a
man of considerable information and great activity. In these letters she
minutely acquainted her Majesty with the nature of the affronts she had
received, and represented Mr. Acton to her as a man whom malevolence
itself could not suppose capable of interesting her otherwise than by his
services. She had had to suffer the impertinences of a Spaniard named Las
Casas, who had been sent to her by the King, her father-in-law, to persuade
her to dismiss Mr. Acton from the business of the State, and from her
intimacy. She complained bitterly to the Queen, her sister, of the insulting
proceedings of this charge d’affaires, whom she told, in order to convince
him of the nature of the feelings which attached her to Mr. Acton, that she
would have portraits and busts of him executed by the most eminent artists
of Italy, and that she would then send them to the King of Spain, to prove
that nothing but the desire to retain a man of superior capacity had induced
her to bestow on him the favour he enjoyed. This Las Casas dared to answer
her that it would be useless trouble; that the ugliness of a man did not
always render him displeasing; and that the King of Spain had too much
experience not to know that there was no accounting for the caprices of a
woman.
This audacious reply filled the Queen of Naples with indignation, and her
emotion caused her to miscarry on the same day. In consequence of the
mediation of Louis XVI. the Queen of Naples obtained complete
satisfaction, and Mr. Acton continued Prime Minister.
Among the characteristics which denoted the goodness of the Queen, her
respect for personal liberty should have a place. I have seen her put up with
the most troublesome importunities from people whose minds were
deranged rather than have them arrested. Her patient kindness was put to a
very disagreeable trial by an ex-councillor of the Bordeaux Parliament,
named Castelnaux; this man declared himself the lover of the Queen, and
was generally known by that appellation. For ten successive years did he
follow the Court in all its excursions. Pale and wan, as people who are out
of their senses usually are, his sinister appearance occasioned the most
of imploring the mediation of the King of France.
She showed me several letters that she had received from the Queen of
Naples relative to her differences with the Court of Madrid respecting the
Minister Acton. She thought him useful to her people, inasmuch as he was a
man of considerable information and great activity. In these letters she
minutely acquainted her Majesty with the nature of the affronts she had
received, and represented Mr. Acton to her as a man whom malevolence
itself could not suppose capable of interesting her otherwise than by his
services. She had had to suffer the impertinences of a Spaniard named Las
Casas, who had been sent to her by the King, her father-in-law, to persuade
her to dismiss Mr. Acton from the business of the State, and from her
intimacy. She complained bitterly to the Queen, her sister, of the insulting
proceedings of this charge d’affaires, whom she told, in order to convince
him of the nature of the feelings which attached her to Mr. Acton, that she
would have portraits and busts of him executed by the most eminent artists
of Italy, and that she would then send them to the King of Spain, to prove
that nothing but the desire to retain a man of superior capacity had induced
her to bestow on him the favour he enjoyed. This Las Casas dared to answer
her that it would be useless trouble; that the ugliness of a man did not
always render him displeasing; and that the King of Spain had too much
experience not to know that there was no accounting for the caprices of a
woman.
This audacious reply filled the Queen of Naples with indignation, and her
emotion caused her to miscarry on the same day. In consequence of the
mediation of Louis XVI. the Queen of Naples obtained complete
satisfaction, and Mr. Acton continued Prime Minister.
Among the characteristics which denoted the goodness of the Queen, her
respect for personal liberty should have a place. I have seen her put up with
the most troublesome importunities from people whose minds were
deranged rather than have them arrested. Her patient kindness was put to a
very disagreeable trial by an ex-councillor of the Bordeaux Parliament,
named Castelnaux; this man declared himself the lover of the Queen, and
was generally known by that appellation. For ten successive years did he
follow the Court in all its excursions. Pale and wan, as people who are out
of their senses usually are, his sinister appearance occasioned the most
Page 181
uncomfortable sensations. During the two hours that the Queen’s public
card parties lasted, he would remain opposite her Majesty. He placed
himself in the same manner before her at chapel, and never failed to be at
the King’s dinner or the dinner in public. At the theatre he invariably seated
himself as near the Queen’s box as possible. He always set off for
Fontainebleau or St. Cloud the day before the Court, and when her Majesty
arrived at her various residences, the first person she met on getting out of
her carriage was this melancholy madman, who never spoke to any one.
When the Queen stayed at Petit Trianon the passion of this unhappy man
became still more annoying. He would hastily swallow a morsel at some
eating-house, and spend all the rest of the day, even when it rained, in going
round and round the garden, always walking at the edge of the moat. The
Queen frequently met him when she was either alone or with her children;
and yet she would not suffer any violence to be used to relieve her from this
intolerable annoyance. Having one day given M. de Seze permission to
enter Trianon, she sent to desire he would come to me, and directed me to
inform that celebrated advocate of M. de Castelnaux’s derangement, and
then to send for him that M. de Seze might have some conversation with
him. He talked to him nearly an hour, and made considerable impression
upon his mind; and at last M. de Castelnaux requested me to inform the
Queen positively that, since his presence was disagreeable to her, he would
retire to his province. The Queen was very much rejoiced, and desired me
to express her full satisfaction to M. de Seze. Half an hour after M. de Seze
was gone the unhappy madman was announced. He came to tell me that he
withdrew his promise, that he had not sufficient command of himself to
give up seeing the Queen as often as possible. This new determination: was
a disagreeable message to take to her Majesty but how was I affected at
hearing her say, “Well, let him annoy me! but do not let him be deprived of
the blessing of freedom.”
[On the arrest of the King and Queen at Varennes, this
unfortunate Castelnaux attempted to starve himself to death.
The people in whose house he lived, becoming uneasy at his
absence, had the door of his room forced open, when he was
found stretched senseless on the floor. I do not know what
became of him after the 10th of August.—MADAME
CAMPAN.]
card parties lasted, he would remain opposite her Majesty. He placed
himself in the same manner before her at chapel, and never failed to be at
the King’s dinner or the dinner in public. At the theatre he invariably seated
himself as near the Queen’s box as possible. He always set off for
Fontainebleau or St. Cloud the day before the Court, and when her Majesty
arrived at her various residences, the first person she met on getting out of
her carriage was this melancholy madman, who never spoke to any one.
When the Queen stayed at Petit Trianon the passion of this unhappy man
became still more annoying. He would hastily swallow a morsel at some
eating-house, and spend all the rest of the day, even when it rained, in going
round and round the garden, always walking at the edge of the moat. The
Queen frequently met him when she was either alone or with her children;
and yet she would not suffer any violence to be used to relieve her from this
intolerable annoyance. Having one day given M. de Seze permission to
enter Trianon, she sent to desire he would come to me, and directed me to
inform that celebrated advocate of M. de Castelnaux’s derangement, and
then to send for him that M. de Seze might have some conversation with
him. He talked to him nearly an hour, and made considerable impression
upon his mind; and at last M. de Castelnaux requested me to inform the
Queen positively that, since his presence was disagreeable to her, he would
retire to his province. The Queen was very much rejoiced, and desired me
to express her full satisfaction to M. de Seze. Half an hour after M. de Seze
was gone the unhappy madman was announced. He came to tell me that he
withdrew his promise, that he had not sufficient command of himself to
give up seeing the Queen as often as possible. This new determination: was
a disagreeable message to take to her Majesty but how was I affected at
hearing her say, “Well, let him annoy me! but do not let him be deprived of
the blessing of freedom.”
[On the arrest of the King and Queen at Varennes, this
unfortunate Castelnaux attempted to starve himself to death.
The people in whose house he lived, becoming uneasy at his
absence, had the door of his room forced open, when he was
found stretched senseless on the floor. I do not know what
became of him after the 10th of August.—MADAME
CAMPAN.]
Page 182
The direct influence of the Queen on affairs during the earlier years of
the reign was shown only in her exertions to obtain from the King a
revision of the decrees in two celebrated causes. It was contrary to her
principles to interfere in matters of justice, and never did she avail herself
of her influence to bias the tribunals. The Duchesse de Praslin, through a
criminal caprice, carried her enmity to her husband so far as to disinherit
her children in favour of the family of M. de Guemenee. The Duchesse de
Choiseul, who, was warmly interested in this affair, one day entreated the
Queen, in my presence, at least to condescend to ask the first president
when the cause would be called on; the Queen replied that she could not
even do that, for it would manifest an interest which it was her duty not to
show.
If the King had not inspired the Queen with a lively feeling of love, it is
quite certain that she yielded him respect and affection for the goodness of
his disposition and the equity of which he gave so many proofs throughout
his reign. One evening she returned very late; she came out of the King’s
closet, and said to M. de Misery and myself, drying her eyes, which were
filled with tears, “You see me weeping, but do not be uneasy at it: these are
the sweetest tears that a wife can shed; they are caused by the impression
which the justice and goodness of the King have made upon me; he has just
complied with my request for a revision of the proceedings against
Messieurs de Bellegarde and de Monthieu, victims of the Duc d’Aiguillon’s
hatred to the Duc de Choiseul. He has been equally just to the Duc de
Guines in his affair with Tort. It is a happy thing for a queen to be able to
admire and esteem him who has admitted her to a participation of his
throne; and as to you, I congratulate you upon your having to live under the
sceptre of so virtuous a sovereign.”
The Queen laid before the King all the memorials of the Duc de Guines,
who, during his embassy to England, was involved in difficulties by a
secretary, who speculated in the public funds in London on his own
account, but in such a manner as to throw a suspicion of it on the
ambassador. Messieurs de Vergennes and Turgot, bearing but little good-
will to the Duc de Guines, who was the friend of the Duc de Choiseul, were
not disposed to render the ambassador any service. The Queen succeeded in
fixing the King’s particular attention on this affair, and the innocence of the
Duc de Guines triumphed through the equity of Louis XVI.
the reign was shown only in her exertions to obtain from the King a
revision of the decrees in two celebrated causes. It was contrary to her
principles to interfere in matters of justice, and never did she avail herself
of her influence to bias the tribunals. The Duchesse de Praslin, through a
criminal caprice, carried her enmity to her husband so far as to disinherit
her children in favour of the family of M. de Guemenee. The Duchesse de
Choiseul, who, was warmly interested in this affair, one day entreated the
Queen, in my presence, at least to condescend to ask the first president
when the cause would be called on; the Queen replied that she could not
even do that, for it would manifest an interest which it was her duty not to
show.
If the King had not inspired the Queen with a lively feeling of love, it is
quite certain that she yielded him respect and affection for the goodness of
his disposition and the equity of which he gave so many proofs throughout
his reign. One evening she returned very late; she came out of the King’s
closet, and said to M. de Misery and myself, drying her eyes, which were
filled with tears, “You see me weeping, but do not be uneasy at it: these are
the sweetest tears that a wife can shed; they are caused by the impression
which the justice and goodness of the King have made upon me; he has just
complied with my request for a revision of the proceedings against
Messieurs de Bellegarde and de Monthieu, victims of the Duc d’Aiguillon’s
hatred to the Duc de Choiseul. He has been equally just to the Duc de
Guines in his affair with Tort. It is a happy thing for a queen to be able to
admire and esteem him who has admitted her to a participation of his
throne; and as to you, I congratulate you upon your having to live under the
sceptre of so virtuous a sovereign.”
The Queen laid before the King all the memorials of the Duc de Guines,
who, during his embassy to England, was involved in difficulties by a
secretary, who speculated in the public funds in London on his own
account, but in such a manner as to throw a suspicion of it on the
ambassador. Messieurs de Vergennes and Turgot, bearing but little good-
will to the Duc de Guines, who was the friend of the Duc de Choiseul, were
not disposed to render the ambassador any service. The Queen succeeded in
fixing the King’s particular attention on this affair, and the innocence of the
Duc de Guines triumphed through the equity of Louis XVI.
Page 183
An incessant underhand war was carried on between the friends and
partisans of M. de Choiseul, who were called the Austrians, and those who
sided with Messieurs d’Aiguillon, de Maurepas, and de Vergennes, who, for
the same reason, kept up the intrigues carried on at Court and in Paris
against the Queen. Marie Antoinette, on her part, supported those who had
suffered in this political quarrel, and it was this feeling which led her to ask
for a revision of the proceedings against Messieurs de Bellegarde and de
Monthieu. The first, a colonel and inspector of artillery, and the second,
proprietor of a foundry at St. Etienne, were, under the Ministry of the Duc
d’Aiguillon, condemned to imprisonment for twenty years and a day for
having withdrawn from the arsenals of France, by order of the Duc de
Choiseul, a vast number of muskets, as being of no value except as old iron,
while in point of fact the greater part of those muskets were immediately
embarked and sold to the Americans. It appears that the Duc de Choiseul
imparted to the Queen, as grounds of defence for the accused, the political
views which led him to authorise that reduction and sale in the manner in
which it had been executed. It rendered the case of Messieurs de Bellegarde
and de Monthieu more unfavourable that the artillery officer who made the
reduction in the capacity of inspector was, through a clandestine marriage,
brother-in-law of the owner of the foundry, the purchaser of the rejected
arms. The innocence of the two prisoners was, nevertheless, made apparent;
and they came to Versailles with their wives and children to throw
themselves at the feet of their benefactress. This affecting scene took place
in the grand gallery, at the entrance to the Queen’s apartment. She wished to
restrain the women from kneeling, saying that they had only had justice
done them; and that she ought to be congratulated upon the most substantial
happiness attendant upon her station, that of laying just appeals before the
King.
On every occasion, when the Queen had to speak in public, she used the
most appropriate and elegant language, notwithstanding the difficulty a
foreigner might be expected to experience. She answered all addresses
herself, a custom which she learned at the Court of Maria Theresa. The
Princesses of the House of Bourbon had long ceased to take the trouble of
speaking in such cases. Madame Addlaide blamed the Queen for not doing
as they did, assuring her that it was quite sufficient to mutter a few words
that might sound like an answer, while the addressers, occupied with what
they had themselves been saying, would always take it for granted that a
partisans of M. de Choiseul, who were called the Austrians, and those who
sided with Messieurs d’Aiguillon, de Maurepas, and de Vergennes, who, for
the same reason, kept up the intrigues carried on at Court and in Paris
against the Queen. Marie Antoinette, on her part, supported those who had
suffered in this political quarrel, and it was this feeling which led her to ask
for a revision of the proceedings against Messieurs de Bellegarde and de
Monthieu. The first, a colonel and inspector of artillery, and the second,
proprietor of a foundry at St. Etienne, were, under the Ministry of the Duc
d’Aiguillon, condemned to imprisonment for twenty years and a day for
having withdrawn from the arsenals of France, by order of the Duc de
Choiseul, a vast number of muskets, as being of no value except as old iron,
while in point of fact the greater part of those muskets were immediately
embarked and sold to the Americans. It appears that the Duc de Choiseul
imparted to the Queen, as grounds of defence for the accused, the political
views which led him to authorise that reduction and sale in the manner in
which it had been executed. It rendered the case of Messieurs de Bellegarde
and de Monthieu more unfavourable that the artillery officer who made the
reduction in the capacity of inspector was, through a clandestine marriage,
brother-in-law of the owner of the foundry, the purchaser of the rejected
arms. The innocence of the two prisoners was, nevertheless, made apparent;
and they came to Versailles with their wives and children to throw
themselves at the feet of their benefactress. This affecting scene took place
in the grand gallery, at the entrance to the Queen’s apartment. She wished to
restrain the women from kneeling, saying that they had only had justice
done them; and that she ought to be congratulated upon the most substantial
happiness attendant upon her station, that of laying just appeals before the
King.
On every occasion, when the Queen had to speak in public, she used the
most appropriate and elegant language, notwithstanding the difficulty a
foreigner might be expected to experience. She answered all addresses
herself, a custom which she learned at the Court of Maria Theresa. The
Princesses of the House of Bourbon had long ceased to take the trouble of
speaking in such cases. Madame Addlaide blamed the Queen for not doing
as they did, assuring her that it was quite sufficient to mutter a few words
that might sound like an answer, while the addressers, occupied with what
they had themselves been saying, would always take it for granted that a
Page 184
proper answer had been returned. The Queen saw that idleness alone
dictated such a proceeding, and that as the practice even of muttering a few
words showed the necessity of answering in some way, it must be more
proper to reply simply but clearly, and in the best style possible. Sometimes
indeed, when apprised of the subject of the address, she would write down
her answer in the morning, not to learn it by heart, but in order to settle the
ideas or sentiments she wished to introduce.
The influence of the Comtesse de Polignac increased daily; and her
friends availed themselves of it to effect changes in the Ministry. The
dismissal of M. de Montbarrey, a man without talents or character, was
generally approved of. It was rightly attributed to the Queen. He had been
placed in administration by M. de Maurepas, and maintained by his aged
wife; both, of course, became more inveterate than ever against the Queen
and the Polignac circle.
The appointment of M. de Segur to the place of Minister of War, and of
M. de Castries to that of Minister of Marine, were wholly the work of that
circle. The Queen dreaded making ministers; her favourite often wept when
the men of her circle compelled her to interfere. Men blame women for
meddling in business, and yet in courts it is continually the men themselves
who make use of the influence of the women in matters with which the
latter ought to have nothing to do.
When M. de Segur was presented to the Queen on his new appointment,
she said to me, “You have just seen a minister of my making. I am very
glad, so far as regards the King’s service, that he is appointed, for I think
the selection a very good one; but I almost regret the part I have taken in it.
I take a responsibility upon myself. I was fortunate in being free from any;
and in order to relieve myself from this as much as possible I have just
promised M. de Segur, and that upon my word of honour, not to back any
petition, nor to hinder any of his operations by solicitations on behalf of my
proteges.”
During the first administration of M. Necker, whose ambition had not
then drawn him into schemes repugnant to his better judgment, and whose
views appeared to the Queen to be very judicious, she indulged in hopes of
the restoration of the finances. Knowing that M. de Maurepas wished to
drive M. Necker to resign, she urged him to have patience until the death of
an old man whom the King kept about him from a fondness for his first
dictated such a proceeding, and that as the practice even of muttering a few
words showed the necessity of answering in some way, it must be more
proper to reply simply but clearly, and in the best style possible. Sometimes
indeed, when apprised of the subject of the address, she would write down
her answer in the morning, not to learn it by heart, but in order to settle the
ideas or sentiments she wished to introduce.
The influence of the Comtesse de Polignac increased daily; and her
friends availed themselves of it to effect changes in the Ministry. The
dismissal of M. de Montbarrey, a man without talents or character, was
generally approved of. It was rightly attributed to the Queen. He had been
placed in administration by M. de Maurepas, and maintained by his aged
wife; both, of course, became more inveterate than ever against the Queen
and the Polignac circle.
The appointment of M. de Segur to the place of Minister of War, and of
M. de Castries to that of Minister of Marine, were wholly the work of that
circle. The Queen dreaded making ministers; her favourite often wept when
the men of her circle compelled her to interfere. Men blame women for
meddling in business, and yet in courts it is continually the men themselves
who make use of the influence of the women in matters with which the
latter ought to have nothing to do.
When M. de Segur was presented to the Queen on his new appointment,
she said to me, “You have just seen a minister of my making. I am very
glad, so far as regards the King’s service, that he is appointed, for I think
the selection a very good one; but I almost regret the part I have taken in it.
I take a responsibility upon myself. I was fortunate in being free from any;
and in order to relieve myself from this as much as possible I have just
promised M. de Segur, and that upon my word of honour, not to back any
petition, nor to hinder any of his operations by solicitations on behalf of my
proteges.”
During the first administration of M. Necker, whose ambition had not
then drawn him into schemes repugnant to his better judgment, and whose
views appeared to the Queen to be very judicious, she indulged in hopes of
the restoration of the finances. Knowing that M. de Maurepas wished to
drive M. Necker to resign, she urged him to have patience until the death of
an old man whom the King kept about him from a fondness for his first
Page 185
choice, and out of respect for his advanced age. She even went so far as to
tell him that M. de Maurepas was always ill, and that his end could not be
very distant. M. Necker would not wait for that event. The Queen’s
prediction was fulfilled. M. de Maurepas ended his days immediately after a
journey to Fontainebleau in 1781.
M. Necker had retired. He had been exasperated by a piece of treachery
in the old minister, for which he could not forgive him. I knew something of
this intrigue at the time; it has since been fully explained to me by Madame
la Marechale de Beauvau. M. Necker saw that his credit at Court was
declining, and fearing lest that circumstance should injure his financial
operations, he requested the King to grant him some favour which might
show the public that he had not lost the confidence of his sovereign. He
concluded his letter by pointing out five requests—such an office, or such a
mark of distinction, or such a badge of honour, and so on, and handed it to
M. de Maurepas. The or’s were changed into and’s; and the King was
displeased at M. Necker’s ambition, and the assurance with which he
displayed it. Madame la Marechale de Beauvau assured me that the
Marechal de Castries saw the minute of M. Necker’s letter, and that he
likewise saw the altered copy.
The interest which the Queen took in M. Necker died away during his
retirement, and at last changed into strong prejudice against him. He wrote
too much about the measures he would have pursued, and the benefits that
would have resulted to the State from them. The ministers who succeeded
him thought their operations embarrassed by the care that M. Necker and
his partisans incessantly took to occupy the public with his plans; his
friends were too ardent. The Queen discerned a party spirit in these
combinations, and sided wholly with his enemies.
After those inefficient comptrollers-general, Messieurs Joly de Fleury
and d’Ormesson, it became necessary to resort to a man of more
acknowledged talent, and the Queen’s friends, at that time combining with
the Comte d’Artois and with M. de Vergennes, got M. de Calonne
appointed. The Queen was highly displeased, and her close intimacy with
the Duchesse de Polignac began to suffer for this.
Her Majesty, continuing to converse with me upon the difficulties she
had met with in private life, told me that ambitious men without merit
sometimes found means to gain their ends by dint of importunity, and that
tell him that M. de Maurepas was always ill, and that his end could not be
very distant. M. Necker would not wait for that event. The Queen’s
prediction was fulfilled. M. de Maurepas ended his days immediately after a
journey to Fontainebleau in 1781.
M. Necker had retired. He had been exasperated by a piece of treachery
in the old minister, for which he could not forgive him. I knew something of
this intrigue at the time; it has since been fully explained to me by Madame
la Marechale de Beauvau. M. Necker saw that his credit at Court was
declining, and fearing lest that circumstance should injure his financial
operations, he requested the King to grant him some favour which might
show the public that he had not lost the confidence of his sovereign. He
concluded his letter by pointing out five requests—such an office, or such a
mark of distinction, or such a badge of honour, and so on, and handed it to
M. de Maurepas. The or’s were changed into and’s; and the King was
displeased at M. Necker’s ambition, and the assurance with which he
displayed it. Madame la Marechale de Beauvau assured me that the
Marechal de Castries saw the minute of M. Necker’s letter, and that he
likewise saw the altered copy.
The interest which the Queen took in M. Necker died away during his
retirement, and at last changed into strong prejudice against him. He wrote
too much about the measures he would have pursued, and the benefits that
would have resulted to the State from them. The ministers who succeeded
him thought their operations embarrassed by the care that M. Necker and
his partisans incessantly took to occupy the public with his plans; his
friends were too ardent. The Queen discerned a party spirit in these
combinations, and sided wholly with his enemies.
After those inefficient comptrollers-general, Messieurs Joly de Fleury
and d’Ormesson, it became necessary to resort to a man of more
acknowledged talent, and the Queen’s friends, at that time combining with
the Comte d’Artois and with M. de Vergennes, got M. de Calonne
appointed. The Queen was highly displeased, and her close intimacy with
the Duchesse de Polignac began to suffer for this.
Her Majesty, continuing to converse with me upon the difficulties she
had met with in private life, told me that ambitious men without merit
sometimes found means to gain their ends by dint of importunity, and that
Page 186
she had to blame herself for having procured M. d’Adhemar’s appointment
to the London embassy, merely because he teased her into it at the
Duchess’s house. She added, however, that it was at a time of perfect peace
with the English; that the Ministry knew the inefficiency of M. d’Adhemar
as well as she did, and that he could do neither harm nor good.
Often in conversations of unreserved frankness the Queen owned that she
had purchased rather dearly a piece of experience which would make her
carefully watch over the conduct of her daughters-in-law, and that she
would be particularly scrupulous about the qualifications of the ladies who
might attend them; that no consideration of rank or favour should bias her
in so important a choice. She attributed several of her youthful mistakes to a
lady of great levity, whom she found in her palace on her arrival in France.
She also determined to forbid the Princesses coming under her control the
practice of singing with professors, and said, candidly, and with as much
severity as her slanderers could have done, “I ought to have heard Garat
sing, and never to have sung duets with him.”
The indiscreet zeal of Monsieur Augeard contributed to the public belief
that the Queen disposed of all the offices of finance. He had, without any
authority for doing so, required the committee of fermiers-general to inform
him of all vacancies, assuring them that they would be meeting the wishes
of the Queen. The members complied, but not without murmuring. When
the Queen became aware of what her secretary had done, she highly
disapproved of it, caused her resentment to be made known to the fermiers-
general, and abstained from asking for appointments,—making only one
request of the kind, as a marriage portion for one of her attendants, a young
woman of good family.
to the London embassy, merely because he teased her into it at the
Duchess’s house. She added, however, that it was at a time of perfect peace
with the English; that the Ministry knew the inefficiency of M. d’Adhemar
as well as she did, and that he could do neither harm nor good.
Often in conversations of unreserved frankness the Queen owned that she
had purchased rather dearly a piece of experience which would make her
carefully watch over the conduct of her daughters-in-law, and that she
would be particularly scrupulous about the qualifications of the ladies who
might attend them; that no consideration of rank or favour should bias her
in so important a choice. She attributed several of her youthful mistakes to a
lady of great levity, whom she found in her palace on her arrival in France.
She also determined to forbid the Princesses coming under her control the
practice of singing with professors, and said, candidly, and with as much
severity as her slanderers could have done, “I ought to have heard Garat
sing, and never to have sung duets with him.”
The indiscreet zeal of Monsieur Augeard contributed to the public belief
that the Queen disposed of all the offices of finance. He had, without any
authority for doing so, required the committee of fermiers-general to inform
him of all vacancies, assuring them that they would be meeting the wishes
of the Queen. The members complied, but not without murmuring. When
the Queen became aware of what her secretary had done, she highly
disapproved of it, caused her resentment to be made known to the fermiers-
general, and abstained from asking for appointments,—making only one
request of the kind, as a marriage portion for one of her attendants, a young
woman of good family.
Page 187
CHAPTER XII.
The Queen did not sufficiently conceal the dissatisfaction she felt at
having been unable to prevent the appointment of M. de Calonne; she even
one day went so far as to say at the Duchess’s, in the midst of the partisans
and protectors of that minister, that the finances of France passed alternately
from the hands of an honest man without talent into those of a skilful knave.
M. de Calonne was thus far from acting in concert with the Queen all the
time that he continued in office; and, while dull verses were circulated
about Paris describing the Queen and her favourite dipping at pleasure into
the coffers of the comptroller-general, the Queen was avoiding all
communication with him.
During the long and severe winter of 1783-84 the King gave three
millions of livres for the relief of the indigent. M. de Calonne, who felt the
necessity of making advances to the Queen, caught at this opportunity of
showing her respect and devotion. He offered to place in her hands one
million of the three, to be distributed in her name and under her direction.
His proposal was rejected; the Queen answered that the charity ought to be
wholly distributed in the King’s name, and that she would this year debar
herself of even the slightest enjoyments, in order to contribute all her
savings to the relief of the unfortunate.
The moment M. de Calonne left the closet the Queen sent for me:
“Congratulate me, my dear,” said she; “I have just escaped a snare, or at
least a matter which eventually might have caused me much regret.” She
related the conversation which had taken place word for word to me,
adding, “That man will complete the ruin of the national finances. It is said
that I placed him in his situation. The people are made to believe that I am
extravagant; yet I have refused to suffer a sum of money from the royal
treasury, although destined for the most laudable purpose, even to pass
through my hands.”
The Queen did not sufficiently conceal the dissatisfaction she felt at
having been unable to prevent the appointment of M. de Calonne; she even
one day went so far as to say at the Duchess’s, in the midst of the partisans
and protectors of that minister, that the finances of France passed alternately
from the hands of an honest man without talent into those of a skilful knave.
M. de Calonne was thus far from acting in concert with the Queen all the
time that he continued in office; and, while dull verses were circulated
about Paris describing the Queen and her favourite dipping at pleasure into
the coffers of the comptroller-general, the Queen was avoiding all
communication with him.
During the long and severe winter of 1783-84 the King gave three
millions of livres for the relief of the indigent. M. de Calonne, who felt the
necessity of making advances to the Queen, caught at this opportunity of
showing her respect and devotion. He offered to place in her hands one
million of the three, to be distributed in her name and under her direction.
His proposal was rejected; the Queen answered that the charity ought to be
wholly distributed in the King’s name, and that she would this year debar
herself of even the slightest enjoyments, in order to contribute all her
savings to the relief of the unfortunate.
The moment M. de Calonne left the closet the Queen sent for me:
“Congratulate me, my dear,” said she; “I have just escaped a snare, or at
least a matter which eventually might have caused me much regret.” She
related the conversation which had taken place word for word to me,
adding, “That man will complete the ruin of the national finances. It is said
that I placed him in his situation. The people are made to believe that I am
extravagant; yet I have refused to suffer a sum of money from the royal
treasury, although destined for the most laudable purpose, even to pass
through my hands.”
Page 188
The Queen, making monthly retrenchments from the expenditure of her
privy purse, and not having spent the gifts customary at the period of her
confinement, was in possession of from five to six hundred thousand francs,
her own savings. She made use of from two to three hundred thousand
francs of this, which her first women sent to M. Lenoir, to the cures of Paris
and Versailles, and to the Soeurs Hospitalieres, and so distributed them
among families in need.
Desirous to implant in the breast of her daughter not only a desire to
succour the unfortunate, but those qualities necessary for the due discharge
of that duty, the Queen incessantly talked to her, though she was yet very
young, about the sufferings of the poor during a season so inclement. The
Princess already had a sum of from eight to ten thousand francs for
charitable purposes, and the Queen made her distribute part of it herself.
Wishing to give her children yet another lesson of beneficence, she
desired me on New Year’s eve to get from Paris, as in other years, all the
fashionable playthings, and have them spread out in her closet. Then taking
her children by the hand, she showed them all the dolls and mechanical toys
which were ranged there, and told them that she had intended to give them
some handsome New Year’s gifts, but that the cold made the poor so
wretched that all her money was spent in blankets and clothes to protect
them from the rigour of the season, and in supplying them with bread; so
that this year they would only have the pleasure of looking at the new
playthings. When she returned with her children into her sitting-room, she
said there was still an unavoidable expense to be incurred; that assuredly
many mothers would at that season think as she did,—that the toyman must
lose by it; and therefore she gave him fifty Louis to repay him for the cost
of his journey, and console him for having sold nothing.
The purchase of St. Cloud, a matter very simple in itself, had, on account
of the prevailing spirit, unfavourable consequences to the Queen.
The palace of Versailles, pulled to pieces in the interior by a variety of
new arrangements, and mutilated in point of uniformity by the removal of
the ambassadors’ staircase, and of the peristyle of columns placed at the end
of the marble court, was equally in want of substantial and ornamental
repair. The King therefore desired M. Micque to lay before him several
plans for the repairs of the palace. He consulted me on certain arrangements
analogous to some of those adopted in the Queen’s establishment, and in
privy purse, and not having spent the gifts customary at the period of her
confinement, was in possession of from five to six hundred thousand francs,
her own savings. She made use of from two to three hundred thousand
francs of this, which her first women sent to M. Lenoir, to the cures of Paris
and Versailles, and to the Soeurs Hospitalieres, and so distributed them
among families in need.
Desirous to implant in the breast of her daughter not only a desire to
succour the unfortunate, but those qualities necessary for the due discharge
of that duty, the Queen incessantly talked to her, though she was yet very
young, about the sufferings of the poor during a season so inclement. The
Princess already had a sum of from eight to ten thousand francs for
charitable purposes, and the Queen made her distribute part of it herself.
Wishing to give her children yet another lesson of beneficence, she
desired me on New Year’s eve to get from Paris, as in other years, all the
fashionable playthings, and have them spread out in her closet. Then taking
her children by the hand, she showed them all the dolls and mechanical toys
which were ranged there, and told them that she had intended to give them
some handsome New Year’s gifts, but that the cold made the poor so
wretched that all her money was spent in blankets and clothes to protect
them from the rigour of the season, and in supplying them with bread; so
that this year they would only have the pleasure of looking at the new
playthings. When she returned with her children into her sitting-room, she
said there was still an unavoidable expense to be incurred; that assuredly
many mothers would at that season think as she did,—that the toyman must
lose by it; and therefore she gave him fifty Louis to repay him for the cost
of his journey, and console him for having sold nothing.
The purchase of St. Cloud, a matter very simple in itself, had, on account
of the prevailing spirit, unfavourable consequences to the Queen.
The palace of Versailles, pulled to pieces in the interior by a variety of
new arrangements, and mutilated in point of uniformity by the removal of
the ambassadors’ staircase, and of the peristyle of columns placed at the end
of the marble court, was equally in want of substantial and ornamental
repair. The King therefore desired M. Micque to lay before him several
plans for the repairs of the palace. He consulted me on certain arrangements
analogous to some of those adopted in the Queen’s establishment, and in
Page 189
my presence asked M. Micque how much money would be wanted for the
execution of the whole work, and how many years he would be in
completing it. I forget how many millions were mentioned: M. Micque
replied that six years would be sufficient time if the Treasury made the
necessary periodical advances without any delay. “And how many years
shall you require,” said the King, “if the advances are not punctually
made?”—“Ten, Sire,” replied the architect. “We must then reckon upon ten
years,” said his Majesty, “and put off this great undertaking until the year
1790; it will occupy the rest of the century.”
The King afterwards talked of the depreciation of property which took
place at Versailles whilst the Regent removed the Court of Louis XV. to the
Tuileries, and said that he must consider how to prevent that inconvenience;
it was the desire to do this that promoted the purchase of St. Cloud. The
Queen first thought of it one day when she was riding out with the
Duchesse de Polignac and the Comtesse Diane; she mentioned it to the
King, who was much pleased with the thought,—the purchase confirming
him in the intention, which he had entertained for ten years, of quitting
Versailles.
The King determined that the ministers, public officers, pages, and a
considerable part of his stabling should remain at Versailles. Messieurs de
Breteuil and de Calonne were instructed to treat with the Duc d’Orleans for
the purchase of St. Cloud; at first they hoped to be able to conclude the
business by a mere exchange. The value of the Chateau de Choisy, de la
Muette, and a forest was equivalent to the sum demanded by the House of
Orleans; and in the exchange which the Queen expected she only saw a
saving to be made instead of an increase of expense. By this arrangement
the government of Choisy, in the hands of the Duc de Coigny, and that of
La Muette, in the hands of the Marechal de Soubise, would be suppressed.
At the same time the two concierges, and all the servants employed in these
two royal houses, would be reduced; but while the treaty was going forward
Messieurs de Breteuil and de Calonne gave up the point of exchange, and
some millions in cash were substituted for Choisy and La Muette.
The Queen advised the King to give her St. Cloud, as a means of
avoiding the establishment of a governor; her plan being to have merely a
concierge there, by which means the governor’s expenses would be saved.
The King agreed, and St. Cloud was purchased for the Queen. She provided
execution of the whole work, and how many years he would be in
completing it. I forget how many millions were mentioned: M. Micque
replied that six years would be sufficient time if the Treasury made the
necessary periodical advances without any delay. “And how many years
shall you require,” said the King, “if the advances are not punctually
made?”—“Ten, Sire,” replied the architect. “We must then reckon upon ten
years,” said his Majesty, “and put off this great undertaking until the year
1790; it will occupy the rest of the century.”
The King afterwards talked of the depreciation of property which took
place at Versailles whilst the Regent removed the Court of Louis XV. to the
Tuileries, and said that he must consider how to prevent that inconvenience;
it was the desire to do this that promoted the purchase of St. Cloud. The
Queen first thought of it one day when she was riding out with the
Duchesse de Polignac and the Comtesse Diane; she mentioned it to the
King, who was much pleased with the thought,—the purchase confirming
him in the intention, which he had entertained for ten years, of quitting
Versailles.
The King determined that the ministers, public officers, pages, and a
considerable part of his stabling should remain at Versailles. Messieurs de
Breteuil and de Calonne were instructed to treat with the Duc d’Orleans for
the purchase of St. Cloud; at first they hoped to be able to conclude the
business by a mere exchange. The value of the Chateau de Choisy, de la
Muette, and a forest was equivalent to the sum demanded by the House of
Orleans; and in the exchange which the Queen expected she only saw a
saving to be made instead of an increase of expense. By this arrangement
the government of Choisy, in the hands of the Duc de Coigny, and that of
La Muette, in the hands of the Marechal de Soubise, would be suppressed.
At the same time the two concierges, and all the servants employed in these
two royal houses, would be reduced; but while the treaty was going forward
Messieurs de Breteuil and de Calonne gave up the point of exchange, and
some millions in cash were substituted for Choisy and La Muette.
The Queen advised the King to give her St. Cloud, as a means of
avoiding the establishment of a governor; her plan being to have merely a
concierge there, by which means the governor’s expenses would be saved.
The King agreed, and St. Cloud was purchased for the Queen. She provided
Page 190
the same liveries for the porters at the gates and servants at the chateau as
for those at Trianon. The concierge at the latter place had put up some
regulations for the household, headed, “By order of the Queen.” The same
thing was done at St. Cloud. The Queen’s livery at the door of a palace
where it was expected none but that of the King would be seen, and the
words “By order of the Queen” at the head of the printed papers pasted near
the iron gates, caused a great sensation, and produced a very unfortunate
effect, not only among the common people, but also among persons of a
superior class. They saw in it an attack upon the customs of monarchy, and
customs are nearly equal to laws. The Queen heard of this, but she thought
that her dignity would be compromised if she made any change in the form
of these regulations, though they might have been altogether superseded
without inconvenience. “My name is not out of place,” said she, “in gardens
belonging to myself; I may give orders there without infringing on the
rights of the State.” This was her only answer to the representations which a
few faithful servants ventured to make on the subject. The discontent of the
Parisians on this occasion probably induced M. d’Espremenil, upon the first
troubles about the Parliament, to say that it was impolitic and immoral to
see palaces belonging to a Queen of France.
[The Queen never forgot this affront of M. d’Espremenil’s;
she said that as it was offered at a time when social order
had not yet been disturbed, she had felt the severest
mortification at it. Shortly before the downfall of the throne
M. Espremenil, having openly espoused the King’s side, was
insulted in the gardens of the Tuileries by the Jacobins, and
so ill-treated that he was carried home very ill. Somebody
recommended the Queen, on account of the royalist
principles he then professed, to send and inquire for him.
She replied that she was truly grieved at what had happened
to M. d’Espremenil, but that mere policy should never
induce her to show any particular solicitude about the man
who had been the first to make so insulting an attack upon
her character.—MADAME CAMPAN]
The Queen was very much dissatisfied with the manner in which M. de
Calonne had managed this matter. The Abbe de Vermond, the most active
for those at Trianon. The concierge at the latter place had put up some
regulations for the household, headed, “By order of the Queen.” The same
thing was done at St. Cloud. The Queen’s livery at the door of a palace
where it was expected none but that of the King would be seen, and the
words “By order of the Queen” at the head of the printed papers pasted near
the iron gates, caused a great sensation, and produced a very unfortunate
effect, not only among the common people, but also among persons of a
superior class. They saw in it an attack upon the customs of monarchy, and
customs are nearly equal to laws. The Queen heard of this, but she thought
that her dignity would be compromised if she made any change in the form
of these regulations, though they might have been altogether superseded
without inconvenience. “My name is not out of place,” said she, “in gardens
belonging to myself; I may give orders there without infringing on the
rights of the State.” This was her only answer to the representations which a
few faithful servants ventured to make on the subject. The discontent of the
Parisians on this occasion probably induced M. d’Espremenil, upon the first
troubles about the Parliament, to say that it was impolitic and immoral to
see palaces belonging to a Queen of France.
[The Queen never forgot this affront of M. d’Espremenil’s;
she said that as it was offered at a time when social order
had not yet been disturbed, she had felt the severest
mortification at it. Shortly before the downfall of the throne
M. Espremenil, having openly espoused the King’s side, was
insulted in the gardens of the Tuileries by the Jacobins, and
so ill-treated that he was carried home very ill. Somebody
recommended the Queen, on account of the royalist
principles he then professed, to send and inquire for him.
She replied that she was truly grieved at what had happened
to M. d’Espremenil, but that mere policy should never
induce her to show any particular solicitude about the man
who had been the first to make so insulting an attack upon
her character.—MADAME CAMPAN]
The Queen was very much dissatisfied with the manner in which M. de
Calonne had managed this matter. The Abbe de Vermond, the most active
Page 191
and persevering of that minister’s enemies, saw with delight that the
expedients of those from whom alone new resources might be expected
were gradually becoming exhausted, because the period when the
Archbishop of Toulouse would be placed over the finances was thereby
hastened.
The royal navy had resumed an imposing attitude during the war for the
independence of America; glorious peace with England had compensated
for the former attacks of our enemies upon the fame of France; and the
throne was surrounded by numerous heirs. The sole ground of uneasiness
was in the finances, but that uneasiness related only to the manner in which
they were administered. In a word, France felt confident in its own strength
and resources, when two events, which seem scarcely worthy of a place in
history, but which have, nevertheless, an important one in that of the French
Revolution, introduced a spirit of ridicule and contempt, not only against
the highest ranks, but even against the most august personages. I allude to a
comedy and a great swindling transaction.
Beaumarchais had long possessed a reputation in certain circles in Paris
for his wit and musical talents, and at the theatres for dramas more or less
indifferent, when his “Barbier de Seville” procured him a higher position
among dramatic writers. His “Memoirs” against M. Goesman had amused
Paris by the ridicule they threw upon a Parliament which was disliked; and
his admission to an intimacy with M. de Maurepas procured him a degree
of influence over important affairs. He then became ambitious of
influencing public opinion by a kind of drama, in which established
manners and customs should be held up to popular derision and the ridicule
of the new philosophers. After several years of prosperity the minds of the
French had become more generally critical; and when Beaumarchais had
finished his monstrous but diverting “Mariage de Figaro,” all people of any
consequence were eager for the gratification of hearing it read, the censors
having decided that it should not be performed. These readings of “Figaro”
grew so numerous that people were daily heard to say, “I have been (or I am
going to be) at the reading of Beaumarchais’s play.” The desire to see it
performed became universal; an expression that he had the art to use
compelled, as it were, the approbation of the nobility, or of persons in
power, who aimed at ranking among the magnanimous; he made his
“Figaro” say that “none but little minds dreaded little books.” The Baron de
Breteuil, and all the men of Madame de Polignac’s circle, entered the lists
expedients of those from whom alone new resources might be expected
were gradually becoming exhausted, because the period when the
Archbishop of Toulouse would be placed over the finances was thereby
hastened.
The royal navy had resumed an imposing attitude during the war for the
independence of America; glorious peace with England had compensated
for the former attacks of our enemies upon the fame of France; and the
throne was surrounded by numerous heirs. The sole ground of uneasiness
was in the finances, but that uneasiness related only to the manner in which
they were administered. In a word, France felt confident in its own strength
and resources, when two events, which seem scarcely worthy of a place in
history, but which have, nevertheless, an important one in that of the French
Revolution, introduced a spirit of ridicule and contempt, not only against
the highest ranks, but even against the most august personages. I allude to a
comedy and a great swindling transaction.
Beaumarchais had long possessed a reputation in certain circles in Paris
for his wit and musical talents, and at the theatres for dramas more or less
indifferent, when his “Barbier de Seville” procured him a higher position
among dramatic writers. His “Memoirs” against M. Goesman had amused
Paris by the ridicule they threw upon a Parliament which was disliked; and
his admission to an intimacy with M. de Maurepas procured him a degree
of influence over important affairs. He then became ambitious of
influencing public opinion by a kind of drama, in which established
manners and customs should be held up to popular derision and the ridicule
of the new philosophers. After several years of prosperity the minds of the
French had become more generally critical; and when Beaumarchais had
finished his monstrous but diverting “Mariage de Figaro,” all people of any
consequence were eager for the gratification of hearing it read, the censors
having decided that it should not be performed. These readings of “Figaro”
grew so numerous that people were daily heard to say, “I have been (or I am
going to be) at the reading of Beaumarchais’s play.” The desire to see it
performed became universal; an expression that he had the art to use
compelled, as it were, the approbation of the nobility, or of persons in
power, who aimed at ranking among the magnanimous; he made his
“Figaro” say that “none but little minds dreaded little books.” The Baron de
Breteuil, and all the men of Madame de Polignac’s circle, entered the lists
Page 192
as the warmest protectors of the comedy. Solicitations to the King became
so pressing that his Majesty determined to judge for himself of a work
which so much engrossed public attention, and desired me to ask M. Le
Noir, lieutenant of police, for the manuscript of the “Mariage de Figaro.”
One morning I received a note from the Queen ordering me to be with her
at three o’clock, and not to come without having dined, for she should
detain me some time. When I got to the Queen’s inner closet I found her
alone with the King; a chair and a small table were ready placed opposite to
them, and upon the table lay an enormous manuscript in several books. The
King said to me, “There is Beaumarchais’s comedy; you must read it to us.
You will find several parts troublesome on account of the erasures and
references. I have already run it over, but I wish the Queen to be acquainted
with the work. You will not mention this reading to any one.”
so pressing that his Majesty determined to judge for himself of a work
which so much engrossed public attention, and desired me to ask M. Le
Noir, lieutenant of police, for the manuscript of the “Mariage de Figaro.”
One morning I received a note from the Queen ordering me to be with her
at three o’clock, and not to come without having dined, for she should
detain me some time. When I got to the Queen’s inner closet I found her
alone with the King; a chair and a small table were ready placed opposite to
them, and upon the table lay an enormous manuscript in several books. The
King said to me, “There is Beaumarchais’s comedy; you must read it to us.
You will find several parts troublesome on account of the erasures and
references. I have already run it over, but I wish the Queen to be acquainted
with the work. You will not mention this reading to any one.”
Page 193
I began. The King frequently interrupted me by praise or censure, which
was always just. He frequently exclaimed, “That’s in bad taste; this man
continually brings the Italian concetti on the stage.” At that soliloquy of
Figaro in which he attacks various points of government, and especially at
the tirade against State prisons, the King rose up and said, indignantly:
“That’s detestable; that shall never be played; the Bastille must be
destroyed before the license to act this play can be any other than an act of
the most dangerous inconsistency. This man scoffs at everything that should
be respected in a government.”
“It will not be played, then?” said the Queen.
was always just. He frequently exclaimed, “That’s in bad taste; this man
continually brings the Italian concetti on the stage.” At that soliloquy of
Figaro in which he attacks various points of government, and especially at
the tirade against State prisons, the King rose up and said, indignantly:
“That’s detestable; that shall never be played; the Bastille must be
destroyed before the license to act this play can be any other than an act of
the most dangerous inconsistency. This man scoffs at everything that should
be respected in a government.”
“It will not be played, then?” said the Queen.
Page 194
“No, certainly,” replied Louis XVI.; “you may rely upon that.”
Still it was constantly reported that “Figaro” was about to be performed;
there were even wagers laid upon the subject; I never should have laid any
myself, fancying that I was better informed as to the probability than
anybody else; if I had, however, I should have been completely deceived.
The protectors of Beaumarchais, feeling certain that they would succeed in
their scheme of making his work public in spite of the King’s prohibition,
distributed the parts in the “Mariage de Figaro” among the actors of the
Theatre Francais. Beaumarchais had made them enter into the spirit of his
characters, and they determined to enjoy at least one performance of this so-
called chef d’oeuvre. The first gentlemen of the chamber agreed that M. de
la Ferte should lend the theatre of the Hotel des Menus Plaisirs, at Paris,
which was used for rehearsals of the opera; tickets were distributed to a vast
number of leaders of society, and the day for the performance was fixed.
The King heard of all this only on the very morning, and signed a ‘lettre de
cachet,’—[A ‘lettre de cachet’ was any written order proceeding from the
King. The term was not confined merely to orders for arrest.]—which
prohibited the performance. When the messenger who brought the order
arrived, he found a part of the theatre already filled with spectators, and the
streets leading to the Hotel des Menus Plaisirs filled with carriages; the
piece was not performed. This prohibition of the King’s was looked upon as
an attack on public liberty.
The disappointment produced such discontent that the words oppression
and tyranny were uttered with no less passion and bitterness at that time
than during the days which immediately preceded the downfall of the
throne. Beaumarchais was so far put off his guard by rage as to exclaim,
“Well, gentlemen, he won’t suffer it to be played here; but I swear it shall
be played,—perhaps in the very choir of Notre-Dame!” There was
something prophetic in these words. It was generally insinuated shortly
afterwards that Beaumarchais had determined to suppress all those parts of
his work which could be obnoxious to the Government; and on pretence of
judging of the sacrifices made by the author, M. de Vaudreuil obtained
permission to have this far-famed “Mariage de Figaro” performed at his
country house. M. Campan was asked there; he had frequently heard the
work read, and did not now find the alterations that had been announced;
this he observed to several persons belonging to the Court, who maintained
that the author had made all the sacrifices required. M. Campan was so
Still it was constantly reported that “Figaro” was about to be performed;
there were even wagers laid upon the subject; I never should have laid any
myself, fancying that I was better informed as to the probability than
anybody else; if I had, however, I should have been completely deceived.
The protectors of Beaumarchais, feeling certain that they would succeed in
their scheme of making his work public in spite of the King’s prohibition,
distributed the parts in the “Mariage de Figaro” among the actors of the
Theatre Francais. Beaumarchais had made them enter into the spirit of his
characters, and they determined to enjoy at least one performance of this so-
called chef d’oeuvre. The first gentlemen of the chamber agreed that M. de
la Ferte should lend the theatre of the Hotel des Menus Plaisirs, at Paris,
which was used for rehearsals of the opera; tickets were distributed to a vast
number of leaders of society, and the day for the performance was fixed.
The King heard of all this only on the very morning, and signed a ‘lettre de
cachet,’—[A ‘lettre de cachet’ was any written order proceeding from the
King. The term was not confined merely to orders for arrest.]—which
prohibited the performance. When the messenger who brought the order
arrived, he found a part of the theatre already filled with spectators, and the
streets leading to the Hotel des Menus Plaisirs filled with carriages; the
piece was not performed. This prohibition of the King’s was looked upon as
an attack on public liberty.
The disappointment produced such discontent that the words oppression
and tyranny were uttered with no less passion and bitterness at that time
than during the days which immediately preceded the downfall of the
throne. Beaumarchais was so far put off his guard by rage as to exclaim,
“Well, gentlemen, he won’t suffer it to be played here; but I swear it shall
be played,—perhaps in the very choir of Notre-Dame!” There was
something prophetic in these words. It was generally insinuated shortly
afterwards that Beaumarchais had determined to suppress all those parts of
his work which could be obnoxious to the Government; and on pretence of
judging of the sacrifices made by the author, M. de Vaudreuil obtained
permission to have this far-famed “Mariage de Figaro” performed at his
country house. M. Campan was asked there; he had frequently heard the
work read, and did not now find the alterations that had been announced;
this he observed to several persons belonging to the Court, who maintained
that the author had made all the sacrifices required. M. Campan was so
Page 195
astonished at these persistent assertions of an obvious falsehood that he
replied by a quotation from Beaumarchais himself, and assuming the tone
of Basilio in the “Barbier de Seville,” he said, “Faith, gentlemen, I don’t
know who is deceived here; everybody is in the secret.” They then came to
the point, and begged him to tell the Queen positively that all which had
been pronounced reprehensible in M. de Beaumarchais’s play had been cut
out. My father-in-law contented himself with replying that his situation at
Court would not allow of his giving an opinion unless the Queen should
first speak of the piece to him. The Queen said nothing to him about the
matter. Shortly, afterwards permission to perform this play was at length
obtained. The Queen thought the people of Paris would be finely tricked
when they saw merely an ill-conceived piece, devoid of interest, as it must
appear when deprived of its Satire.
[“The King,” says Grimm, “made sure that the public
would judge unfavourably of the work.” He said to the
Marquis de Montesquiou, who was going to see the first
representation, ‘Well, what do you augur of its
success?’—‘Sire, I hope the piece will fail.’—‘And so do I,’
replied the King.
“There is something still more ridiculous than my piece,”
said Beaumarchais himself; “that is, its success.”
Mademoiselle Arnould foresaw it the first day, and
exclaimed, “It is a production that will fail fifty nights
successively.” There was as crowded an audience on the
seventy-second night as on the first. The following is
extracted from Grimm’s ‘Correspondence.’
“Answer of M. de Beaumarchais to ——-, who requested
the use of his private box for some ladies desirous of seeing
‘Figaro’ without being themselves seen.
“I have no respect for women who indulge themselves in
seeing any play which they think indecorous, provided they
can do so in secret. I lend myself to no such acts. I have
given my piece to the public, to amuse, and not to instruct,
not to give any compounding prudes the pleasure of going to
admire it in a private box, and balancing their account with
conscience by censuring it in company. To indulge in the
replied by a quotation from Beaumarchais himself, and assuming the tone
of Basilio in the “Barbier de Seville,” he said, “Faith, gentlemen, I don’t
know who is deceived here; everybody is in the secret.” They then came to
the point, and begged him to tell the Queen positively that all which had
been pronounced reprehensible in M. de Beaumarchais’s play had been cut
out. My father-in-law contented himself with replying that his situation at
Court would not allow of his giving an opinion unless the Queen should
first speak of the piece to him. The Queen said nothing to him about the
matter. Shortly, afterwards permission to perform this play was at length
obtained. The Queen thought the people of Paris would be finely tricked
when they saw merely an ill-conceived piece, devoid of interest, as it must
appear when deprived of its Satire.
[“The King,” says Grimm, “made sure that the public
would judge unfavourably of the work.” He said to the
Marquis de Montesquiou, who was going to see the first
representation, ‘Well, what do you augur of its
success?’—‘Sire, I hope the piece will fail.’—‘And so do I,’
replied the King.
“There is something still more ridiculous than my piece,”
said Beaumarchais himself; “that is, its success.”
Mademoiselle Arnould foresaw it the first day, and
exclaimed, “It is a production that will fail fifty nights
successively.” There was as crowded an audience on the
seventy-second night as on the first. The following is
extracted from Grimm’s ‘Correspondence.’
“Answer of M. de Beaumarchais to ——-, who requested
the use of his private box for some ladies desirous of seeing
‘Figaro’ without being themselves seen.
“I have no respect for women who indulge themselves in
seeing any play which they think indecorous, provided they
can do so in secret. I lend myself to no such acts. I have
given my piece to the public, to amuse, and not to instruct,
not to give any compounding prudes the pleasure of going to
admire it in a private box, and balancing their account with
conscience by censuring it in company. To indulge in the
Page 196
pleasure of vice and assume the credit of virtue is the
hypocrisy of the age. My piece is not of a doubtful nature; it
must be patronised in good earnest, or avoided altogether;
therefore, with all respect to you, I shall keep my box.” This
letter was circulated all over Paris for a week.]
Under the persuasion that there was not a passage left capable of
malicious or dangerous application, Monsieur attended the first
performance in a public box. The mad enthusiasm of the public in favour of
the piece and Monsieur’s just displeasure are well known. The author was
sent to prison soon afterwards, though his work was extolled to the skies,
and though the Court durst not suspend its performance.
The Queen testified her displeasure against all who had assisted the
author of the “Mariage de Figaro” to deceive the King into giving his
consent that it should be represented. Her reproaches were more particularly
directed against M. de Vaudreuil for having had it performed at his house.
The violent and domineering disposition of her favourite’s friend at last
became disagreeable to her.
One evening, on the Queen’s return from the Duchess’s, she desired her
‘valet de chambre’ to bring her billiard cue into her closet, and ordered me
to open the box that contained it. I took out the cue, broken in two. It was of
ivory, and formed of one single elephant’s tooth; the butt was of gold and
very tastefully wrought. “There,” said she, “that is the way M. de Vaudreuil
has treated a thing I valued highly. I had laid it upon the couch while I was
talking to the Duchess in the salon; he had the assurance to make use of it,
and in a fit of passion about a blocked ball, he struck the cue so violently
against the table that he broke it in two. The noise brought me back into the
billiard-room; I did not say a word to him, but my looks showed him how
angry I was. He is the more provoked at the accident, as he aspires to the
post of Governor to the Dauphin. I never thought of him for the place. It is
quite enough to have consulted my heart only in the choice of a governess;
and I will not suffer that of a Governor to the Dauphin to be at all affected
by the influence of my friends. I should be responsible for it to the nation.
The poor man does not know that my determination is taken; for I have
never expressed it to the Duchess. Therefore, judge of the sort of an evening
he must have passed!”
hypocrisy of the age. My piece is not of a doubtful nature; it
must be patronised in good earnest, or avoided altogether;
therefore, with all respect to you, I shall keep my box.” This
letter was circulated all over Paris for a week.]
Under the persuasion that there was not a passage left capable of
malicious or dangerous application, Monsieur attended the first
performance in a public box. The mad enthusiasm of the public in favour of
the piece and Monsieur’s just displeasure are well known. The author was
sent to prison soon afterwards, though his work was extolled to the skies,
and though the Court durst not suspend its performance.
The Queen testified her displeasure against all who had assisted the
author of the “Mariage de Figaro” to deceive the King into giving his
consent that it should be represented. Her reproaches were more particularly
directed against M. de Vaudreuil for having had it performed at his house.
The violent and domineering disposition of her favourite’s friend at last
became disagreeable to her.
One evening, on the Queen’s return from the Duchess’s, she desired her
‘valet de chambre’ to bring her billiard cue into her closet, and ordered me
to open the box that contained it. I took out the cue, broken in two. It was of
ivory, and formed of one single elephant’s tooth; the butt was of gold and
very tastefully wrought. “There,” said she, “that is the way M. de Vaudreuil
has treated a thing I valued highly. I had laid it upon the couch while I was
talking to the Duchess in the salon; he had the assurance to make use of it,
and in a fit of passion about a blocked ball, he struck the cue so violently
against the table that he broke it in two. The noise brought me back into the
billiard-room; I did not say a word to him, but my looks showed him how
angry I was. He is the more provoked at the accident, as he aspires to the
post of Governor to the Dauphin. I never thought of him for the place. It is
quite enough to have consulted my heart only in the choice of a governess;
and I will not suffer that of a Governor to the Dauphin to be at all affected
by the influence of my friends. I should be responsible for it to the nation.
The poor man does not know that my determination is taken; for I have
never expressed it to the Duchess. Therefore, judge of the sort of an evening
he must have passed!”
Page 197
Page 198
CHAPTER XIII.
Shortly after the public mind had been thrown into agitation by the
performance of the “Mariage de Figaro,” an obscure plot, contrived by
swindlers, and matured in a corrupted society, attacked the Queen’s
character in a vital point and assailed the majesty of the throne.
I am about to speak of the notorious affair of the necklace purchased, as
it was said, for the Queen by Cardinal de Rohan. I will narrate all that has
come to my knowledge relating to this business; the most minute particulars
will prove how little reason the Queen had to apprehend the blow by which
she was threatened, and which must be attributed to a fatality that human
prudence could not have foreseen, but from which, to say the truth, she
might have extricated herself with more skill.
I have already said that in 1774 the Queen purchased jewels of Boehmer
to the value of three hundred and sixty thousand franca, that she paid for
them herself out of her own private funds, and that it required several years
to enable her to complete the payment. The King afterwards presented her
with a set of rubies and diamonds of a fine water, and subsequently with a
pair of bracelets worth two hundred thousand francs. The Queen, after
having her diamonds reset in new patterns, told Boehmer that she found her
jewel case rich enough, and was not desirous of making any addition to it.
[Except on those days when the assemblies at Court were
particularly attended, such as the 1st of January and the 2d
of February, devoted to the procession of the Order of the
Holy Ghost, and on the festivals of Easter, Whitsuntide, and
Christmas, the Queen no longer wore any dresses but muslin
or white Florentine taffety. Her head-dress was merely a
hat; the plainest were preferred; and her diamonds never
quitted their caskets but for the dresses of ceremony,
confined to the days I have mentioned. Before the Queen was
five and twenty she began to apprehend that she might be
Shortly after the public mind had been thrown into agitation by the
performance of the “Mariage de Figaro,” an obscure plot, contrived by
swindlers, and matured in a corrupted society, attacked the Queen’s
character in a vital point and assailed the majesty of the throne.
I am about to speak of the notorious affair of the necklace purchased, as
it was said, for the Queen by Cardinal de Rohan. I will narrate all that has
come to my knowledge relating to this business; the most minute particulars
will prove how little reason the Queen had to apprehend the blow by which
she was threatened, and which must be attributed to a fatality that human
prudence could not have foreseen, but from which, to say the truth, she
might have extricated herself with more skill.
I have already said that in 1774 the Queen purchased jewels of Boehmer
to the value of three hundred and sixty thousand franca, that she paid for
them herself out of her own private funds, and that it required several years
to enable her to complete the payment. The King afterwards presented her
with a set of rubies and diamonds of a fine water, and subsequently with a
pair of bracelets worth two hundred thousand francs. The Queen, after
having her diamonds reset in new patterns, told Boehmer that she found her
jewel case rich enough, and was not desirous of making any addition to it.
[Except on those days when the assemblies at Court were
particularly attended, such as the 1st of January and the 2d
of February, devoted to the procession of the Order of the
Holy Ghost, and on the festivals of Easter, Whitsuntide, and
Christmas, the Queen no longer wore any dresses but muslin
or white Florentine taffety. Her head-dress was merely a
hat; the plainest were preferred; and her diamonds never
quitted their caskets but for the dresses of ceremony,
confined to the days I have mentioned. Before the Queen was
five and twenty she began to apprehend that she might be
Page 199
induced to make too frequent use of flowers and of
ornaments, which at that time were exclusively reserved for
youth. Madame Bertin having brought a wreath for the head
and neck, composed of roses, the Queen feared that the
brightness of the flowers might be disadvantageous to her
complexion. She was unquestionably too severe upon
herself, her beauty having as yet experienced no alteration;
it is easy to conceive the concert of praise and compliment
that replied to the doubt she had expressed. The Queen,
approaching me, said, “I charge you, from this day, to give
me notice when flowers shall cease to become me.”—“I
shall do no such thing,” I replied, immediately; “I have not
read ‘Gil Bias’ without profiting in some degree from it, and
I find your Majesty’s order too much like that given him by
the Archbishop of Granada, to warn him of the moment
when he should begin to fall off in the composition of his
homilies.”—“Go,” said the Queen; “You are less sincere
than Gil Blas; and I world have been more amenable than
the Archbishop.”—MADAME CAMPAN.]
Still, this jeweller busied himself for some years in forming a collection
of the finest diamonds circulating in the trade, in order to compose a
necklace of several rows, which he hoped to induce her Majesty to
purchase; he brought it to M. Campan, requesting him to mention it to the
Queen, that she might ask to see it, and thus be induced to wish to possess
it. This M. Campan refused to do, telling him that he should be stepping out
of the line of his duty were he to propose to the Queen an expense of
sixteen hundred thousand francs, and that he believed neither the lady of
honour nor the tirewoman would take upon herself to execute such a
commission. Boehmer persuaded the King’s first gentleman for the year to
show this superb necklace to his Majesty, who admired it so much that he
himself wished to see the Queen adorned with it, and sent the case to her;
but she assured him she should much regret incurring so great an expense
for such an article, that she had already very beautiful diamonds, that jewels
of that description were now worn at Court not more than four or five times
a year, that the necklace must be returned, and that the money would be
much better employed in building a man-of-war.
ornaments, which at that time were exclusively reserved for
youth. Madame Bertin having brought a wreath for the head
and neck, composed of roses, the Queen feared that the
brightness of the flowers might be disadvantageous to her
complexion. She was unquestionably too severe upon
herself, her beauty having as yet experienced no alteration;
it is easy to conceive the concert of praise and compliment
that replied to the doubt she had expressed. The Queen,
approaching me, said, “I charge you, from this day, to give
me notice when flowers shall cease to become me.”—“I
shall do no such thing,” I replied, immediately; “I have not
read ‘Gil Bias’ without profiting in some degree from it, and
I find your Majesty’s order too much like that given him by
the Archbishop of Granada, to warn him of the moment
when he should begin to fall off in the composition of his
homilies.”—“Go,” said the Queen; “You are less sincere
than Gil Blas; and I world have been more amenable than
the Archbishop.”—MADAME CAMPAN.]
Still, this jeweller busied himself for some years in forming a collection
of the finest diamonds circulating in the trade, in order to compose a
necklace of several rows, which he hoped to induce her Majesty to
purchase; he brought it to M. Campan, requesting him to mention it to the
Queen, that she might ask to see it, and thus be induced to wish to possess
it. This M. Campan refused to do, telling him that he should be stepping out
of the line of his duty were he to propose to the Queen an expense of
sixteen hundred thousand francs, and that he believed neither the lady of
honour nor the tirewoman would take upon herself to execute such a
commission. Boehmer persuaded the King’s first gentleman for the year to
show this superb necklace to his Majesty, who admired it so much that he
himself wished to see the Queen adorned with it, and sent the case to her;
but she assured him she should much regret incurring so great an expense
for such an article, that she had already very beautiful diamonds, that jewels
of that description were now worn at Court not more than four or five times
a year, that the necklace must be returned, and that the money would be
much better employed in building a man-of-war.
Page 200
[Messieurs Boehmer and Bassange, jewellers to the
Crown, were proprietors of a superb diamond necklace,
which had, as it was said, been intended for the Comtesse du
Barry. Being under the necessity of selling it, they offered it,
during the last war, to the king and Queen; but their
Majesties made the following prudent answer: “We stand
more in need of ships than of jewels.”—“Secret
Correspondence of the Court of Louis XVI.”]
Boehmer, in sad tribulation at finding his expectations delusive,
endeavoured for some time, it is said, to dispose of his necklace among the
various Courts of Europe.
A year after his fruitless attempts, Boehmer again caused his diamond
necklace to be offered to the King, proposing that it should be paid for
partly by instalments, and partly in life annuities; this proposal was
represented as highly advantageous, and the King, in my presence,
mentioned the matter once more to the Queen. I remember the Queen told
him that, if the bargain really was not bad, he might make it, and keep the
necklace until the marriage of one of his children; but that, for her part, she
would never wear it, being unwilling that the world should have to reproach
her with having coveted so expensive an article. The King replied that their
children were too young to justify such an expense, which would be greatly
increased by the number of years the diamonds would remain useless, and
that he would finally decline the offer. Boehmer complained to everybody
of his misfortune, and all reasonable people blamed him for having
collected diamonds to so considerable an amount without any positive order
for them. This man had purchased the office of jeweller to the Crown,
which gave him some rights of entry at Court. After several months spent in
ineffectual attempts to carry his point, and in idle complaints, he obtained
an audience of the Queen, who had with her the young Princess, her
daughter; her Majesty did not know for what purpose Boehmer sought this
audience, and had not the slightest idea that it was to speak to her again
about an article twice refused by herself and the King.
Boehmer threw himself upon his knees, clasped his hands, burst into
tears, and exclaimed, “Madame, I am ruined and disgraced if you do not
purchase my necklace. I cannot outlive so many misfortunes. When I go
hence I shall throw myself into the river.”
Crown, were proprietors of a superb diamond necklace,
which had, as it was said, been intended for the Comtesse du
Barry. Being under the necessity of selling it, they offered it,
during the last war, to the king and Queen; but their
Majesties made the following prudent answer: “We stand
more in need of ships than of jewels.”—“Secret
Correspondence of the Court of Louis XVI.”]
Boehmer, in sad tribulation at finding his expectations delusive,
endeavoured for some time, it is said, to dispose of his necklace among the
various Courts of Europe.
A year after his fruitless attempts, Boehmer again caused his diamond
necklace to be offered to the King, proposing that it should be paid for
partly by instalments, and partly in life annuities; this proposal was
represented as highly advantageous, and the King, in my presence,
mentioned the matter once more to the Queen. I remember the Queen told
him that, if the bargain really was not bad, he might make it, and keep the
necklace until the marriage of one of his children; but that, for her part, she
would never wear it, being unwilling that the world should have to reproach
her with having coveted so expensive an article. The King replied that their
children were too young to justify such an expense, which would be greatly
increased by the number of years the diamonds would remain useless, and
that he would finally decline the offer. Boehmer complained to everybody
of his misfortune, and all reasonable people blamed him for having
collected diamonds to so considerable an amount without any positive order
for them. This man had purchased the office of jeweller to the Crown,
which gave him some rights of entry at Court. After several months spent in
ineffectual attempts to carry his point, and in idle complaints, he obtained
an audience of the Queen, who had with her the young Princess, her
daughter; her Majesty did not know for what purpose Boehmer sought this
audience, and had not the slightest idea that it was to speak to her again
about an article twice refused by herself and the King.
Boehmer threw himself upon his knees, clasped his hands, burst into
tears, and exclaimed, “Madame, I am ruined and disgraced if you do not
purchase my necklace. I cannot outlive so many misfortunes. When I go
hence I shall throw myself into the river.”
Page 201
“Rise, Boehmer,” said the Queen, in a tone sufficiently severe to recall
him to himself; “I do not like these rhapsodies; honest men have no
occasion to fall on their knees to make their requests. If you were to destroy
yourself I should regret you as a madman in whom I had taken an interest,
but I should not be in any way responsible for that misfortune. Not only
have I never ordered the article which causes your present despair, but
whenever you have talked to me about fine collections of jewels I have told
you that I should not add four diamonds to those which I already possessed.
I told you myself that I declined taking the necklace; the King wished to
give it to me, but I refused him also; never mention it to me again. Divide it
and try to sell it piecemeal, and do not drown yourself. I am very angry with
you for acting this scene of despair in my presence and before this child.
Let me never see you behave thus again. Go.” Baehmer withdrew,
overwhelmed with confusion, and nothing further was then heard of him.
When Madame Sophie was born the Queen told me M. de Saint-James, a
rich financier, had apprised her that Boehmer was still intent upon the sale
of his necklace, and that she ought, for her own satisfaction, to endeavour to
learn what the man had done with it; she desired me the first time I should
meet him to speak to him about it, as if from the interest I took in his
welfare. I spoke to him about his necklace, and he told me he had been very
fortunate, having sold it at Constantinople for the favourite sultana. I
communicated this answer to the Queen, who was delighted with it, but
could not comprehend how the Sultan came to purchase his diamonds in
Paris.
The Queen long avoided seeing Boehmer, being fearful of his rash
character; and her valet de chambre, who had the care of her jewels, made
the necessary repairs to her ornaments unassisted. On the baptism of the
Duc d’Angouleme, in 1785, the King gave him a diamond epaulet and
buckles, and directed Baehmer to deliver them to the Queen. Boehmer
presented them on her return from mass, and at the same time gave into her
hands a letter in the form of a petition. In this paper he told the Queen that
he was happy to see her “in possession of the finest diamonds known in
Europe,” and entreated her not to forget him. The Queen read Boehmer’s
address to her aloud, and saw nothing in it but a proof of mental aberration;
she lighted the paper at a wax taper standing near her, as she had some
letters to seal, saying, “It is not worth keeping.” She afterwards much
regretted the loss of this enigmatical memorial. After having burnt the
him to himself; “I do not like these rhapsodies; honest men have no
occasion to fall on their knees to make their requests. If you were to destroy
yourself I should regret you as a madman in whom I had taken an interest,
but I should not be in any way responsible for that misfortune. Not only
have I never ordered the article which causes your present despair, but
whenever you have talked to me about fine collections of jewels I have told
you that I should not add four diamonds to those which I already possessed.
I told you myself that I declined taking the necklace; the King wished to
give it to me, but I refused him also; never mention it to me again. Divide it
and try to sell it piecemeal, and do not drown yourself. I am very angry with
you for acting this scene of despair in my presence and before this child.
Let me never see you behave thus again. Go.” Baehmer withdrew,
overwhelmed with confusion, and nothing further was then heard of him.
When Madame Sophie was born the Queen told me M. de Saint-James, a
rich financier, had apprised her that Boehmer was still intent upon the sale
of his necklace, and that she ought, for her own satisfaction, to endeavour to
learn what the man had done with it; she desired me the first time I should
meet him to speak to him about it, as if from the interest I took in his
welfare. I spoke to him about his necklace, and he told me he had been very
fortunate, having sold it at Constantinople for the favourite sultana. I
communicated this answer to the Queen, who was delighted with it, but
could not comprehend how the Sultan came to purchase his diamonds in
Paris.
The Queen long avoided seeing Boehmer, being fearful of his rash
character; and her valet de chambre, who had the care of her jewels, made
the necessary repairs to her ornaments unassisted. On the baptism of the
Duc d’Angouleme, in 1785, the King gave him a diamond epaulet and
buckles, and directed Baehmer to deliver them to the Queen. Boehmer
presented them on her return from mass, and at the same time gave into her
hands a letter in the form of a petition. In this paper he told the Queen that
he was happy to see her “in possession of the finest diamonds known in
Europe,” and entreated her not to forget him. The Queen read Boehmer’s
address to her aloud, and saw nothing in it but a proof of mental aberration;
she lighted the paper at a wax taper standing near her, as she had some
letters to seal, saying, “It is not worth keeping.” She afterwards much
regretted the loss of this enigmatical memorial. After having burnt the
Page 202
paper, her Majesty said to me, “That man is born to be my torment; he has
always some mad scheme in his head; remember, the first time you see him,
to tell him that I do not like diamonds now, and that I will buy no more so
long as I live; that if I had any money to spare I would rather add to my
property at St. Cloud by the purchase of the land surrounding it; now, mind
you enter into all these particulars and impress them well upon him.” I
asked her whether she wished me to send for him; she replied in the
negative, adding that it would be sufficient to avail myself of the first
opportunity afforded by meeting him; and that the slightest advance towards
such a man would be misplaced.
On the 1st of August I left Versailles for my country house at Crespy; on
the 3d came Boehmer, extremely uneasy at not having received any answer
from the Queen, to ask me whether I had any commission from her to him;
I replied that she had entrusted me with none; that she had no commands
for him, and I faithfully repeated all she had desired me to say to him.
“But,” said Boehmer, “the answer to the letter I presented to her,—to
whom must I apply for that?”
“To nobody,” answered I; “her Majesty burnt your memorial without
even comprehending its meaning.”
“Ah! madame,” exclaimed he, “that is impossible; the Queen knows that
she has money to pay me!”
“Money, M. Boehmer? Your last accounts against the Queen were
discharged long ago.”
“Madame, you are not in the secret. A man who is ruined for want of
payment of fifteen hundred thousand francs cannot be said to be satisfied.”
“Have you lost your senses?” said I. “For what can the Queen owe you so
extravagant a sum?”
“For my necklace, madame,” replied Boehmer, coolly.
“What!” I exclaimed, “that necklace again, which you have teased the
Queen about so many years! Did you not tell me you had sold it at
Constantinople?”
“The Queen desired me to give that answer to all who should speak to me
on the subject,” said the wretched dupe. He then told me that the Queen
wished to have the necklace, and had had it purchased for her by
Monseigneur, the Cardinal de Rohan.
always some mad scheme in his head; remember, the first time you see him,
to tell him that I do not like diamonds now, and that I will buy no more so
long as I live; that if I had any money to spare I would rather add to my
property at St. Cloud by the purchase of the land surrounding it; now, mind
you enter into all these particulars and impress them well upon him.” I
asked her whether she wished me to send for him; she replied in the
negative, adding that it would be sufficient to avail myself of the first
opportunity afforded by meeting him; and that the slightest advance towards
such a man would be misplaced.
On the 1st of August I left Versailles for my country house at Crespy; on
the 3d came Boehmer, extremely uneasy at not having received any answer
from the Queen, to ask me whether I had any commission from her to him;
I replied that she had entrusted me with none; that she had no commands
for him, and I faithfully repeated all she had desired me to say to him.
“But,” said Boehmer, “the answer to the letter I presented to her,—to
whom must I apply for that?”
“To nobody,” answered I; “her Majesty burnt your memorial without
even comprehending its meaning.”
“Ah! madame,” exclaimed he, “that is impossible; the Queen knows that
she has money to pay me!”
“Money, M. Boehmer? Your last accounts against the Queen were
discharged long ago.”
“Madame, you are not in the secret. A man who is ruined for want of
payment of fifteen hundred thousand francs cannot be said to be satisfied.”
“Have you lost your senses?” said I. “For what can the Queen owe you so
extravagant a sum?”
“For my necklace, madame,” replied Boehmer, coolly.
“What!” I exclaimed, “that necklace again, which you have teased the
Queen about so many years! Did you not tell me you had sold it at
Constantinople?”
“The Queen desired me to give that answer to all who should speak to me
on the subject,” said the wretched dupe. He then told me that the Queen
wished to have the necklace, and had had it purchased for her by
Monseigneur, the Cardinal de Rohan.
Page 203
“You are deceived,” I exclaimed; “the Queen has not once spoken to the
Cardinal since his return from Vienna; there is not a man at her Court less
favourably looked upon.”
“You are deceived yourself, madame,” said Boehmer; “she sees him so
much in private that it was to his Eminence she gave thirty thousand francs,
which were paid me as an instalment; she took them, in his presence, out of
the little secretaire of Sevres porcelain next the fireplace in her boudoir.”
“And the Cardinal told you all this?”
“Yes, madame, himself.”
“What a detestable plot!” cried I.
“Indeed, to say the truth, madame, I begin to be much alarmed, for his
Eminence assured me that the Queen would wear the necklace on Whit-
Sunday, but I did not see it upon her, and it was that which induced me to
write to her Majesty.”
He then asked me what he ought to do. I advised him to go on to
Versailles, instead of returning to Paris, whence he had just arrived; to
obtain an immediate audience from the Baron de Breteuil, who, as head of
the King’s household, was the minister of the department to which Boehmer
belonged, and to be circumspect; and I added that he appeared to me
extremely culpable,—not as a diamond merchant, but because being a
sworn officer it was unpardonable of him to have acted without the direct
orders of the King, the Queen, or the Minister. He answered, that he had not
acted without direct orders; that he had in his possession all the notes signed
by the Queen, and that he had even been obliged to show them to several
bankers in order to induce them to extend the time for his payments. I urged
his departure for Versailles, and he assured me he would go there
immediately. Instead of following my advice, he went to the Cardinal, and it
was of this visit of Boehmer’s that his Eminence made a memorandum,
found in a drawer overlooked by the Abbe Georgel when he burnt, by order
of the Cardinal, all the papers which the latter had at Paris. The
memorandum was thus worded: “On this day, 3d August, Boehmer went to
Madame Campan’s country house, and she told him that the Queen had
never had his necklace, and that he had been deceived.”
When Boehmer was gone, I wanted to follow him, and go to the Queen;
my father-in-law prevented me, and ordered me to leave the minister to
elucidate such an important affair, observing that it was an infernal plot;
Cardinal since his return from Vienna; there is not a man at her Court less
favourably looked upon.”
“You are deceived yourself, madame,” said Boehmer; “she sees him so
much in private that it was to his Eminence she gave thirty thousand francs,
which were paid me as an instalment; she took them, in his presence, out of
the little secretaire of Sevres porcelain next the fireplace in her boudoir.”
“And the Cardinal told you all this?”
“Yes, madame, himself.”
“What a detestable plot!” cried I.
“Indeed, to say the truth, madame, I begin to be much alarmed, for his
Eminence assured me that the Queen would wear the necklace on Whit-
Sunday, but I did not see it upon her, and it was that which induced me to
write to her Majesty.”
He then asked me what he ought to do. I advised him to go on to
Versailles, instead of returning to Paris, whence he had just arrived; to
obtain an immediate audience from the Baron de Breteuil, who, as head of
the King’s household, was the minister of the department to which Boehmer
belonged, and to be circumspect; and I added that he appeared to me
extremely culpable,—not as a diamond merchant, but because being a
sworn officer it was unpardonable of him to have acted without the direct
orders of the King, the Queen, or the Minister. He answered, that he had not
acted without direct orders; that he had in his possession all the notes signed
by the Queen, and that he had even been obliged to show them to several
bankers in order to induce them to extend the time for his payments. I urged
his departure for Versailles, and he assured me he would go there
immediately. Instead of following my advice, he went to the Cardinal, and it
was of this visit of Boehmer’s that his Eminence made a memorandum,
found in a drawer overlooked by the Abbe Georgel when he burnt, by order
of the Cardinal, all the papers which the latter had at Paris. The
memorandum was thus worded: “On this day, 3d August, Boehmer went to
Madame Campan’s country house, and she told him that the Queen had
never had his necklace, and that he had been deceived.”
When Boehmer was gone, I wanted to follow him, and go to the Queen;
my father-in-law prevented me, and ordered me to leave the minister to
elucidate such an important affair, observing that it was an infernal plot;
Page 204
that I had given Boehmer the best advice, and had nothing more to do with
the business. Boehmer never said one word to me about the woman De
Lamotte, and her name was mentioned for the first time by the Cardinal in
his answers to the interrogatories put to him before the King. After seeing
the Cardinal, Boehmer went to Trianon, and sent a message to the Queen,
purporting that I had advised him to come and speak to her. His very words
were repeated to her Majesty, who said, “He is mad; I have nothing to say
to him, and will not see him.” Two or three days afterwards the Queen sent
for me to Petit Trianon, to rehearse with me the part of Rosina, which she
was to perform in the “Barbier de Seville.” I was alone with her, sitting
upon her couch; no mention was made of anything but the part. After we
had spent an hour in the rehearsal, her Majesty asked me why I had sent
Boehmer to her; saying he had been in my name to speak to her, and that
she would not see him. It was in this manner I learnt that he had not
followed my advice in the slightest degree. The change of my countenance,
when I heard the man’s name, was very perceptible; the Queen perceived it,
and questioned me. I entreated her to see him, and assured her it was of the
utmost importance for her peace of mind; that there was a plot going on, of
which she was not aware; and that it was a serious one, since engagements
signed by herself were shown about to people who had lent Boehmer
money. Her surprise and vexation were great. She desired me to remain at
Trianon, and sent off a courier to Paris, ordering Boehmer to come to her
upon some pretext which has escaped my recollection. He came next
morning; in fact it was the day on which the play was performed, and that
was the last amusement the Queen allowed herself at that retreat.
The Queen made him enter her closet, and asked him by what fatality it
was that she was still doomed to hear of his foolish pretence of selling her
an article which she had steadily refused for several years. He replied that
he was compelled, being unable to pacify his creditors any longer. “What
are your creditors to me?” said her Majesty. Boehmer then regularly related
to her all that he had been made to believe had passed between the Queen
and himself through the intervention of the Cardinal. She was equally
incensed and surprised at each thing she heard. In vain did she speak; the
jeweller, equally importunate and dangerous, repeated incessantly,
“Madame, there is no longer time for feigning; condescend to confess that
you have my necklace, and let some assistance be given to me, or my
bankruptcy will soon bring the whole to light.”
the business. Boehmer never said one word to me about the woman De
Lamotte, and her name was mentioned for the first time by the Cardinal in
his answers to the interrogatories put to him before the King. After seeing
the Cardinal, Boehmer went to Trianon, and sent a message to the Queen,
purporting that I had advised him to come and speak to her. His very words
were repeated to her Majesty, who said, “He is mad; I have nothing to say
to him, and will not see him.” Two or three days afterwards the Queen sent
for me to Petit Trianon, to rehearse with me the part of Rosina, which she
was to perform in the “Barbier de Seville.” I was alone with her, sitting
upon her couch; no mention was made of anything but the part. After we
had spent an hour in the rehearsal, her Majesty asked me why I had sent
Boehmer to her; saying he had been in my name to speak to her, and that
she would not see him. It was in this manner I learnt that he had not
followed my advice in the slightest degree. The change of my countenance,
when I heard the man’s name, was very perceptible; the Queen perceived it,
and questioned me. I entreated her to see him, and assured her it was of the
utmost importance for her peace of mind; that there was a plot going on, of
which she was not aware; and that it was a serious one, since engagements
signed by herself were shown about to people who had lent Boehmer
money. Her surprise and vexation were great. She desired me to remain at
Trianon, and sent off a courier to Paris, ordering Boehmer to come to her
upon some pretext which has escaped my recollection. He came next
morning; in fact it was the day on which the play was performed, and that
was the last amusement the Queen allowed herself at that retreat.
The Queen made him enter her closet, and asked him by what fatality it
was that she was still doomed to hear of his foolish pretence of selling her
an article which she had steadily refused for several years. He replied that
he was compelled, being unable to pacify his creditors any longer. “What
are your creditors to me?” said her Majesty. Boehmer then regularly related
to her all that he had been made to believe had passed between the Queen
and himself through the intervention of the Cardinal. She was equally
incensed and surprised at each thing she heard. In vain did she speak; the
jeweller, equally importunate and dangerous, repeated incessantly,
“Madame, there is no longer time for feigning; condescend to confess that
you have my necklace, and let some assistance be given to me, or my
bankruptcy will soon bring the whole to light.”
Page 205
It is easy to imagine how the Queen must have suffered. On Boehmer’s
going away, I found her in an alarming condition; the idea that any one
could have believed that such a man as the Cardinal possessed her full
confidence; that she should have employed him to deal with a tradesman
without the King’s knowledge, for a thing which she had refused to accept
from the King himself, drove her to desperation. She sent first for the Abbe
de Vermond, and then for the Baron de Breteuil. Their hatred and contempt
for the Cardinal made them too easily forget that the lowest faults do not
prevent the higher orders of the empire from being defended by those to
whom they have the honour to belong; that a Rohan, a Prince of the Church,
however culpable he might be, would be sure to have a considerable party
which would naturally be joined by all the discontented persons of the
Court, and all the frondeurs of Paris. They too easily believed that he would
be stripped of all the advantages of his rank and order, and given up to the
disgrace due to his irregular conduct; they deceived themselves.
I saw the Queen after the departure of the Baron and the Abbe; her
agitation made me shudder. “Fraud must be unmasked,” said she; “when the
Roman purple and the title of Prince cover a mere money-seeker, a cheat
who dares to compromise the wife of his sovereign, France and all Europe
should know it.” It is evident that from that moment the fatal plan was
decided on. The Queen perceived my alarm; I did not conceal it from her. I
knew too well that she had many enemies not to be apprehensive on seeing
her attract the attention of the whole world to an intrigue that they would try
to complicate still more. I entreated her to seek the most prudent and
moderate advice. She silenced me by desiring me to make myself easy, and
to rest satisfied that no imprudence would be committed.
On the following Sunday, the 15th of August, being the Assumption, at
twelve o’clock, at the very moment when the Cardinal, dressed in his
pontifical garments, was about to proceed to the chapel, he was sent for into
the King’s closet, where the Queen then was.
The King said to him, “You have purchased diamonds of Boehmer?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“What have you done with them?”
“I thought they had been delivered to the Queen.”
“Who commissioned you?”
going away, I found her in an alarming condition; the idea that any one
could have believed that such a man as the Cardinal possessed her full
confidence; that she should have employed him to deal with a tradesman
without the King’s knowledge, for a thing which she had refused to accept
from the King himself, drove her to desperation. She sent first for the Abbe
de Vermond, and then for the Baron de Breteuil. Their hatred and contempt
for the Cardinal made them too easily forget that the lowest faults do not
prevent the higher orders of the empire from being defended by those to
whom they have the honour to belong; that a Rohan, a Prince of the Church,
however culpable he might be, would be sure to have a considerable party
which would naturally be joined by all the discontented persons of the
Court, and all the frondeurs of Paris. They too easily believed that he would
be stripped of all the advantages of his rank and order, and given up to the
disgrace due to his irregular conduct; they deceived themselves.
I saw the Queen after the departure of the Baron and the Abbe; her
agitation made me shudder. “Fraud must be unmasked,” said she; “when the
Roman purple and the title of Prince cover a mere money-seeker, a cheat
who dares to compromise the wife of his sovereign, France and all Europe
should know it.” It is evident that from that moment the fatal plan was
decided on. The Queen perceived my alarm; I did not conceal it from her. I
knew too well that she had many enemies not to be apprehensive on seeing
her attract the attention of the whole world to an intrigue that they would try
to complicate still more. I entreated her to seek the most prudent and
moderate advice. She silenced me by desiring me to make myself easy, and
to rest satisfied that no imprudence would be committed.
On the following Sunday, the 15th of August, being the Assumption, at
twelve o’clock, at the very moment when the Cardinal, dressed in his
pontifical garments, was about to proceed to the chapel, he was sent for into
the King’s closet, where the Queen then was.
The King said to him, “You have purchased diamonds of Boehmer?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“What have you done with them?”
“I thought they had been delivered to the Queen.”
“Who commissioned you?”
Page 206
“A lady, called the Comtesse de Lamotte-Valois, who handed me a letter
from the Queen; and I thought I was gratifying her Majesty by taking this
business on myself.”
The Queen here interrupted him and said, “How, monsieur, could you
believe that I should select you, to whom I have not spoken for eight years,
to negotiate anything for me, and especially through the mediation of a
woman whom I do not even know?”
“I see plainly,” said the Cardinal, “that I have been duped. I will pay for
the necklace; my desire to please your Majesty blinded me; I suspected no
trick in the affair, and I am sorry for it.”
He then took out of his pocket-book a letter from the Queen to Madame
de Lamotte, giving him this commission. The King took it, and, holding it
towards the Cardinal, said:
“This is neither written nor signed by the Queen. How could a Prince of
the House of Rohan, and a Grand Almoner of France, ever think that the
Queen would sign Marie Antoinette de France? Everybody knows that
queens sign only by their baptismal names. But, monsieur,” pursued the
King, handing him a copy of his letter to Baehmer, “have you ever written
such a letter as this?”
Having glanced over it, the Cardinal said, “I do not remember having
written it.”
“But what if the original, signed by yourself, were shown to you?”
“If the letter be signed by myself it is genuine.”
He was extremely confused, and repeated several times, “I have been
deceived, Sire; I will pay for the necklace. I ask pardon of your Majesties.”
“Then explain to me,” resumed the King, “the whole of this enigma. I do
not wish to find you guilty; I had rather you would justify yourself. Account
for all the manoeuvres with Baehmer, these assurances and these letters.”
The Cardinal then, turning pale, and leaning against the table, said, “Sire,
I am too much confused to answer your Majesty in a way—”
“Compose yourself, Cardinal, and go into my cabinet; you will there find
paper, pens, and ink,—write what you have to say to me.”
The Cardinal went into the King’s cabinet, and returned a quarter of an
hour afterwards with a document as confused as his verbal answers had
from the Queen; and I thought I was gratifying her Majesty by taking this
business on myself.”
The Queen here interrupted him and said, “How, monsieur, could you
believe that I should select you, to whom I have not spoken for eight years,
to negotiate anything for me, and especially through the mediation of a
woman whom I do not even know?”
“I see plainly,” said the Cardinal, “that I have been duped. I will pay for
the necklace; my desire to please your Majesty blinded me; I suspected no
trick in the affair, and I am sorry for it.”
He then took out of his pocket-book a letter from the Queen to Madame
de Lamotte, giving him this commission. The King took it, and, holding it
towards the Cardinal, said:
“This is neither written nor signed by the Queen. How could a Prince of
the House of Rohan, and a Grand Almoner of France, ever think that the
Queen would sign Marie Antoinette de France? Everybody knows that
queens sign only by their baptismal names. But, monsieur,” pursued the
King, handing him a copy of his letter to Baehmer, “have you ever written
such a letter as this?”
Having glanced over it, the Cardinal said, “I do not remember having
written it.”
“But what if the original, signed by yourself, were shown to you?”
“If the letter be signed by myself it is genuine.”
He was extremely confused, and repeated several times, “I have been
deceived, Sire; I will pay for the necklace. I ask pardon of your Majesties.”
“Then explain to me,” resumed the King, “the whole of this enigma. I do
not wish to find you guilty; I had rather you would justify yourself. Account
for all the manoeuvres with Baehmer, these assurances and these letters.”
The Cardinal then, turning pale, and leaning against the table, said, “Sire,
I am too much confused to answer your Majesty in a way—”
“Compose yourself, Cardinal, and go into my cabinet; you will there find
paper, pens, and ink,—write what you have to say to me.”
The Cardinal went into the King’s cabinet, and returned a quarter of an
hour afterwards with a document as confused as his verbal answers had
Page 207
been. The King then said, “Withdraw, monsieur.” The Cardinal left the
King’s chamber, with the Baron de Breteuil, who gave him in custody to a
lieutenant of the Body Guard, with orders to take him to his apartment. M.
d’Agoult, aide-major of the Body Guard, afterwards took him into custody,
and conducted him to his hotel, and thence to the Bastille. But while the
Cardinal had with him only the young lieutenant of the Body Guard, who
was much embarrassed at having such an order to execute, his Eminence
met his heyduc at the door of the Salon of Hercules; he spoke to him in
German and then asked the lieutenant if he could lend him a pencil; the
officer gave him that which he carried about him, and the Cardinal wrote to
the Abbe Georgel, his grand vicar and friend, instantly to burn all Madame
de Lamotte’s correspondence, and all his other letters.
[The Abbe Georgel thus relates the circumstance: “The
Cardinal, at that trying moment, gave an astonishing proof
of his presence of mind; notwithstanding the escort which
surrounded him, favoured by the attendant crowd, he
stopped, and stooping down with his face towards the wall,
as if to fasten his buckle, snatched out his pencil and hastily
wrote a few words upon a scrap of paper placed under his
hand in his square red cap. He rose again and proceeded.
On entering his house, his people formed a lane; he slipped
this paper, unperceived, into the hand of a confidential valet
de chambre, who waited for him at the door of his
apartment.” This story is scarcely credible; it is not at the
moment of a prisoner’s arrest, when an inquisitive crowd
surrounds and watches him, that he can stop and write
secret messages. However, the valet de chambre posts off to
Paris. He arrives at the palace of the Cardinal between
twelve and one o’clock; and his horse falls dead in the
stable. “I was in my apartment,” said the Abbe Georgel,
“the valet de chambre entered wildly, with a deadly paleness
on his countenance, and exclaimed, ‘All is lost; the Prince is
arrested.’ He instantly fell, fainting, and dropped the note of
which he was the bearer.” The portfolio containing the
papers which might compromise the Cardinal was
immediately placed beyond the reach of all search. Madame
King’s chamber, with the Baron de Breteuil, who gave him in custody to a
lieutenant of the Body Guard, with orders to take him to his apartment. M.
d’Agoult, aide-major of the Body Guard, afterwards took him into custody,
and conducted him to his hotel, and thence to the Bastille. But while the
Cardinal had with him only the young lieutenant of the Body Guard, who
was much embarrassed at having such an order to execute, his Eminence
met his heyduc at the door of the Salon of Hercules; he spoke to him in
German and then asked the lieutenant if he could lend him a pencil; the
officer gave him that which he carried about him, and the Cardinal wrote to
the Abbe Georgel, his grand vicar and friend, instantly to burn all Madame
de Lamotte’s correspondence, and all his other letters.
[The Abbe Georgel thus relates the circumstance: “The
Cardinal, at that trying moment, gave an astonishing proof
of his presence of mind; notwithstanding the escort which
surrounded him, favoured by the attendant crowd, he
stopped, and stooping down with his face towards the wall,
as if to fasten his buckle, snatched out his pencil and hastily
wrote a few words upon a scrap of paper placed under his
hand in his square red cap. He rose again and proceeded.
On entering his house, his people formed a lane; he slipped
this paper, unperceived, into the hand of a confidential valet
de chambre, who waited for him at the door of his
apartment.” This story is scarcely credible; it is not at the
moment of a prisoner’s arrest, when an inquisitive crowd
surrounds and watches him, that he can stop and write
secret messages. However, the valet de chambre posts off to
Paris. He arrives at the palace of the Cardinal between
twelve and one o’clock; and his horse falls dead in the
stable. “I was in my apartment,” said the Abbe Georgel,
“the valet de chambre entered wildly, with a deadly paleness
on his countenance, and exclaimed, ‘All is lost; the Prince is
arrested.’ He instantly fell, fainting, and dropped the note of
which he was the bearer.” The portfolio containing the
papers which might compromise the Cardinal was
immediately placed beyond the reach of all search. Madame
Page 208
de Lamotte also was foolishly allowed sufficient time after
she heard of the arrest of the Cardinal to burn all the letters
she had received from him. Assisted by Beugnot, she
completed this at three the same morning that she was:
arrested at four.—See “Memoirs of Comte de Beugnot,” vol
i., p. 74.]
This commission was executed before M. de Crosne, lieutenant of police,
had received an order from the Baron de Breteuil to put seals upon the
Cardinal’s papers. The destruction of all his Eminence’s correspondence,
and particularly that with Madame de Lamotte, threw an impenetrable cloud
over the whole affair.
From that moment all proofs of this intrigue disappeared. Madame de
Lamotte was apprehended at Bar-sur-Aube; her husband had already gone
to England. From the beginning of this fatal affair all the proceedings of the
Court appear to have been prompted by imprudence and want of foresight;
the obscurity resulting left free scope for the fables of which the
voluminous memorials written on one side and the other consisted. The
Queen so little imagined what could have given rise to the intrigue, of
which she was about to become the victim, that, at the moment when the
King was interrogating the Cardinal, a terrific idea entered her mind. With
that rapidity of thought caused by personal interest and extreme agitation,
she fancied that, if a design to ruin her in the eyes of the King and the
French people were the concealed motive of this intrigue, the Cardinal
would, perhaps, affirm that she had the necklace; that he had been honoured
with her confidence for this purchase, made without the King’s knowledge;
and point out some secret place in her apartment, where he might have got
some villain to hide it. Want of money and the meanest swindling were the
sole motives for this criminal affair. The necklace had already been taken to
pieces and sold, partly in London, partly in Holland, and the rest in Paris.
The moment the Cardinal’s arrest was known a universal clamour arose.
Every memorial that appeared during the trial increased the outcry. On this
occasion the clergy took that course which a little wisdom and the least
knowledge of the spirit of such a body ought to have foreseen. The Rohans
and the House of Conde, as well as the clergy, made their complaints heard
everywhere. The King consented to having a legal judgment, and early in
September he addressed letters-patent to the Parliament, in which he said
she heard of the arrest of the Cardinal to burn all the letters
she had received from him. Assisted by Beugnot, she
completed this at three the same morning that she was:
arrested at four.—See “Memoirs of Comte de Beugnot,” vol
i., p. 74.]
This commission was executed before M. de Crosne, lieutenant of police,
had received an order from the Baron de Breteuil to put seals upon the
Cardinal’s papers. The destruction of all his Eminence’s correspondence,
and particularly that with Madame de Lamotte, threw an impenetrable cloud
over the whole affair.
From that moment all proofs of this intrigue disappeared. Madame de
Lamotte was apprehended at Bar-sur-Aube; her husband had already gone
to England. From the beginning of this fatal affair all the proceedings of the
Court appear to have been prompted by imprudence and want of foresight;
the obscurity resulting left free scope for the fables of which the
voluminous memorials written on one side and the other consisted. The
Queen so little imagined what could have given rise to the intrigue, of
which she was about to become the victim, that, at the moment when the
King was interrogating the Cardinal, a terrific idea entered her mind. With
that rapidity of thought caused by personal interest and extreme agitation,
she fancied that, if a design to ruin her in the eyes of the King and the
French people were the concealed motive of this intrigue, the Cardinal
would, perhaps, affirm that she had the necklace; that he had been honoured
with her confidence for this purchase, made without the King’s knowledge;
and point out some secret place in her apartment, where he might have got
some villain to hide it. Want of money and the meanest swindling were the
sole motives for this criminal affair. The necklace had already been taken to
pieces and sold, partly in London, partly in Holland, and the rest in Paris.
The moment the Cardinal’s arrest was known a universal clamour arose.
Every memorial that appeared during the trial increased the outcry. On this
occasion the clergy took that course which a little wisdom and the least
knowledge of the spirit of such a body ought to have foreseen. The Rohans
and the House of Conde, as well as the clergy, made their complaints heard
everywhere. The King consented to having a legal judgment, and early in
September he addressed letters-patent to the Parliament, in which he said
Page 209
that he was “filled with the most just indignation on seeing the means
which, by the confession of his Eminence the Cardinal, had been employed
in order to inculpate his most dear spouse and companion.”
Fatal moment! in which the Queen found herself, in consequence of this
highly impolitic step, on trial with a subject, who ought to have been dealt
with by the power of the King alone. The Princes and Princesses of the
House of Conde, and of the Houses of Rohan, Soubise, and Guemenee, put
on mourning, and were seen ranged in the way of the members of the Grand
Chamber to salute them as they proceeded to the palace, on the days of the
Cardinal’s trial; and Princes of the blood openly canvassed against the
Queen of France.
The Pope wished to claim, on behalf of the Cardinal de Rohan, the right
belonging to his ecclesiastical rank, and demanded that he should be judged
at Rome. The Cardinal de Bernis, ambassador from France to his Holiness,
formerly Minister for Foreign Affairs, blending the wisdom of an old
diplomatist with the principles of a Prince of the Church, wished that this
scandalous affair should be hushed up. The King’s aunts, who were on very
intimate terms with the ambassador, adopted his opinion, and the conduct of
the King and Queen was equally and loudly censured in the apartments of
Versailles and in the hotels and coffee-houses of Paris.
Madame, the King’s sister-in-law, had been the sole protectress of De
Lamotte, and had confined her patronage to granting her a pension of
twelve to fifteen hundred francs. Her brother was in the navy, but the
Marquis de Chabert, to whom he had been recommended, could never train
a good officer. The Queen in vain endeavoured to call to mind the features
of this person, of whom she had often heard as an intriguing woman, who
came frequently on Sundays to the gallery of Versailles. At the time when
all France was engrossed by the persecution against the Cardinal, the
portrait of the Comtesse de Lamotte Valois was publicly sold. Her Majesty
desired me one day, when I was going to Paris, to buy her the engraving,
which was said to be a tolerable likeness, that she might ascertain whether
she could recognise in it any person whom she might have seen in the
gallery.
[The public, with the exception of the lowest class, were
admitted into the gallery and larger apartments of
which, by the confession of his Eminence the Cardinal, had been employed
in order to inculpate his most dear spouse and companion.”
Fatal moment! in which the Queen found herself, in consequence of this
highly impolitic step, on trial with a subject, who ought to have been dealt
with by the power of the King alone. The Princes and Princesses of the
House of Conde, and of the Houses of Rohan, Soubise, and Guemenee, put
on mourning, and were seen ranged in the way of the members of the Grand
Chamber to salute them as they proceeded to the palace, on the days of the
Cardinal’s trial; and Princes of the blood openly canvassed against the
Queen of France.
The Pope wished to claim, on behalf of the Cardinal de Rohan, the right
belonging to his ecclesiastical rank, and demanded that he should be judged
at Rome. The Cardinal de Bernis, ambassador from France to his Holiness,
formerly Minister for Foreign Affairs, blending the wisdom of an old
diplomatist with the principles of a Prince of the Church, wished that this
scandalous affair should be hushed up. The King’s aunts, who were on very
intimate terms with the ambassador, adopted his opinion, and the conduct of
the King and Queen was equally and loudly censured in the apartments of
Versailles and in the hotels and coffee-houses of Paris.
Madame, the King’s sister-in-law, had been the sole protectress of De
Lamotte, and had confined her patronage to granting her a pension of
twelve to fifteen hundred francs. Her brother was in the navy, but the
Marquis de Chabert, to whom he had been recommended, could never train
a good officer. The Queen in vain endeavoured to call to mind the features
of this person, of whom she had often heard as an intriguing woman, who
came frequently on Sundays to the gallery of Versailles. At the time when
all France was engrossed by the persecution against the Cardinal, the
portrait of the Comtesse de Lamotte Valois was publicly sold. Her Majesty
desired me one day, when I was going to Paris, to buy her the engraving,
which was said to be a tolerable likeness, that she might ascertain whether
she could recognise in it any person whom she might have seen in the
gallery.
[The public, with the exception of the lowest class, were
admitted into the gallery and larger apartments of
Page 210
Versailles, as they were into the park.—MADAME
CAMPAN.]
The woman De Lamotte’s father was a peasant at Auteuil, though he
called himself Valois. Madame de Boulainvilliers once saw from her terrace
two pretty little peasant girls, each labouring under a heavy bundle of
sticks. The priest of the village, who was walking with her, told her that the
children possessed some curious papers, and that he had no doubt they were
descendants of a Valois, an illegitimate son of one of the princes of that
name.
The family of Valois had long ceased to appear in the world. Hereditary
vices had gradually plunged them into the deepest misery. I have heard that
the last Valois then known occupied the estate called Gros Bois; that as he
seldom came to Court, Louis XIII. asked him what he was about that he
remained so constantly in the country; and that this M. de Valois merely
answered, “Sire, I only do there what I ought.” It was shortly afterwards
discovered that he was coining.
Neither the Queen herself nor any one near her ever had the slightest
connection with the woman De Lamotte; and during her prosecution she
could point out but one of the Queen’s servants, named Desclos, a valet of
the Queen’s bedchamber, to whom she pre tended she had delivered
Boehmer’s necklace. This Desclos was a very honest man; upon being
confronted with the woman De Lamotte, it was proved that she had never
seen him but once, which was at the house of the wife of a surgeon-
accoucheur at Versailles, the only person she visited at Court; and that she
had not given him the necklace. Madame de Lamotte married a private in
Monsieur’s body-guard; she lodged at Versailles at the Belle Image, a very
inferior furnished house; and it is inconceivable how so obscure a person
could succeed in making herself believed to be a friend of the Queen, who,
though so extremely affable, seldom granted audiences, and only to titled
persons.
The trial of the Cardinal is too generally known to require me to repeat
its details here. The point most embarrassing to him was the interview he
had in February, 1785, with M. de Saint-James, to whom he confided the
particulars of the Queen’s pretended commission, and showed the contract
approved and signed Marie Antoinette de France. The memorandum found
in a drawer of the Cardinal’s bureau, in which he had himself written what
CAMPAN.]
The woman De Lamotte’s father was a peasant at Auteuil, though he
called himself Valois. Madame de Boulainvilliers once saw from her terrace
two pretty little peasant girls, each labouring under a heavy bundle of
sticks. The priest of the village, who was walking with her, told her that the
children possessed some curious papers, and that he had no doubt they were
descendants of a Valois, an illegitimate son of one of the princes of that
name.
The family of Valois had long ceased to appear in the world. Hereditary
vices had gradually plunged them into the deepest misery. I have heard that
the last Valois then known occupied the estate called Gros Bois; that as he
seldom came to Court, Louis XIII. asked him what he was about that he
remained so constantly in the country; and that this M. de Valois merely
answered, “Sire, I only do there what I ought.” It was shortly afterwards
discovered that he was coining.
Neither the Queen herself nor any one near her ever had the slightest
connection with the woman De Lamotte; and during her prosecution she
could point out but one of the Queen’s servants, named Desclos, a valet of
the Queen’s bedchamber, to whom she pre tended she had delivered
Boehmer’s necklace. This Desclos was a very honest man; upon being
confronted with the woman De Lamotte, it was proved that she had never
seen him but once, which was at the house of the wife of a surgeon-
accoucheur at Versailles, the only person she visited at Court; and that she
had not given him the necklace. Madame de Lamotte married a private in
Monsieur’s body-guard; she lodged at Versailles at the Belle Image, a very
inferior furnished house; and it is inconceivable how so obscure a person
could succeed in making herself believed to be a friend of the Queen, who,
though so extremely affable, seldom granted audiences, and only to titled
persons.
The trial of the Cardinal is too generally known to require me to repeat
its details here. The point most embarrassing to him was the interview he
had in February, 1785, with M. de Saint-James, to whom he confided the
particulars of the Queen’s pretended commission, and showed the contract
approved and signed Marie Antoinette de France. The memorandum found
in a drawer of the Cardinal’s bureau, in which he had himself written what
Page 211
Baehmer told him after having seen me at my country house, was likewise
an unfortunate document for his Eminence.
I offered to the King to go and declare that Baehmer had told me that the
Cardinal assured him he had received from the Queen’s own hand the thirty
thousand francs given on account upon the bargain being concluded, and
that his Eminence had seen her Majesty take that sum in bills from the
porcelain secretaire in her boudoir. The King declined my offer, and said to
me, “Were you alone when Boehmer told you this?” I answered that I was
alone with him in my garden. “Well,” resumed he, “the man would deny the
fact; he is now sure of being paid his sixteen hundred thousand francs,
which the Cardinal’s family will find it necessary to make good to him; we
can no longer rely upon his sincerity; it would look as if you were sent by
the Queen, and that would not be proper.”
[The guilty woman no sooner knew that all was about to
be discovered than she sent for the jewellers, and told them
the Cardinal had perceived that the agreement, which he
believed to have been signed by the Queen, was a false and
forged document. “However,” added she, “the Cardinal
possesses a considerable fortune, and he can very well pay
you.” These words reveal the whole secret. The Countess
had taken the necklace to herself, and flattered herself that
M. de Rohan, seeing himself deceived and cruelly imposed
upon, would determine to pay and make the beat terms he
could, rather than suffer a matter of this nature to become
public.-“Secret Correspondence of the Court of Louis
XVI.”]
The procureur general’s information was severe on the Cardinal. The
Houses of Conde and Rohan and the majority of the nobility saw in this
affair only an attack on the Prince’s rank, the clergy only a blow aimed at
the privileges of a cardinal. The clergy demanded that the unfortunate
business of the Prince Cardinal de Rohan should be submitted to
ecclesiastical jurisdiction, and the Archbishop of Narbonne, then President
of the Convocation, made representations upon the subject to the King; the
bishops wrote to his Majesty to remind him that a private ecclesiastic
implicated in the affair then pending would have a right to claim his
an unfortunate document for his Eminence.
I offered to the King to go and declare that Baehmer had told me that the
Cardinal assured him he had received from the Queen’s own hand the thirty
thousand francs given on account upon the bargain being concluded, and
that his Eminence had seen her Majesty take that sum in bills from the
porcelain secretaire in her boudoir. The King declined my offer, and said to
me, “Were you alone when Boehmer told you this?” I answered that I was
alone with him in my garden. “Well,” resumed he, “the man would deny the
fact; he is now sure of being paid his sixteen hundred thousand francs,
which the Cardinal’s family will find it necessary to make good to him; we
can no longer rely upon his sincerity; it would look as if you were sent by
the Queen, and that would not be proper.”
[The guilty woman no sooner knew that all was about to
be discovered than she sent for the jewellers, and told them
the Cardinal had perceived that the agreement, which he
believed to have been signed by the Queen, was a false and
forged document. “However,” added she, “the Cardinal
possesses a considerable fortune, and he can very well pay
you.” These words reveal the whole secret. The Countess
had taken the necklace to herself, and flattered herself that
M. de Rohan, seeing himself deceived and cruelly imposed
upon, would determine to pay and make the beat terms he
could, rather than suffer a matter of this nature to become
public.-“Secret Correspondence of the Court of Louis
XVI.”]
The procureur general’s information was severe on the Cardinal. The
Houses of Conde and Rohan and the majority of the nobility saw in this
affair only an attack on the Prince’s rank, the clergy only a blow aimed at
the privileges of a cardinal. The clergy demanded that the unfortunate
business of the Prince Cardinal de Rohan should be submitted to
ecclesiastical jurisdiction, and the Archbishop of Narbonne, then President
of the Convocation, made representations upon the subject to the King; the
bishops wrote to his Majesty to remind him that a private ecclesiastic
implicated in the affair then pending would have a right to claim his
Page 212
constitutional judges, and that this right was refused to a cardinal, his
superior in the hierarchical order. In short, the clergy and the greater part of
the nobility were at that time outrageous against authority, and chiefly
against the Queen.
The procureur-general’s conclusions, and those of a part of the heads of
the magistracy, were as severe towards the Cardinal as the information had
been; yet he was fully acquitted by a majority of three voices; the woman
De Lamotte was condemned to be whipped, branded, and imprisoned; and
her husband, for contumacy, was condemned to the galleys for life.
[The following extract is from the “Memoirs” of the Abbe
Georgel: “The sittings were long and multiplied; it was
necessary to read the whole proceedings; more than fifty
judges sat; a master of requests; a friend of the Prince,
wrote down all that was said there, and sent it to his
advisers, who found means to inform the Cardinal of it, and
to add the plan of conduct he ought to pursue.”
D’Epremesnil, and other young counsellors, showed upon
that occasion but too much audacity in braving the Court,
too much eagerness in seizing an opportunity of attacking it.
They were the first to shake that authority which their
functions made it a duty in them to respect.—NOTE BY THE
EDITOR.]
M. Pierre de Laurencel, the procureur general’s substitute, sent the Queen
a list of the names of the members of the Grand Chamber, with the means
made use of by the friends of the Cardinal to gain their votes during the
trial. I had this list to keep among the papers which the Queen deposited in
the house of M. Campan, my father-in-law, and which, at his death, she
ordered me to preserve. I burnt this statement, but I remember ladies
performed a part not very creditable to their principles; it was by them, in
consideration of large sums which they received, that some of the oldest
and most respected members were won over. I did not see a single name
amongst the whole Parliament that was gained directly.
The belief confirmed by time is, that the Cardinal was completely duped
by the woman De Lamotte and Cagliostro. The King may have been in error
superior in the hierarchical order. In short, the clergy and the greater part of
the nobility were at that time outrageous against authority, and chiefly
against the Queen.
The procureur-general’s conclusions, and those of a part of the heads of
the magistracy, were as severe towards the Cardinal as the information had
been; yet he was fully acquitted by a majority of three voices; the woman
De Lamotte was condemned to be whipped, branded, and imprisoned; and
her husband, for contumacy, was condemned to the galleys for life.
[The following extract is from the “Memoirs” of the Abbe
Georgel: “The sittings were long and multiplied; it was
necessary to read the whole proceedings; more than fifty
judges sat; a master of requests; a friend of the Prince,
wrote down all that was said there, and sent it to his
advisers, who found means to inform the Cardinal of it, and
to add the plan of conduct he ought to pursue.”
D’Epremesnil, and other young counsellors, showed upon
that occasion but too much audacity in braving the Court,
too much eagerness in seizing an opportunity of attacking it.
They were the first to shake that authority which their
functions made it a duty in them to respect.—NOTE BY THE
EDITOR.]
M. Pierre de Laurencel, the procureur general’s substitute, sent the Queen
a list of the names of the members of the Grand Chamber, with the means
made use of by the friends of the Cardinal to gain their votes during the
trial. I had this list to keep among the papers which the Queen deposited in
the house of M. Campan, my father-in-law, and which, at his death, she
ordered me to preserve. I burnt this statement, but I remember ladies
performed a part not very creditable to their principles; it was by them, in
consideration of large sums which they received, that some of the oldest
and most respected members were won over. I did not see a single name
amongst the whole Parliament that was gained directly.
The belief confirmed by time is, that the Cardinal was completely duped
by the woman De Lamotte and Cagliostro. The King may have been in error
Page 213
in thinking him an accomplice in this miserable and criminal scheme, but I
have faithfully repeated his Majesty’s judgment about it.
However, the generally received opinion that the Baron de Breteuil’s
hatred for the Cardinal was the cause of the scandal and the unfortunate
result of this affair contributed to the disgrace of the former still more than
his refusal to give his granddaughter in marriage to the son of the Duc de
Polignac. The Abbe de Vermond threw the whole blame of the imprudence
and impolicy of the affair of the Cardinal de Rohan upon the minister, and
ceased to be the friend and supporter of the Baron de Breteuil with the
Queen.
In the early part of the year 1786, the Cardinal, as has been said, was
fully acquitted, and came out of the Bastille, while Madame de Lamotte
was condemned to be whipped, branded, and imprisoned. The Court,
persisting in the erroneous views which had hitherto guided its measures,
conceived that the Cardinal and the woman De Lamotte were equally
culpable and unequally punished, and sought to restore the balance of
justice by exiling the Cardinal to La Chaise-Dieu, and suffering Madame de
Lamotte to escape a few days after she entered l’Hopital. This new error
confirmed the Parisians in the idea that the wretch De Lamotte, who had
never been able to make her way so far as to the room appropriated to the
Queen’s women, had really interested the Queen herself.
[Further particulars will be found in the “Memoirs of the
Comte de Beugnot” (London: Hurst & Blackett, 1871), as he
knew Madame de Lamotte from the days of her early
childhood (when the three children, the Baron de Valois,
who died captain of a frigate, and the two Mademoiselles de
Saint-Remi, the last descendants of the Baron de Saint-Remi,
a natural son of Henri II., were almost starving) to the time
of her temporary prosperity. In fact, he was with her when
she burnt the correspondence of the Cardinal, in the interval
the Court foolishly allowed between his arrest and her
capture, and De Beugnot believed he had met at her house,
at the moment of their return from their successful trick, the
whole party engaged in deluding the Cardinal. It is worth
noting that he was then struck by the face of Mademoiselle
d’Oliva, who had just personated the Queen in presenting a
have faithfully repeated his Majesty’s judgment about it.
However, the generally received opinion that the Baron de Breteuil’s
hatred for the Cardinal was the cause of the scandal and the unfortunate
result of this affair contributed to the disgrace of the former still more than
his refusal to give his granddaughter in marriage to the son of the Duc de
Polignac. The Abbe de Vermond threw the whole blame of the imprudence
and impolicy of the affair of the Cardinal de Rohan upon the minister, and
ceased to be the friend and supporter of the Baron de Breteuil with the
Queen.
In the early part of the year 1786, the Cardinal, as has been said, was
fully acquitted, and came out of the Bastille, while Madame de Lamotte
was condemned to be whipped, branded, and imprisoned. The Court,
persisting in the erroneous views which had hitherto guided its measures,
conceived that the Cardinal and the woman De Lamotte were equally
culpable and unequally punished, and sought to restore the balance of
justice by exiling the Cardinal to La Chaise-Dieu, and suffering Madame de
Lamotte to escape a few days after she entered l’Hopital. This new error
confirmed the Parisians in the idea that the wretch De Lamotte, who had
never been able to make her way so far as to the room appropriated to the
Queen’s women, had really interested the Queen herself.
[Further particulars will be found in the “Memoirs of the
Comte de Beugnot” (London: Hurst & Blackett, 1871), as he
knew Madame de Lamotte from the days of her early
childhood (when the three children, the Baron de Valois,
who died captain of a frigate, and the two Mademoiselles de
Saint-Remi, the last descendants of the Baron de Saint-Remi,
a natural son of Henri II., were almost starving) to the time
of her temporary prosperity. In fact, he was with her when
she burnt the correspondence of the Cardinal, in the interval
the Court foolishly allowed between his arrest and her
capture, and De Beugnot believed he had met at her house,
at the moment of their return from their successful trick, the
whole party engaged in deluding the Cardinal. It is worth
noting that he was then struck by the face of Mademoiselle
d’Oliva, who had just personated the Queen in presenting a
Page 214
rose to the Cardinal. It may also be cited as a pleasing
quality of Madame de Lamotte that she, “in her ordinary
conversation, used the words stupid and honest as
synonymous.”—See “Beugnot,” vol. i., p. 60.]
quality of Madame de Lamotte that she, “in her ordinary
conversation, used the words stupid and honest as
synonymous.”—See “Beugnot,” vol. i., p. 60.]
Page 215
CHAPTER XIV.
The Abbe de Vermond could not repress his exultation when he
succeeded in getting the Archbishop of Sens appointed head of the council
of finance. I have more than once heard him say that seventeen years of
patience were not too long a term for success in a Court; that he spent all
that time in gaining the end he had in view; but that at length the
Archbishop was where he ought to be for the good of the State. The Abbe,
from this time, in the Queen’s private circle no longer concealed his credit
and influence; nothing could equal the confidence with which he displayed
the extent of his pretensions. He requested the Queen to order that the
apartments appropriated to him should be enlarged, telling her that, being
obliged to give audiences to bishops, cardinals, and ministers, he required a
residence suitable to his present circumstances. The Queen continued to
treat him as she did before the Archbishop’s arrival at Court; but the
household showed him increased consideration: the word “Monsieur”
preceded that of Abbe; and from that moment not only the livery servants,
but also the people of the antechambers rose when Monsieur l’Abbe was
passing, though there never was, to my knowledge, any order given to that
effect.
The Queen was obliged, on account of the King’s disposition and the
very limited confidence he placed in the Archbishop of Sens, to take a part
in public affairs. While M. de Maurepas lived she kept out of that danger, as
may be seen by the censure which the Baron de Besenval passes on her in
his memoirs for not availing herself of the conciliation he had promoted
between the Queen and that minister, who counteracted the ascendency
which the Queen and her intimate friends might otherwise have gained over
the King’s mind.
The Queen has often assured me that she never interfered respecting the
interests of Austria but once; and that was only to claim the execution of the
treaty of alliance at the time when Joseph II. was at war with Prussia and
Turkey; that, she then demanded that an army of twenty-four thousand men
The Abbe de Vermond could not repress his exultation when he
succeeded in getting the Archbishop of Sens appointed head of the council
of finance. I have more than once heard him say that seventeen years of
patience were not too long a term for success in a Court; that he spent all
that time in gaining the end he had in view; but that at length the
Archbishop was where he ought to be for the good of the State. The Abbe,
from this time, in the Queen’s private circle no longer concealed his credit
and influence; nothing could equal the confidence with which he displayed
the extent of his pretensions. He requested the Queen to order that the
apartments appropriated to him should be enlarged, telling her that, being
obliged to give audiences to bishops, cardinals, and ministers, he required a
residence suitable to his present circumstances. The Queen continued to
treat him as she did before the Archbishop’s arrival at Court; but the
household showed him increased consideration: the word “Monsieur”
preceded that of Abbe; and from that moment not only the livery servants,
but also the people of the antechambers rose when Monsieur l’Abbe was
passing, though there never was, to my knowledge, any order given to that
effect.
The Queen was obliged, on account of the King’s disposition and the
very limited confidence he placed in the Archbishop of Sens, to take a part
in public affairs. While M. de Maurepas lived she kept out of that danger, as
may be seen by the censure which the Baron de Besenval passes on her in
his memoirs for not availing herself of the conciliation he had promoted
between the Queen and that minister, who counteracted the ascendency
which the Queen and her intimate friends might otherwise have gained over
the King’s mind.
The Queen has often assured me that she never interfered respecting the
interests of Austria but once; and that was only to claim the execution of the
treaty of alliance at the time when Joseph II. was at war with Prussia and
Turkey; that, she then demanded that an army of twenty-four thousand men
Page 216
should be sent to him instead of fifteen millions, an alternative which had
been left to option in the treaty, in case the Emperor should have a just war
to maintain; that she could not obtain her object, and M. de Vergennes, in an
interview which she had with him upon the subject, put an end to her
importunities by observing that he was answering the mother of the
Dauphin and not the sister of the Emperor. The fifteen millions were sent.
There was no want of money at Vienna, and the value of a French army was
fully appreciated.
“But how,” said the Queen, “could they be so wicked as to send off those
fifteen millions from the general post-office, diligently publishing, even to
the street porters, that they were loading carriages with money that I was
sending to my brother!—whereas it is certain that the money would equally
have been sent if I had belonged to another house; and, besides, it was sent
contrary to my inclination.”
[This was not the first time the Queen had become
unpopular in consequence of financial support afforded by
France to her brother. The Emperor Joseph II, made, in
November, 1783, and in May, 1784, startling claims on the
republic of the United Provinces; he demanded the opening
of the Scheldt, the cession of Maeatricht with its
dependencies, of the country beyond the Meuse, the county
of Vroenhoven, and a sum of seventy millions of florins. The
first gun was fired by the Emperor on the Scheldt 6th
November, 1784. Peace was concluded 8th November, 1785,
through the mediation of France. The singular part was the
indemnification granted to the Emperor: this was a sum of
ten millions of Dutch florins; the articles 15, 16, and 17 of
the treaty stipulated the quotas of it. Holland paid five
millions and a half, and France, under the direction of M. de
Vergennes, four millions and a half of florins, that is to say,
nine millions and forty-five thousand francs, according to M.
Soulavie. M. de augur, in his “Policy of Cabinets” (vol. iii.),
says relative to this affair:
“M. de Vergennes has been much blamed for having
terminated, by a sacrifice of seven millions, the contest that
existed between the United Provinces and the Emperor. In
been left to option in the treaty, in case the Emperor should have a just war
to maintain; that she could not obtain her object, and M. de Vergennes, in an
interview which she had with him upon the subject, put an end to her
importunities by observing that he was answering the mother of the
Dauphin and not the sister of the Emperor. The fifteen millions were sent.
There was no want of money at Vienna, and the value of a French army was
fully appreciated.
“But how,” said the Queen, “could they be so wicked as to send off those
fifteen millions from the general post-office, diligently publishing, even to
the street porters, that they were loading carriages with money that I was
sending to my brother!—whereas it is certain that the money would equally
have been sent if I had belonged to another house; and, besides, it was sent
contrary to my inclination.”
[This was not the first time the Queen had become
unpopular in consequence of financial support afforded by
France to her brother. The Emperor Joseph II, made, in
November, 1783, and in May, 1784, startling claims on the
republic of the United Provinces; he demanded the opening
of the Scheldt, the cession of Maeatricht with its
dependencies, of the country beyond the Meuse, the county
of Vroenhoven, and a sum of seventy millions of florins. The
first gun was fired by the Emperor on the Scheldt 6th
November, 1784. Peace was concluded 8th November, 1785,
through the mediation of France. The singular part was the
indemnification granted to the Emperor: this was a sum of
ten millions of Dutch florins; the articles 15, 16, and 17 of
the treaty stipulated the quotas of it. Holland paid five
millions and a half, and France, under the direction of M. de
Vergennes, four millions and a half of florins, that is to say,
nine millions and forty-five thousand francs, according to M.
Soulavie. M. de augur, in his “Policy of Cabinets” (vol. iii.),
says relative to this affair:
“M. de Vergennes has been much blamed for having
terminated, by a sacrifice of seven millions, the contest that
existed between the United Provinces and the Emperor. In
Page 217
that age of philosophy men were still very uncivilised; in
that age of commerce they made very erroneous
calculations; and those who accused the Queen of sending
the gold of France to her brother would have been better
pleased if, to support a republic devoid of energy, the blood
of two hundred thousand men, and three or four hundred
millions of francs, had been sacrificed, and at the same time
the risk run of losing the advantage of peace dictated to
England.” MADAME CAMPAN.]
When the Comte de Moustier set out on his mission to the United States,
after having had his public audience of leave he came and asked me to
procure him a private one. I could not succeed even with the strongest
solicitations; the Queen desired me to wish him a good voyage, but added
that none but ministers could have anything to say to him in private, since
he was going to a country where the names of King and Queen must be
detested.
Marie Antoinette had then no direct influence over State affairs until after
the deaths of M. de Maurepas and M. de Vergennes, and the retirement of
M. de Calonne. She frequently regretted her new situation, and looked upon
it as a misfortune which she could not avoid. One day, while I was assisting
her to tie up a number of memorials and reports, which some of the
ministers had handed to her to be given to the King, “Ah!” said she,
sighing, “there is an end of all happiness for me, since they have made an
intriguer of me.” I exclaimed at the word.
“Yes,” resumed, the Queen, “that is the right term; every woman who
meddles with affairs above her understanding or out of her line of duty is an
intriguer and nothing else; you will remember, however, that it is not my
own fault, and that it is with regret I give myself such a title; Queens of
France are happy only so long as they meddle with nothing, and merely
preserve influence sufficient to advance their friends and reward a few
zealous servants. Do you know what happened to me lately? One day since
I began to attend private committees at the King’s, while crossing the oiel-
de-boeuf, I heard one of the musicians of the chapel say so loud that I lost
not a single word, ‘A Queen who does her duty will remain in her apartment
to knit.’ I said within myself, ‘Poor wretch, thou art right; but thou knowest
not my situation; I yield to necessity and my evil destiny.’”
that age of commerce they made very erroneous
calculations; and those who accused the Queen of sending
the gold of France to her brother would have been better
pleased if, to support a republic devoid of energy, the blood
of two hundred thousand men, and three or four hundred
millions of francs, had been sacrificed, and at the same time
the risk run of losing the advantage of peace dictated to
England.” MADAME CAMPAN.]
When the Comte de Moustier set out on his mission to the United States,
after having had his public audience of leave he came and asked me to
procure him a private one. I could not succeed even with the strongest
solicitations; the Queen desired me to wish him a good voyage, but added
that none but ministers could have anything to say to him in private, since
he was going to a country where the names of King and Queen must be
detested.
Marie Antoinette had then no direct influence over State affairs until after
the deaths of M. de Maurepas and M. de Vergennes, and the retirement of
M. de Calonne. She frequently regretted her new situation, and looked upon
it as a misfortune which she could not avoid. One day, while I was assisting
her to tie up a number of memorials and reports, which some of the
ministers had handed to her to be given to the King, “Ah!” said she,
sighing, “there is an end of all happiness for me, since they have made an
intriguer of me.” I exclaimed at the word.
“Yes,” resumed, the Queen, “that is the right term; every woman who
meddles with affairs above her understanding or out of her line of duty is an
intriguer and nothing else; you will remember, however, that it is not my
own fault, and that it is with regret I give myself such a title; Queens of
France are happy only so long as they meddle with nothing, and merely
preserve influence sufficient to advance their friends and reward a few
zealous servants. Do you know what happened to me lately? One day since
I began to attend private committees at the King’s, while crossing the oiel-
de-boeuf, I heard one of the musicians of the chapel say so loud that I lost
not a single word, ‘A Queen who does her duty will remain in her apartment
to knit.’ I said within myself, ‘Poor wretch, thou art right; but thou knowest
not my situation; I yield to necessity and my evil destiny.’”
Page 218
This situation was the more painful to the Queen inasmuch as Louis XVI.
had long accustomed himself to say nothing to her respecting State affairs;
and when, towards the close of his reign, she was obliged to interfere in the
most important matters, the same habit in the King frequently kept from her
particulars which it was necessary she should have known. Obtaining,
therefore, only insufficient information, and guided by persons more
ambitious than skilful, the Queen could not be useful in important affairs;
yet, at the same time, her ostensible interference drew upon her, from all
parties and all classes of society, an unpopularity the rapid progress of
which alarmed all those who were sincerely attached to her.
Carried away by the eloquence of the Archbishop of Sens, and
encouraged in the confidence she placed in that minister by the incessant
eulogies of the Abbe de Vermond on his abilities, the Queen unfortunately
followed up her first mistake of bringing him into office in 1787 by
supporting him at the time of his disgrace, which was obtained by the
despair of a whole nation. She thought it was due to her dignity to give him
some marked proof of her regard at the moment of his departure; misled by
her feelings, she sent him her portrait enriched with jewelry, and a brevet
for the situation of lady of the palace for Madame de Canisy, his niece,
observing that it was necessary to indemnify a minister sacrificed to the
intrigues of the Court and a factious spirit of the nation; that otherwise none
would be found willing to devote themselves to the interests of the
sovereign.
On the day of the Archbishop’s departure the public joy was universal,
both at Court and at Paris there were bonfires; the attorneys’ clerks burnt
the Archbishop in effigy, and on the evening of his disgrace more than a
hundred couriers were sent out from Versailles to spread the happy tidings
among the country seats. I have seen the Queen shed bitter tears at the
recollection of the errors she committed at this period, when subsequently, a
short time before her death, the Archbishop had the audacity to say, in a
speech which was printed, that the sole object of one part of his operations,
during his administration, was the salutary crisis which the Revolution had
produced.
The benevolence and generosity shown by the King and Queen during
the severe winter of 1788, when the Seine was frozen over and the cold was
more intense than it had been for eighty years, procured them some fleeting
had long accustomed himself to say nothing to her respecting State affairs;
and when, towards the close of his reign, she was obliged to interfere in the
most important matters, the same habit in the King frequently kept from her
particulars which it was necessary she should have known. Obtaining,
therefore, only insufficient information, and guided by persons more
ambitious than skilful, the Queen could not be useful in important affairs;
yet, at the same time, her ostensible interference drew upon her, from all
parties and all classes of society, an unpopularity the rapid progress of
which alarmed all those who were sincerely attached to her.
Carried away by the eloquence of the Archbishop of Sens, and
encouraged in the confidence she placed in that minister by the incessant
eulogies of the Abbe de Vermond on his abilities, the Queen unfortunately
followed up her first mistake of bringing him into office in 1787 by
supporting him at the time of his disgrace, which was obtained by the
despair of a whole nation. She thought it was due to her dignity to give him
some marked proof of her regard at the moment of his departure; misled by
her feelings, she sent him her portrait enriched with jewelry, and a brevet
for the situation of lady of the palace for Madame de Canisy, his niece,
observing that it was necessary to indemnify a minister sacrificed to the
intrigues of the Court and a factious spirit of the nation; that otherwise none
would be found willing to devote themselves to the interests of the
sovereign.
On the day of the Archbishop’s departure the public joy was universal,
both at Court and at Paris there were bonfires; the attorneys’ clerks burnt
the Archbishop in effigy, and on the evening of his disgrace more than a
hundred couriers were sent out from Versailles to spread the happy tidings
among the country seats. I have seen the Queen shed bitter tears at the
recollection of the errors she committed at this period, when subsequently, a
short time before her death, the Archbishop had the audacity to say, in a
speech which was printed, that the sole object of one part of his operations,
during his administration, was the salutary crisis which the Revolution had
produced.
The benevolence and generosity shown by the King and Queen during
the severe winter of 1788, when the Seine was frozen over and the cold was
more intense than it had been for eighty years, procured them some fleeting
Page 219
popularity. The gratitude of the Parisians for the succour their Majesties
poured forth was lively if not lasting. The snow was so abundant that since
that period there has never been seen such a prodigious quantity in France.
In different parts of Paris pyramids and obelisks of snow were erected with
inscriptions expressive of the gratitude of the people. The pyramid in the
Rue d’Angiviller was supported on a base six feet high by twelve broad; it
rose to the height of fifteen feet, and was terminated by a globe. Four
blocks of stone, placed at the angles, corresponded with the obelisk, and
gave it an elegant appearance. Several inscriptions, in honour of the King
and Queen, were affixed to it. I went to see this singular monument, and
recollect the following inscription:
“TO MARIE ANTOINETTE.”
“Lovely and good, to tender pity true,
Queen of a virtuous King, this trophy view;
Cold ice and snow sustain its fragile form,
But ev’ry grateful heart to thee is warm.
Oh, may this tribute in your hearts excite,
Illustrious pair, more pure and real delight,
Whilst thus your virtues are sincerely prais’d,
Than pompous domes by servile flatt’ry rais’d."
The theatres generally rang with praises of the beneficence of the
sovereigns: “La Partie de Chasse de Henri IV.” was represented for the
benefit of the poor. The receipts were very considerable.
When the fruitless measure of the Assembly of the Notables, and the
rebellious spirit in the parliaments,had created the necessity for States
General, it was long discussed in council whether they should be assembled
at Versailles or at forty or sixty leagues from the capital; the Queen was for
the latter course, and insisted to the King that they ought to be far away
from the immense population of Paris. She feared that the people would
influence the deliberations of the deputies; several memorials were
presented to the King upon that question; but M. Necker prevailed, and
Versailles was the place fixed upon.
[The Assembly of the Notables, as may be seen in
“Weber’s Memoirs,” vol. i., overthrew the plans and caused
the downfall of M. de Calonne. A prince of the blood
presided over each of the meetings of that assembly.
poured forth was lively if not lasting. The snow was so abundant that since
that period there has never been seen such a prodigious quantity in France.
In different parts of Paris pyramids and obelisks of snow were erected with
inscriptions expressive of the gratitude of the people. The pyramid in the
Rue d’Angiviller was supported on a base six feet high by twelve broad; it
rose to the height of fifteen feet, and was terminated by a globe. Four
blocks of stone, placed at the angles, corresponded with the obelisk, and
gave it an elegant appearance. Several inscriptions, in honour of the King
and Queen, were affixed to it. I went to see this singular monument, and
recollect the following inscription:
“TO MARIE ANTOINETTE.”
“Lovely and good, to tender pity true,
Queen of a virtuous King, this trophy view;
Cold ice and snow sustain its fragile form,
But ev’ry grateful heart to thee is warm.
Oh, may this tribute in your hearts excite,
Illustrious pair, more pure and real delight,
Whilst thus your virtues are sincerely prais’d,
Than pompous domes by servile flatt’ry rais’d."
The theatres generally rang with praises of the beneficence of the
sovereigns: “La Partie de Chasse de Henri IV.” was represented for the
benefit of the poor. The receipts were very considerable.
When the fruitless measure of the Assembly of the Notables, and the
rebellious spirit in the parliaments,had created the necessity for States
General, it was long discussed in council whether they should be assembled
at Versailles or at forty or sixty leagues from the capital; the Queen was for
the latter course, and insisted to the King that they ought to be far away
from the immense population of Paris. She feared that the people would
influence the deliberations of the deputies; several memorials were
presented to the King upon that question; but M. Necker prevailed, and
Versailles was the place fixed upon.
[The Assembly of the Notables, as may be seen in
“Weber’s Memoirs,” vol. i., overthrew the plans and caused
the downfall of M. de Calonne. A prince of the blood
presided over each of the meetings of that assembly.
Page 220
Monsieur, afterwards Louis XVIII., presided over the first
meeting.
“Monsieur,” says a contemporary, “gained great
reputation at the Assembly of the Notables in 1787. He did
not miss attending his meeting a single day, and he
displayed truly patriotic virtues. His care in discussing the
weighty matters of administration, in throwing light upon
them, and in defending the interests and the cause of the
people, was such as even to inspire the King with some
degree of jealousy. Monsieur openly said that a respectful
resistance to the orders of the monarch was not blamable,
and that authority might be met by argument, and forced to
receive information without any offence whatever.”—NOTE
BY THE EDITOR.]
The day on which the King announced that he gave his consent to the
convocation of the States General, the Queen left the public dinner, and
placed herself in the recess of the first window of her bedchamber, with her
face towards the garden. Her chief butler followed her, to present her
coffee, which she usually took standing, as she was about to leave the table.
She beckoned to me to come close to her. The King was engaged in
conversation with some one in his room. When the attendant had served her
he retired; and she addressed me, with the cup still in her hand: “Great
Heavens! what fatal news goes forth this day! The King assents to the
convocation of the States General.” Then she added, raising her eyes to
heaven, “I dread it; this important event is a first fatal signal of discord in
France.” She cast her eyes down, they were filled with tears. She could not
take the remainder of her coffee, but handed me the cup, and went to join
the King. In the evening, when she was alone with me, she spoke only of
this momentous decision. “It is the Parliament,” said she, “that has
compelled the King to have recourse to a measure long considered fatal to
the repose of the kingdom. These gentlemen wish to restrain the power of
the King; but they give a great shock to the authority of which they make so
bad a use, and they will bring on their own destruction.”
The double representation granted to the Tiers Etat was now the chief
topic of conversation. The Queen favoured this plan, to which the King had
agreed; she thought the hope of obtaining ecclesiastical favours would
meeting.
“Monsieur,” says a contemporary, “gained great
reputation at the Assembly of the Notables in 1787. He did
not miss attending his meeting a single day, and he
displayed truly patriotic virtues. His care in discussing the
weighty matters of administration, in throwing light upon
them, and in defending the interests and the cause of the
people, was such as even to inspire the King with some
degree of jealousy. Monsieur openly said that a respectful
resistance to the orders of the monarch was not blamable,
and that authority might be met by argument, and forced to
receive information without any offence whatever.”—NOTE
BY THE EDITOR.]
The day on which the King announced that he gave his consent to the
convocation of the States General, the Queen left the public dinner, and
placed herself in the recess of the first window of her bedchamber, with her
face towards the garden. Her chief butler followed her, to present her
coffee, which she usually took standing, as she was about to leave the table.
She beckoned to me to come close to her. The King was engaged in
conversation with some one in his room. When the attendant had served her
he retired; and she addressed me, with the cup still in her hand: “Great
Heavens! what fatal news goes forth this day! The King assents to the
convocation of the States General.” Then she added, raising her eyes to
heaven, “I dread it; this important event is a first fatal signal of discord in
France.” She cast her eyes down, they were filled with tears. She could not
take the remainder of her coffee, but handed me the cup, and went to join
the King. In the evening, when she was alone with me, she spoke only of
this momentous decision. “It is the Parliament,” said she, “that has
compelled the King to have recourse to a measure long considered fatal to
the repose of the kingdom. These gentlemen wish to restrain the power of
the King; but they give a great shock to the authority of which they make so
bad a use, and they will bring on their own destruction.”
The double representation granted to the Tiers Etat was now the chief
topic of conversation. The Queen favoured this plan, to which the King had
agreed; she thought the hope of obtaining ecclesiastical favours would
Page 221
secure the clergy of the second order, and that M. Necker was sure to have
the same degree of influence over the lawyers, and other people of that
class comprised in the Tiers Dat. The Comte d’Artois, holding the contrary
opinion, presented a memorial in the names of himself and several princes
of the blood to the King against the double representation. The Queen was
displeased with him for this; her confidential advisers infused into her
apprehensions that the Prince was made the tool of a party; but his conduct
was approved of by Madame de Polignac’s circle, which the Queen
thenceforward only frequented to avoid the appearance of a change in her
habits. She almost always returned unhappy; she was treated with the
profound respect due to a queen, but the devotion of friendship had
vanished, to make way for the coldness of etiquette, which wounded her
deeply. The alienation between her and the Comte Artois was also very
painful to her, for she had loved him almost as tenderly as if he had been
her own brother.
The opening of the States General took place on the 4th of May, 1789.
The Queen on that occasion appeared for the last time in her life in regal
magnificence. During the procession some low women, seeing the Queen
pass, cried out “Vive le Duc d’ Orleans!” in so threatening a manner that
she nearly fainted. She was obliged to be supported, and those about her
were afraid it would be necessary to stop the procession. The Queen,
however, recovered herself, and much regretted that she had not been able
to command more presence of mind.
The rapidly increasing distrust of the King and Queen shown by the
populace was greatly attributable to incessant corruption by English gold,
and the projects, either of revenge or of ambition, of the Duc d’Orleans. Let
it not be thought that this accusation is founded on what has been so often
repeated by the heads of the French Government since the Revolution.
Twice between the 14th of July and the 6th of October, 1789, the day on
which the Court was dragged to Paris, the Queen prevented me from
making little excursions thither of business or pleasure, saying to me, “Do
not go on such a day to Paris; the English have been scattering gold, we
shall have some disturbance.” The repeated visits of the Duc d’Orleans to
England had excited the Anglomania to such a pitch that Paris was no
longer distinguishable from London. The French, formerly imitated by the
whole of Europe, became on a sudden a nation of imitators, without
considering the evils that arts and manufactures must suffer in consequence
the same degree of influence over the lawyers, and other people of that
class comprised in the Tiers Dat. The Comte d’Artois, holding the contrary
opinion, presented a memorial in the names of himself and several princes
of the blood to the King against the double representation. The Queen was
displeased with him for this; her confidential advisers infused into her
apprehensions that the Prince was made the tool of a party; but his conduct
was approved of by Madame de Polignac’s circle, which the Queen
thenceforward only frequented to avoid the appearance of a change in her
habits. She almost always returned unhappy; she was treated with the
profound respect due to a queen, but the devotion of friendship had
vanished, to make way for the coldness of etiquette, which wounded her
deeply. The alienation between her and the Comte Artois was also very
painful to her, for she had loved him almost as tenderly as if he had been
her own brother.
The opening of the States General took place on the 4th of May, 1789.
The Queen on that occasion appeared for the last time in her life in regal
magnificence. During the procession some low women, seeing the Queen
pass, cried out “Vive le Duc d’ Orleans!” in so threatening a manner that
she nearly fainted. She was obliged to be supported, and those about her
were afraid it would be necessary to stop the procession. The Queen,
however, recovered herself, and much regretted that she had not been able
to command more presence of mind.
The rapidly increasing distrust of the King and Queen shown by the
populace was greatly attributable to incessant corruption by English gold,
and the projects, either of revenge or of ambition, of the Duc d’Orleans. Let
it not be thought that this accusation is founded on what has been so often
repeated by the heads of the French Government since the Revolution.
Twice between the 14th of July and the 6th of October, 1789, the day on
which the Court was dragged to Paris, the Queen prevented me from
making little excursions thither of business or pleasure, saying to me, “Do
not go on such a day to Paris; the English have been scattering gold, we
shall have some disturbance.” The repeated visits of the Duc d’Orleans to
England had excited the Anglomania to such a pitch that Paris was no
longer distinguishable from London. The French, formerly imitated by the
whole of Europe, became on a sudden a nation of imitators, without
considering the evils that arts and manufactures must suffer in consequence
Page 222
of the change. Since the treaty of commerce made with England at the
peace of 1783, not merely equipages, but everything, even to ribands and
common earthenware, were of English make. If this predominance of
English fashions had been confined to filling our drawing-rooms with
young men in English frock-coats, instead of the French dress, good taste
and commerce might alone have suffered; but the principles of English
government had taken possession of these young heads. Constitution, Upper
House, Lower House, national guarantee, balance of power, Magna Charta,
Law of Habeas Corpus,—all these words were incessantly repeated, and
seldom understood; but they were of fundamental importance to a party
which was then forming.
The first sitting of the States took place on the following day. The King
delivered his speech with firmness and dignity; the Queen told me that he
had taken great pains about it, and had repeated it frequently. His Majesty
gave public marks of attachment and respect for the Queen, who was
applauded; but it was easy to see that this applause was in fact rendered to
the King alone.
It was evident, during the first sittings, that Mirabeau would be very
dangerous to the Government. It affirmed that at this period he
communicated to the King, and still more fully to the Queen, part of his
schemes for abandoning them. He brandished the weapons afforded him by
his eloquence and audacity, in order to make terms with the party he meant
to attack. This man played the game of revolution to make his own fortune.
The Queen told me that he asked for an embassy, and, if my memory does
not deceive me, it was that of Constantinople. He was refused with well-
deserved contempt, though policy would doubtless have concealed it, could
the future have been foreseen.
The enthusiasm prevailing at the opening of this assembly, and the
debates between the Tiers Etat, the nobility, and even the clergy, daily
increased the alarm of their Majesties, and all who were attached to the
cause of monarchy. The Queen went to bed late, or rather she began to be
unable to rest. One evening, about the end of May, she was sitting in her
room, relating several remarkable occurrences of the day; four wax candles
were placed upon her toilet-table; the first went out of itself; I relighted it;
shortly afterwards the second, and then the third went out also; upon which
the Queen, squeezing my hand in terror, said to me: “Misfortune makes us
peace of 1783, not merely equipages, but everything, even to ribands and
common earthenware, were of English make. If this predominance of
English fashions had been confined to filling our drawing-rooms with
young men in English frock-coats, instead of the French dress, good taste
and commerce might alone have suffered; but the principles of English
government had taken possession of these young heads. Constitution, Upper
House, Lower House, national guarantee, balance of power, Magna Charta,
Law of Habeas Corpus,—all these words were incessantly repeated, and
seldom understood; but they were of fundamental importance to a party
which was then forming.
The first sitting of the States took place on the following day. The King
delivered his speech with firmness and dignity; the Queen told me that he
had taken great pains about it, and had repeated it frequently. His Majesty
gave public marks of attachment and respect for the Queen, who was
applauded; but it was easy to see that this applause was in fact rendered to
the King alone.
It was evident, during the first sittings, that Mirabeau would be very
dangerous to the Government. It affirmed that at this period he
communicated to the King, and still more fully to the Queen, part of his
schemes for abandoning them. He brandished the weapons afforded him by
his eloquence and audacity, in order to make terms with the party he meant
to attack. This man played the game of revolution to make his own fortune.
The Queen told me that he asked for an embassy, and, if my memory does
not deceive me, it was that of Constantinople. He was refused with well-
deserved contempt, though policy would doubtless have concealed it, could
the future have been foreseen.
The enthusiasm prevailing at the opening of this assembly, and the
debates between the Tiers Etat, the nobility, and even the clergy, daily
increased the alarm of their Majesties, and all who were attached to the
cause of monarchy. The Queen went to bed late, or rather she began to be
unable to rest. One evening, about the end of May, she was sitting in her
room, relating several remarkable occurrences of the day; four wax candles
were placed upon her toilet-table; the first went out of itself; I relighted it;
shortly afterwards the second, and then the third went out also; upon which
the Queen, squeezing my hand in terror, said to me: “Misfortune makes us
Page 223
superstitious; if the fourth taper should go out like the rest, nothing can
prevent my looking upon it as a sinister omen.” The fourth taper went out. It
was remarked to the Queen that the four tapers had probably been run in the
same mould, and that a defect in the wick had naturally occurred at the
same point in each, since the candles had all gone out in the order in which
they had been lighted.
The deputies of the Tiers Etat arrived at Versailles full of the strongest
prejudices against the Court. They believed that the King indulged in the
pleasures of the table to a shameful excess; and that the Queen was draining
the treasury of the State in order to satisfy the most unbridled luxury. They
almost all determined to see Petit Trianon. The extreme plainness of the
retreat in question not answering the ideas they had formed, some of them
insisted upon seeing the very smallest closets, saying that the richly
furnished apartments were concealed from them. They particularised one
which, according to them, was ornamented with diamonds, and with
wreathed columns studded with sapphires and rubies. The Queen could not
get these foolish ideas out of her mind, and spoke to the King on the
subject. From the description given of this room by the deputies to the
keepers of Trianon, the King concluded that they were looking for the scene
enriched with paste ornaments, made in the reign of Louis XV. for the
theatre of Fontainebleau.
The King supposed that his Body Guards, on their return to the country,
after their quarterly duty at Court, related what they had seen, and that their
exaggerated accounts, being repeated, became at last totally perverted. This
idea of the King, after the search for the diamond chamber, suggested to the
Queen that the report of the King’s propensity for drinking also sprang from
the guards who accompanied his carriage when he hunted at Rambouillet.
The King, who disliked sleeping out of his usual bed, was accustomed to
leave that hunting-seat after supper; he generally slept soundly in his
carriage, and awoke only on his arrival at the courtyard of his palace; he
used to get down from his carriage in the midst of his Body Guards,
staggering, as a man half awake will do, which was mistaken for
intoxication.
The majority of the deputies who came imbued with prejudices produced
by error or malevolence, went to lodge with the most humble private
individuals of Versailles, whose inconsiderate conversation contributed not
prevent my looking upon it as a sinister omen.” The fourth taper went out. It
was remarked to the Queen that the four tapers had probably been run in the
same mould, and that a defect in the wick had naturally occurred at the
same point in each, since the candles had all gone out in the order in which
they had been lighted.
The deputies of the Tiers Etat arrived at Versailles full of the strongest
prejudices against the Court. They believed that the King indulged in the
pleasures of the table to a shameful excess; and that the Queen was draining
the treasury of the State in order to satisfy the most unbridled luxury. They
almost all determined to see Petit Trianon. The extreme plainness of the
retreat in question not answering the ideas they had formed, some of them
insisted upon seeing the very smallest closets, saying that the richly
furnished apartments were concealed from them. They particularised one
which, according to them, was ornamented with diamonds, and with
wreathed columns studded with sapphires and rubies. The Queen could not
get these foolish ideas out of her mind, and spoke to the King on the
subject. From the description given of this room by the deputies to the
keepers of Trianon, the King concluded that they were looking for the scene
enriched with paste ornaments, made in the reign of Louis XV. for the
theatre of Fontainebleau.
The King supposed that his Body Guards, on their return to the country,
after their quarterly duty at Court, related what they had seen, and that their
exaggerated accounts, being repeated, became at last totally perverted. This
idea of the King, after the search for the diamond chamber, suggested to the
Queen that the report of the King’s propensity for drinking also sprang from
the guards who accompanied his carriage when he hunted at Rambouillet.
The King, who disliked sleeping out of his usual bed, was accustomed to
leave that hunting-seat after supper; he generally slept soundly in his
carriage, and awoke only on his arrival at the courtyard of his palace; he
used to get down from his carriage in the midst of his Body Guards,
staggering, as a man half awake will do, which was mistaken for
intoxication.
The majority of the deputies who came imbued with prejudices produced
by error or malevolence, went to lodge with the most humble private
individuals of Versailles, whose inconsiderate conversation contributed not
Page 224
a little to nourish such mistakes. Everything, in short, tended to render the
deputies subservient to the schemes of the leaders of the rebellion.
Shortly after the opening of the States General the first Dauphin died.
That young Prince suffered from the rickets, which in a few months curved
his spine, and rendered his legs so weak that he could not walk without
being supported like a feeble old man.
[Louis, Dauphin of France, who died at Versailles on the
4th of June, 1789, gave promise of intellectual precocity. The
following particulars, which convey some idea of his
disposition, and of the assiduous attention bestowed upon
him by the Duchesse de Polignac, will be found in a work of
that time: “At two years old the Dauphin was very pretty; he
articulated well, and answered questions put to him
intelligently. While he was at the Chateau de La Muette
everybody was at liberty to see him. The Dauphin was
dressed plainly, like a sailor; there was nothing to
distinguish him from other children in external appearance
but the cross of Saint Louis, the blue ribbon, and the Order
of the Fleece, decorations that are the distinctive signs of his
rank. The Duchesse Jules de Polignac, his governess,
scarcely ever left him for a single instant: she gave up all the
Court excursions and amusements in order to devote her
whole attention to him. The Prince always manifested a
great regard for M. de Bourset, his valet de chambre.
During the illness of which he died, he one day asked for a
pair of scissors; that gentleman reminded him that they were
forbidden. The child insisted mildly, and they were obliged
to yield to him. Having got the scissors, he cut off a lock of
his hair, which he wrapped in a sheet of paper: ‘There,
monsieur,’ said he to his valet de chambre,’ there is the only
present I can make you, having nothing at my command; but
when I am dead you will present this pledge to my papa and
mamma; and while they remember me, I hope they will not
forget you.’”—NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
deputies subservient to the schemes of the leaders of the rebellion.
Shortly after the opening of the States General the first Dauphin died.
That young Prince suffered from the rickets, which in a few months curved
his spine, and rendered his legs so weak that he could not walk without
being supported like a feeble old man.
[Louis, Dauphin of France, who died at Versailles on the
4th of June, 1789, gave promise of intellectual precocity. The
following particulars, which convey some idea of his
disposition, and of the assiduous attention bestowed upon
him by the Duchesse de Polignac, will be found in a work of
that time: “At two years old the Dauphin was very pretty; he
articulated well, and answered questions put to him
intelligently. While he was at the Chateau de La Muette
everybody was at liberty to see him. The Dauphin was
dressed plainly, like a sailor; there was nothing to
distinguish him from other children in external appearance
but the cross of Saint Louis, the blue ribbon, and the Order
of the Fleece, decorations that are the distinctive signs of his
rank. The Duchesse Jules de Polignac, his governess,
scarcely ever left him for a single instant: she gave up all the
Court excursions and amusements in order to devote her
whole attention to him. The Prince always manifested a
great regard for M. de Bourset, his valet de chambre.
During the illness of which he died, he one day asked for a
pair of scissors; that gentleman reminded him that they were
forbidden. The child insisted mildly, and they were obliged
to yield to him. Having got the scissors, he cut off a lock of
his hair, which he wrapped in a sheet of paper: ‘There,
monsieur,’ said he to his valet de chambre,’ there is the only
present I can make you, having nothing at my command; but
when I am dead you will present this pledge to my papa and
mamma; and while they remember me, I hope they will not
forget you.’”—NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
Page 225
How many maternal tears did his condition draw from the Queen, already
overwhelmed with apprehensions respecting the state of the kingdom! Her
grief was enhanced by petty intrigues, which, when frequently renewed,
became intolerable. An open quarrel between the families and friends of the
Duc Harcourt, the Dauphin’s governor, and those of the Duchesse de
Polignac, his governess, added greatly to the Queen’s affliction. The young
Prince showed a strong dislike to the Duchesse de Polignac, who attributed
it either to the Duc or the Duchesse d’Harcourt, and came to make her
complaints respecting it to the Queen. The Dauphin twice sent her out of his
room, saying to her, with that maturity of manner which long illness always
gives to children: “Go out, Duchess; you are so fond of using perfumes, and
they always make me ill;” and yet she never used any. The Queen
perceived, also, that his prejudices against her friend extended to herself;
her son would no longer speak in her presence. She knew that he had
become fond of sweetmeats, and offered him some marshmallow and jujube
lozenges. The under-governors and the first valet de chambre requested her
not to give the Dauphin anything, as he was to receive no food of any kind
without the consent of the faculty. I forbear to describe the wound this
prohibition inflicted upon the Queen; she felt it the more deeply because
she was aware it was unjustly believed she gave a decided preference to the
Duc de Normandie, whose ruddy health and amiability did, in truth, form a
striking contrast to the languid look and melancholy disposition of his elder
brother. She even suspected that a plot had for some time existed to deprive
her of the affection of a child whom she loved as a good and tender mother
ought. Previous to the audience granted by the King on the 10th August,
1788, to the envoy of the Sultan Tippoo Saib, she had begged the Duc
d’Harcourt to divert the Dauphin, whose deformity was already apparent,
from his, intention to be present at that ceremony, being unwilling to expose
him to the gaze of the crowd of inquisitive Parisians who would be in the
gallery. Notwithstanding this injunction, the Dauphin was suffered to write
to his mother, requesting her permission to be present at the audience. The
Queen was obliged to refuse him, and warmly reproached the governor,
who merely answered that he could not oppose the wishes of a sick child. A
year before the death of the Dauphin the Queen lost the Princesse Sophie;
this was, as the Queen said, the first of a series of misfortunes.
NOTE: As Madame Campan has stated in the foregoing pages that the
money to foment sedition was furnished from English sources, the decree of
overwhelmed with apprehensions respecting the state of the kingdom! Her
grief was enhanced by petty intrigues, which, when frequently renewed,
became intolerable. An open quarrel between the families and friends of the
Duc Harcourt, the Dauphin’s governor, and those of the Duchesse de
Polignac, his governess, added greatly to the Queen’s affliction. The young
Prince showed a strong dislike to the Duchesse de Polignac, who attributed
it either to the Duc or the Duchesse d’Harcourt, and came to make her
complaints respecting it to the Queen. The Dauphin twice sent her out of his
room, saying to her, with that maturity of manner which long illness always
gives to children: “Go out, Duchess; you are so fond of using perfumes, and
they always make me ill;” and yet she never used any. The Queen
perceived, also, that his prejudices against her friend extended to herself;
her son would no longer speak in her presence. She knew that he had
become fond of sweetmeats, and offered him some marshmallow and jujube
lozenges. The under-governors and the first valet de chambre requested her
not to give the Dauphin anything, as he was to receive no food of any kind
without the consent of the faculty. I forbear to describe the wound this
prohibition inflicted upon the Queen; she felt it the more deeply because
she was aware it was unjustly believed she gave a decided preference to the
Duc de Normandie, whose ruddy health and amiability did, in truth, form a
striking contrast to the languid look and melancholy disposition of his elder
brother. She even suspected that a plot had for some time existed to deprive
her of the affection of a child whom she loved as a good and tender mother
ought. Previous to the audience granted by the King on the 10th August,
1788, to the envoy of the Sultan Tippoo Saib, she had begged the Duc
d’Harcourt to divert the Dauphin, whose deformity was already apparent,
from his, intention to be present at that ceremony, being unwilling to expose
him to the gaze of the crowd of inquisitive Parisians who would be in the
gallery. Notwithstanding this injunction, the Dauphin was suffered to write
to his mother, requesting her permission to be present at the audience. The
Queen was obliged to refuse him, and warmly reproached the governor,
who merely answered that he could not oppose the wishes of a sick child. A
year before the death of the Dauphin the Queen lost the Princesse Sophie;
this was, as the Queen said, the first of a series of misfortunes.
NOTE: As Madame Campan has stated in the foregoing pages that the
money to foment sedition was furnished from English sources, the decree of
Page 226
the Convention of August, 1793, maybe quoted as illustrative of the entente
cordiale alleged to exist between the insurrectionary Government and its
friends across the Channel! The endeavours made by the English
Government to save the unfortunate King are well known. The motives
prompting the conduct of the Duc d’Orleans are equally well known.
Art. i. The National Convention denounces the British Government to
Europe and the English nation.
Art. ii. Every Frenchman that shall place his money in the English funds
shall be declared a traitor to his country.
Art. iii. Every Frenchman who has money in the English funds or those
of any other Power with whom France is at war shall be obliged to declare
the same.
Art. iv. All foreigners, subjects of the Powers now at war with France,
particularly the English, shall be arrested, and seals put upon their papers.
Art. v. The barriers of Paris shall be instantly shut.
Art. vi. All good citizens shall be required in the name of the country to
search for the foreigners concerned in any plot denounced.
Art. vii. Three millions shall be at the disposal of the Minister at War to
facilitate the march of the garrison of Mentz to La Vendee.
Art. viii. The Minister at War shall send to the army on the coast of
Rochelle all the combustible materials necessary to set fire to the forests
and underwood of La Vendee.
Art. ix. The women, the children, and old men shall be conducted to the
interior parts of the country.
Art. x. The property of the rebels shall be confiscated for the benefit of
the Republic.
Art. xi. A camp shall be formed without delay between Paris and the
Northern army.
Art. xii. All the family of the Capets shall be banished from the French
territory, those excepted who are under the sword of the law, and the
offspring of Louis Capet, who shall both remain in the Temple.
Art. xiii. Marie Antoinette shall be delivered over to the Revolutionary
Tribunal, and shall be immediately conducted to the prison of the
cordiale alleged to exist between the insurrectionary Government and its
friends across the Channel! The endeavours made by the English
Government to save the unfortunate King are well known. The motives
prompting the conduct of the Duc d’Orleans are equally well known.
Art. i. The National Convention denounces the British Government to
Europe and the English nation.
Art. ii. Every Frenchman that shall place his money in the English funds
shall be declared a traitor to his country.
Art. iii. Every Frenchman who has money in the English funds or those
of any other Power with whom France is at war shall be obliged to declare
the same.
Art. iv. All foreigners, subjects of the Powers now at war with France,
particularly the English, shall be arrested, and seals put upon their papers.
Art. v. The barriers of Paris shall be instantly shut.
Art. vi. All good citizens shall be required in the name of the country to
search for the foreigners concerned in any plot denounced.
Art. vii. Three millions shall be at the disposal of the Minister at War to
facilitate the march of the garrison of Mentz to La Vendee.
Art. viii. The Minister at War shall send to the army on the coast of
Rochelle all the combustible materials necessary to set fire to the forests
and underwood of La Vendee.
Art. ix. The women, the children, and old men shall be conducted to the
interior parts of the country.
Art. x. The property of the rebels shall be confiscated for the benefit of
the Republic.
Art. xi. A camp shall be formed without delay between Paris and the
Northern army.
Art. xii. All the family of the Capets shall be banished from the French
territory, those excepted who are under the sword of the law, and the
offspring of Louis Capet, who shall both remain in the Temple.
Art. xiii. Marie Antoinette shall be delivered over to the Revolutionary
Tribunal, and shall be immediately conducted to the prison of the
Page 227
Conciergerie. Louise Elisabeth shall remain in the Temple till after the
judgment of Marie Antoinette.
Art. xiv. All the tombs of the Kings which are at St. Denis and in the
departments shall be destroyed on August the 10th.
Art. xv. The present decree shall be despatched by extraordinary couriers
to all the departments.
MEMOIRS OF THE COURT OF
MARIE ANTOINETTE, QUEEN
OF FRANCE
Being the Historic Memoirs of Madam Campan,
First Lady in Waiting to the Queen.
judgment of Marie Antoinette.
Art. xiv. All the tombs of the Kings which are at St. Denis and in the
departments shall be destroyed on August the 10th.
Art. xv. The present decree shall be despatched by extraordinary couriers
to all the departments.
MEMOIRS OF THE COURT OF
MARIE ANTOINETTE, QUEEN
OF FRANCE
Being the Historic Memoirs of Madam Campan,
First Lady in Waiting to the Queen.
Page 228
BOOK 2.
Page 229
CHAPTER I.
The ever-memorable oath of the States General, taken at the Tennis Court
of Versailles, was followed by the royal sitting of the 23d of June. In this
seance the King declared that the Orders must vote separately, and
threatened, if further obstacles were met with, to himself act for the good of
the people. The Queen looked on M. Necker’s not accompanying the King
as treachery or criminal cowardice: she said that he had converted a remedy
into poison; that being in full popularity, his audacity, in openly disavowing
the step taken by his sovereign, had emboldened the factious, and led away
the whole Assembly; and that he was the more culpable inasmuch as he had
the evening before given her his word to accompany the King. In vain did
M. Necker endeavour to excuse himself by saying that his advice had not
been followed.
Soon afterwards the insurrections of the 11th, 12th, and 14th of July—
[The Bastille was taken on the 14th July, 1789.]—opened the disastrous
drama with which France was threatened. The massacre of M. de Flesselles
and M. de Launay drew bitter tears from the Queen, and the idea that the
King had lost such devoted subjects wounded her to the heart.
The character of the movement was no longer merely that of a popular
insurrection; cries of “Vive la Nation! Vive le Roi! Vive la Liberte!” threw
the strongest light upon the views of the reformers. Still the people spoke of
the King with affection, and appeared to think him favourable to the
national desire for the reform of what were called abuses; but they imagined
that he was restrained by the opinions and influence of the Comte d’Artois
and the Queen; and those two august personages were therefore objects of
hatred to the malcontents. The dangers incurred by the Comte d’Artois
determined the King’s first step with the States General. He attended their
meeting on the morning of the 15th of July with his brothers, without pomp
or escort; he spoke standing and uncovered, and pronounced these
memorable words: “I trust myself to you; I only wish to be at one with my
nation, and, counting on the affection and fidelity of my subjects, I have
The ever-memorable oath of the States General, taken at the Tennis Court
of Versailles, was followed by the royal sitting of the 23d of June. In this
seance the King declared that the Orders must vote separately, and
threatened, if further obstacles were met with, to himself act for the good of
the people. The Queen looked on M. Necker’s not accompanying the King
as treachery or criminal cowardice: she said that he had converted a remedy
into poison; that being in full popularity, his audacity, in openly disavowing
the step taken by his sovereign, had emboldened the factious, and led away
the whole Assembly; and that he was the more culpable inasmuch as he had
the evening before given her his word to accompany the King. In vain did
M. Necker endeavour to excuse himself by saying that his advice had not
been followed.
Soon afterwards the insurrections of the 11th, 12th, and 14th of July—
[The Bastille was taken on the 14th July, 1789.]—opened the disastrous
drama with which France was threatened. The massacre of M. de Flesselles
and M. de Launay drew bitter tears from the Queen, and the idea that the
King had lost such devoted subjects wounded her to the heart.
The character of the movement was no longer merely that of a popular
insurrection; cries of “Vive la Nation! Vive le Roi! Vive la Liberte!” threw
the strongest light upon the views of the reformers. Still the people spoke of
the King with affection, and appeared to think him favourable to the
national desire for the reform of what were called abuses; but they imagined
that he was restrained by the opinions and influence of the Comte d’Artois
and the Queen; and those two august personages were therefore objects of
hatred to the malcontents. The dangers incurred by the Comte d’Artois
determined the King’s first step with the States General. He attended their
meeting on the morning of the 15th of July with his brothers, without pomp
or escort; he spoke standing and uncovered, and pronounced these
memorable words: “I trust myself to you; I only wish to be at one with my
nation, and, counting on the affection and fidelity of my subjects, I have
Page 230
given orders to the troops to remove from Paris and Versailles.” The King
returned on foot from the chamber of the States General to his palace; the
deputies crowded after him, and formed his escort, and that of the Princes
who accompanied him. The rage of the populace was pointed against the
Comte d’Artois, whose unfavourable opinion of the double representation
was an odious crime in their eyes. They repeatedly cried out, “The King for
ever, in spite of you and your opinions, Monseigneur!” One woman had the
impudence to come up to the King and ask him whether what he had been
doing was done sincerely, and whether he would not be forced to retract it.
The courtyards of the Chateau were thronged with an immense concourse
of people; they demanded that the King and Queen, with their children,
should make their appearance in the balcony. The Queen gave me the key of
the inner doors, which led to the Dauphin’s apartments, and desired me to
go to the Duchesse de Polignac to tell her that she wanted her son, and had
directed me to bring him myself into her room, where she waited to show
him to the people. The Duchess said this order indicated that she was not to
accompany the Prince. I did not answer; she squeezed my hand, saying,
“Ah! Madame Campan, what a blow I receive!” She embraced the child and
me with tears. She knew how much I loved and valued the goodness and the
noble simplicity of her disposition. I endeavoured to reassure her by saying
that I should bring back the Prince to her; but she persisted, and said she
understood the order, and knew what it meant. She then retired to her
private room, holding her handkerchief to her eyes. One of the under-
governesses asked me whether she might go with the Dauphin; I told her
the Queen had given no order to the contrary, and we hastened to her
Majesty, who was waiting to lead the Prince to the balcony.
Having executed this sad commission, I went down into the courtyard,
where I mingled with the crowd. I heard a thousand vociferations; it was
easy to see, by the difference between the language and the dress of some
persons among the mob, that they were in disguise. A woman, whose face
was covered with a black lace veil, seized me by the arm with some
violence, and said, calling me by my name, “I know you very well; tell your
Queen not to meddle with government any longer; let her leave her husband
and our good States General to effect the happiness of the people.” At the
same moment a man, dressed much in the style of a marketman, with his
hat pulled down over his eyes, seized me by the other arm, and said, “Yes,
yes; tell her over and over again that it will not be with these States as with
returned on foot from the chamber of the States General to his palace; the
deputies crowded after him, and formed his escort, and that of the Princes
who accompanied him. The rage of the populace was pointed against the
Comte d’Artois, whose unfavourable opinion of the double representation
was an odious crime in their eyes. They repeatedly cried out, “The King for
ever, in spite of you and your opinions, Monseigneur!” One woman had the
impudence to come up to the King and ask him whether what he had been
doing was done sincerely, and whether he would not be forced to retract it.
The courtyards of the Chateau were thronged with an immense concourse
of people; they demanded that the King and Queen, with their children,
should make their appearance in the balcony. The Queen gave me the key of
the inner doors, which led to the Dauphin’s apartments, and desired me to
go to the Duchesse de Polignac to tell her that she wanted her son, and had
directed me to bring him myself into her room, where she waited to show
him to the people. The Duchess said this order indicated that she was not to
accompany the Prince. I did not answer; she squeezed my hand, saying,
“Ah! Madame Campan, what a blow I receive!” She embraced the child and
me with tears. She knew how much I loved and valued the goodness and the
noble simplicity of her disposition. I endeavoured to reassure her by saying
that I should bring back the Prince to her; but she persisted, and said she
understood the order, and knew what it meant. She then retired to her
private room, holding her handkerchief to her eyes. One of the under-
governesses asked me whether she might go with the Dauphin; I told her
the Queen had given no order to the contrary, and we hastened to her
Majesty, who was waiting to lead the Prince to the balcony.
Having executed this sad commission, I went down into the courtyard,
where I mingled with the crowd. I heard a thousand vociferations; it was
easy to see, by the difference between the language and the dress of some
persons among the mob, that they were in disguise. A woman, whose face
was covered with a black lace veil, seized me by the arm with some
violence, and said, calling me by my name, “I know you very well; tell your
Queen not to meddle with government any longer; let her leave her husband
and our good States General to effect the happiness of the people.” At the
same moment a man, dressed much in the style of a marketman, with his
hat pulled down over his eyes, seized me by the other arm, and said, “Yes,
yes; tell her over and over again that it will not be with these States as with
Page 231
the others, which produced no good to the people; that the nation is too
enlightened in 1789 not to make something more of them; and that there
will not now be seen a deputy of the ‘Tiers Etat’ making a speech with one
knee on the ground; tell her this, do you hear?” I was struck with dread; the
Queen then appeared in the balcony. “Ah!” said the woman in the veil, “the
Duchess is not with her.”—“No,” replied the man, “but she is still at
Versailles; she is working underground, molelike; but we shall know how to
dig her out.” The detestable pair moved away from me, and I reentered the
palace, scarcely able to support myself. I thought it my duty to relate the
dialogue of these two strangers to the Queen; she made me repeat the
particulars to the King.
About four in the afternoon I went across the terrace to Madame
Victoire’s apartments; three men had stopped under the windows of the
throne-chamber. “Here is that throne,” said one of them aloud, “the vestiges
of which will soon be sought for.” He added a thousand invectives against
their Majesties. I went in to the Princess, who was at work alone in her
closet, behind a canvass blind, which prevented her from being seen by
those without. The three men were still walking upon the terrace; I showed
them to her, and told her what they had said. She rose to take a nearer view
of them, and informed me that one of them was named Saint-Huruge; that
he was sold to the Duc d’Orleans, and was furious against the Government,
because he had been confined once under a ‘lettre de cachet’ as a bad
character.
The King was not ignorant of these popular threats; he also knew the
days on which money was scattered about Paris, and once or twice the
Queen prevented my going there, saying there would certainly be a riot the
next day, because she knew that a quantity of crown pieces had been
distributed in the faubourgs.
[I have seen a six-franc crown piece, which certainly
served to pay some wretch on the night of the 12th of July;
the words “Midnight, 12th July, three pistols,” were rather
deeply engraven on it. They were, no doubt, a password for
the first insurrection.—MADAME COMPAN]
On the evening of the 14th of July the King came to the Queen’s
apartments, where I was with her Majesty alone; he conversed with her
enlightened in 1789 not to make something more of them; and that there
will not now be seen a deputy of the ‘Tiers Etat’ making a speech with one
knee on the ground; tell her this, do you hear?” I was struck with dread; the
Queen then appeared in the balcony. “Ah!” said the woman in the veil, “the
Duchess is not with her.”—“No,” replied the man, “but she is still at
Versailles; she is working underground, molelike; but we shall know how to
dig her out.” The detestable pair moved away from me, and I reentered the
palace, scarcely able to support myself. I thought it my duty to relate the
dialogue of these two strangers to the Queen; she made me repeat the
particulars to the King.
About four in the afternoon I went across the terrace to Madame
Victoire’s apartments; three men had stopped under the windows of the
throne-chamber. “Here is that throne,” said one of them aloud, “the vestiges
of which will soon be sought for.” He added a thousand invectives against
their Majesties. I went in to the Princess, who was at work alone in her
closet, behind a canvass blind, which prevented her from being seen by
those without. The three men were still walking upon the terrace; I showed
them to her, and told her what they had said. She rose to take a nearer view
of them, and informed me that one of them was named Saint-Huruge; that
he was sold to the Duc d’Orleans, and was furious against the Government,
because he had been confined once under a ‘lettre de cachet’ as a bad
character.
The King was not ignorant of these popular threats; he also knew the
days on which money was scattered about Paris, and once or twice the
Queen prevented my going there, saying there would certainly be a riot the
next day, because she knew that a quantity of crown pieces had been
distributed in the faubourgs.
[I have seen a six-franc crown piece, which certainly
served to pay some wretch on the night of the 12th of July;
the words “Midnight, 12th July, three pistols,” were rather
deeply engraven on it. They were, no doubt, a password for
the first insurrection.—MADAME COMPAN]
On the evening of the 14th of July the King came to the Queen’s
apartments, where I was with her Majesty alone; he conversed with her
Page 232
respecting the scandalous report disseminated by the factious, that he had
had the Chamber of the National Assembly undermined, in order to blow it
up; but he added that it became him to treat such absurd assertions with
contempt, as usual; I ventured to tell him that I had the evening before
supped with M. Begouen, one of the deputies, who said that there were very
respectable persons who thought that this horrible contrivance had been
proposed without the King’s knowledge. “Then,” said his Majesty, “as the
idea of such an atrocity was not revolting to so worthy a man as M.
Begouen, I will order the chamber to be examined early to-morrow
morning.” In fact, it will be seen by the King’s, speech to the National
Assembly, on the 15th of July, that the suspicions excited obtained his
attention. “I know,” said he in the speech in question, “that unworthy
insinuations have been made; I know there are those who have dared to
assert that your persons are not safe; can it be necessary to give you
assurances upon the subject of reports so culpable, denied beforehand by
my known character?”
The proceedings of the 15th of July produced no mitigation of the
disturbances. Successive deputations of poissardes came to request the King
to visit Paris, where his presence alone would put an end to the insurrection.
On the 16th a committee was held in the King’s apartments, at which a
most important question was discussed: whether his Majesty should quit
Versailles and set off with the troops whom he had recently ordered to
withdraw, or go to Paris to tranquillise the minds of the people. The Queen
was for the departure. On the evening of the 16th she made me take all her
jewels out of their cases, to collect them in one small box, which she might
carry off in her own carriage. With my assistance she burnt a large quantity
of papers; for Versailles was then threatened with an early visit of armed
men from Paris.
The Queen, on the morning of the 16th, before attending another
committee at the King’s, having got her jewels ready, and looked over all
her papers, gave me one folded up but not sealed, and desired me not to
read it until she should give me an order to do so from the King’s room, and
that then I was to execute its contents; but she returned herself about ten in
the morning; the affair was decided; the army was to go away without the
King; all those who were in imminent danger were to go at the same time.
“The King will go to the Hotel de Ville to-morrow,” said the Queen to me;
had the Chamber of the National Assembly undermined, in order to blow it
up; but he added that it became him to treat such absurd assertions with
contempt, as usual; I ventured to tell him that I had the evening before
supped with M. Begouen, one of the deputies, who said that there were very
respectable persons who thought that this horrible contrivance had been
proposed without the King’s knowledge. “Then,” said his Majesty, “as the
idea of such an atrocity was not revolting to so worthy a man as M.
Begouen, I will order the chamber to be examined early to-morrow
morning.” In fact, it will be seen by the King’s, speech to the National
Assembly, on the 15th of July, that the suspicions excited obtained his
attention. “I know,” said he in the speech in question, “that unworthy
insinuations have been made; I know there are those who have dared to
assert that your persons are not safe; can it be necessary to give you
assurances upon the subject of reports so culpable, denied beforehand by
my known character?”
The proceedings of the 15th of July produced no mitigation of the
disturbances. Successive deputations of poissardes came to request the King
to visit Paris, where his presence alone would put an end to the insurrection.
On the 16th a committee was held in the King’s apartments, at which a
most important question was discussed: whether his Majesty should quit
Versailles and set off with the troops whom he had recently ordered to
withdraw, or go to Paris to tranquillise the minds of the people. The Queen
was for the departure. On the evening of the 16th she made me take all her
jewels out of their cases, to collect them in one small box, which she might
carry off in her own carriage. With my assistance she burnt a large quantity
of papers; for Versailles was then threatened with an early visit of armed
men from Paris.
The Queen, on the morning of the 16th, before attending another
committee at the King’s, having got her jewels ready, and looked over all
her papers, gave me one folded up but not sealed, and desired me not to
read it until she should give me an order to do so from the King’s room, and
that then I was to execute its contents; but she returned herself about ten in
the morning; the affair was decided; the army was to go away without the
King; all those who were in imminent danger were to go at the same time.
“The King will go to the Hotel de Ville to-morrow,” said the Queen to me;
Page 233
“he did not choose this course for himself; there were long debates on the
question; at last the King put an end to them by rising and saying, ‘Well,
gentlemen, we must decide; am I to go or to stay? I am ready to do either.’
The majority were for the King staying; time will show whether the right
choice has been made.” I returned the Queen the paper she had given me,
which was now useless; she read it to me; it contained her orders for the
departure; I was to go with her, as well on account of my office about her
person as to serve as a teacher to Madame. The Queen tore the paper, and
said, with tears in her eyes, “When I wrote this I thought it would be useful,
but fate has ordered otherwise, to the misfortune of us all, as I much fear.”
After the departure of the troops the new administration received thanks;
M. Necker was recalled. The artillery soldiers were undoubtedly corrupted.
“Wherefore all these guns?” exclaimed the crowds of women who filled the
streets. “Will you kill your mothers, your wives, your children?”—“Don’t
be afraid,” answered the soldiers; “these guns shall rather be levelled
against the tyrant’s palace than against you!”
The Comte d’Artois, the Prince de Conde, and their children set off at the
same time with the troops. The Duc and Duchesse de Polignac, their
daughter, the Duchesse de Guiche, the Comtesse Diane de Polignac, sister
of the Duke, and the Abbe de Baliviere, also emigrated on the same night.
Nothing could be more affecting than the parting of the Queen and her
friend; extreme misfortune had banished from their minds the recollection
of differences to which political opinions alone had given rise. The Queen
several times wished to go and embrace her once more after their sorrowful
adieu, but she was too closely watched. She desired M. Campan to be
present at the departure of the Duchess, and gave him a purse of five
hundred Louis, desiring him to insist upon her allowing the Queen to lend
her that sum to defray her expenses on the road. The Queen added that she
knew her situation; that she had often calculated her income, and the
expenses occasioned by her place at Court; that both husband and wife
having no other fortune than their official salaries, could not possibly have
saved anything, however differently people might think at Paris.
M. Campan remained till midnight with the Duchess to see her enter her
carriage. She was disguised as a femme de chambre, and got up in front of
the Berlin; she requested M. Campan to remember her frequently to the
Queen, and then quitted for ever that palace, that favour, and that influence
question; at last the King put an end to them by rising and saying, ‘Well,
gentlemen, we must decide; am I to go or to stay? I am ready to do either.’
The majority were for the King staying; time will show whether the right
choice has been made.” I returned the Queen the paper she had given me,
which was now useless; she read it to me; it contained her orders for the
departure; I was to go with her, as well on account of my office about her
person as to serve as a teacher to Madame. The Queen tore the paper, and
said, with tears in her eyes, “When I wrote this I thought it would be useful,
but fate has ordered otherwise, to the misfortune of us all, as I much fear.”
After the departure of the troops the new administration received thanks;
M. Necker was recalled. The artillery soldiers were undoubtedly corrupted.
“Wherefore all these guns?” exclaimed the crowds of women who filled the
streets. “Will you kill your mothers, your wives, your children?”—“Don’t
be afraid,” answered the soldiers; “these guns shall rather be levelled
against the tyrant’s palace than against you!”
The Comte d’Artois, the Prince de Conde, and their children set off at the
same time with the troops. The Duc and Duchesse de Polignac, their
daughter, the Duchesse de Guiche, the Comtesse Diane de Polignac, sister
of the Duke, and the Abbe de Baliviere, also emigrated on the same night.
Nothing could be more affecting than the parting of the Queen and her
friend; extreme misfortune had banished from their minds the recollection
of differences to which political opinions alone had given rise. The Queen
several times wished to go and embrace her once more after their sorrowful
adieu, but she was too closely watched. She desired M. Campan to be
present at the departure of the Duchess, and gave him a purse of five
hundred Louis, desiring him to insist upon her allowing the Queen to lend
her that sum to defray her expenses on the road. The Queen added that she
knew her situation; that she had often calculated her income, and the
expenses occasioned by her place at Court; that both husband and wife
having no other fortune than their official salaries, could not possibly have
saved anything, however differently people might think at Paris.
M. Campan remained till midnight with the Duchess to see her enter her
carriage. She was disguised as a femme de chambre, and got up in front of
the Berlin; she requested M. Campan to remember her frequently to the
Queen, and then quitted for ever that palace, that favour, and that influence
Page 234
which had raised her up such cruel enemies. On their arrival at Sens the
travellers found the people in a state of insurrection; they asked all those
who came from Paris whether the Polignacs were still with the Queen. A
group of inquisitive persons put that question to the Abbe de Baliviere, who
answered them in the firmest tone, and with the most cavalier air, that they
were far enough from Versailles, and that we had got rid of all such bad
people. At the following stage the postilion got on the doorstep and said to
the Duchess, “Madame, there are some good people left in the world: I
recognised you all at Sens.” They gave the worthy fellow a handful of gold.
On the breaking out of these disturbances an old man above seventy
years of age gave the Queen an extraordinary proof of attachment and
fidelity. M. Peraque, a rich inhabitant of the colonies, father of M.
d’Oudenarde, was coming from Brussels to Paris; while changing horses he
was met by a young man who was leaving France, and who recommended
him if he carried any letters from foreign countries to burn them
immediately, especially if he had any for the Queen. M. Peraque had one
from the Archduchess, the Gouvernante of the Low Countries, for her
Majesty. He thanked the stranger, and carefully concealed his packet; but as
he approached Paris the insurrection appeared to him so general and so
violent, that he thought no means could be relied on for securing this letter
from seizure. He took upon him to unseal it, and learned it by heart, which
was a wonderful effort for a man at his time of life, as it contained four
pages of writing. On his arrival at Paris he wrote it down, and then
presented it to the Queen, telling her that the heart of an old and faithful
subject had given him courage to form and execute such a resolution. The
Queen received M. Peraque in her closet, and expressed her gratitude in an
affecting manner most honourable to the worthy old man. Her Majesty
thought the young stranger who had apprised him of the state of Paris was
Prince George of Hesse-Darmstadt, who was very devoted to her, and who
left Paris at that time.
The Marquise de Tourzel replaced the Duchess de Polignac. She was
selected by the Queen as being the mother of a family and a woman of
irreproachable conduct, who had superintended the education of her own
daughters with the greatest success.
The King went to Paris on the 17th of July, accompanied by the Marechal
de Beauvau, the Duc de Villeroi, and the Duc de Villequier; he also took the
travellers found the people in a state of insurrection; they asked all those
who came from Paris whether the Polignacs were still with the Queen. A
group of inquisitive persons put that question to the Abbe de Baliviere, who
answered them in the firmest tone, and with the most cavalier air, that they
were far enough from Versailles, and that we had got rid of all such bad
people. At the following stage the postilion got on the doorstep and said to
the Duchess, “Madame, there are some good people left in the world: I
recognised you all at Sens.” They gave the worthy fellow a handful of gold.
On the breaking out of these disturbances an old man above seventy
years of age gave the Queen an extraordinary proof of attachment and
fidelity. M. Peraque, a rich inhabitant of the colonies, father of M.
d’Oudenarde, was coming from Brussels to Paris; while changing horses he
was met by a young man who was leaving France, and who recommended
him if he carried any letters from foreign countries to burn them
immediately, especially if he had any for the Queen. M. Peraque had one
from the Archduchess, the Gouvernante of the Low Countries, for her
Majesty. He thanked the stranger, and carefully concealed his packet; but as
he approached Paris the insurrection appeared to him so general and so
violent, that he thought no means could be relied on for securing this letter
from seizure. He took upon him to unseal it, and learned it by heart, which
was a wonderful effort for a man at his time of life, as it contained four
pages of writing. On his arrival at Paris he wrote it down, and then
presented it to the Queen, telling her that the heart of an old and faithful
subject had given him courage to form and execute such a resolution. The
Queen received M. Peraque in her closet, and expressed her gratitude in an
affecting manner most honourable to the worthy old man. Her Majesty
thought the young stranger who had apprised him of the state of Paris was
Prince George of Hesse-Darmstadt, who was very devoted to her, and who
left Paris at that time.
The Marquise de Tourzel replaced the Duchess de Polignac. She was
selected by the Queen as being the mother of a family and a woman of
irreproachable conduct, who had superintended the education of her own
daughters with the greatest success.
The King went to Paris on the 17th of July, accompanied by the Marechal
de Beauvau, the Duc de Villeroi, and the Duc de Villequier; he also took the
Page 235
Comte d’Estaing, and the Marquis de Nesle, who were then very popular, in
his carriage. Twelve Body Guards, and the town guard of Versailles,
escorted him to the Pont du Jour, near Sevres, where the Parisian guard was
waiting for him. His departure caused equal grief and alarm to his friends,
notwithstanding the calmness he exhibited. The Queen restrained her tears,
and shut herself up in her private rooms with her family. She sent for
several persons belonging to her Court; their doors were locked. Terror had
driven them away. The silence of death reigned throughout the palace; they
hardly dared hope that the King would return? The Queen had a robe
prepared for her, and sent orders to her stables to have all her equipages
ready. She wrote an address of a few lines for the Assembly, determining to
go there with her family, the officers of her palace, and her servants, if the
King should be detained prisoner at Paris. She got this address by heart; it
began with these words: “Gentlemen, I come to place in your hands the
wife and family of your sovereign; do not suffer those who have been
united in heaven to be put asunder on earth.” While she was repeating this
address she was often interrupted by tears, and sorrowfully exclaimed:
“They will not let him return!”
It was past four when the King, who had left Versailles at ten in the
morning, entered the Hotel de Ville. At length, at six in the evening, M. de
Lastours, the King’s first page, arrived; he was not half an hour in coming
from the Barriere de la Conference to Versailles. Everybody knows that the
moment of calm in Paris was that in which the unfortunate sovereign
received the tricoloured cockade from M. Bailly, and placed it in his hat. A
shout of “Vive le Roi!” arose on all sides; it had not been once uttered
before. The King breathed again, and with tears in his eyes exclaimed that
his heart stood in need of such greetings from the people. One of his
equerries (M. de Cubieres) told him the people loved him, and that he could
never have doubted it. The King replied in accents of profound sensibility:
“Cubieres, the French loved Henri IV., and what king ever better
deserved to be beloved?”
[Louis XVI. cherished the memory of Henri IV.: at that
moment he thought of his deplorable end; but he long before
regarded him as a model. Soulavie says on the subject: “A
tablet with the inscription ‘Resurrexit’ placed upon the
pedestal of Henri IV.‘s statue on the accession of Louis XVI.
his carriage. Twelve Body Guards, and the town guard of Versailles,
escorted him to the Pont du Jour, near Sevres, where the Parisian guard was
waiting for him. His departure caused equal grief and alarm to his friends,
notwithstanding the calmness he exhibited. The Queen restrained her tears,
and shut herself up in her private rooms with her family. She sent for
several persons belonging to her Court; their doors were locked. Terror had
driven them away. The silence of death reigned throughout the palace; they
hardly dared hope that the King would return? The Queen had a robe
prepared for her, and sent orders to her stables to have all her equipages
ready. She wrote an address of a few lines for the Assembly, determining to
go there with her family, the officers of her palace, and her servants, if the
King should be detained prisoner at Paris. She got this address by heart; it
began with these words: “Gentlemen, I come to place in your hands the
wife and family of your sovereign; do not suffer those who have been
united in heaven to be put asunder on earth.” While she was repeating this
address she was often interrupted by tears, and sorrowfully exclaimed:
“They will not let him return!”
It was past four when the King, who had left Versailles at ten in the
morning, entered the Hotel de Ville. At length, at six in the evening, M. de
Lastours, the King’s first page, arrived; he was not half an hour in coming
from the Barriere de la Conference to Versailles. Everybody knows that the
moment of calm in Paris was that in which the unfortunate sovereign
received the tricoloured cockade from M. Bailly, and placed it in his hat. A
shout of “Vive le Roi!” arose on all sides; it had not been once uttered
before. The King breathed again, and with tears in his eyes exclaimed that
his heart stood in need of such greetings from the people. One of his
equerries (M. de Cubieres) told him the people loved him, and that he could
never have doubted it. The King replied in accents of profound sensibility:
“Cubieres, the French loved Henri IV., and what king ever better
deserved to be beloved?”
[Louis XVI. cherished the memory of Henri IV.: at that
moment he thought of his deplorable end; but he long before
regarded him as a model. Soulavie says on the subject: “A
tablet with the inscription ‘Resurrexit’ placed upon the
pedestal of Henri IV.‘s statue on the accession of Louis XVI.
Page 236
flattered him exceedingly. ‘What a fine compliment,’ said he,
‘if it were true! Tacitus himself never wrote anything so
concise or so happy.’ Louis XVI. wished to take the reign of
that Prince for a model. In the following year the party that
raised a commotion among the people on account of the
dearness of corn removed the tablet inscribed Resurrexit
from the statue of Henri IV., and placed it under that of
Louis XV., whose memory was then detested, as he was
believed to have traded on the scarcity of food. Louis XVI.,
who was informed of it, withdrew into his private
apartments, where he was found in a fever shedding tears;
and during the whole of that day he could not be prevailed
upon either to dine, walk out, or sup. From this
circumstance we may judge what he endured at the
commencement of the Revolution, when he was accused of
not loving the French people.”—NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
His return to Versailles filled his family with inexpressible joy; in the
arms of the Queen, his sister, and his children, he congratulated himself that
no accident had happened; and he repeated several times, “Happily no
blood has been shed, and I swear that never shall a drop of French blood be
shed by my order,”—a determination full of humanity, but too openly
avowed in such factious times!
The King’s last measure raised a hope in many that general tranquillity
would soon enable the Assembly to resume its, labours, and promptly bring
its session to a close. The Queen never flattered herself so far; M. Bailly’s
speech to the King had equally wounded her pride and hurt her feelings.
“Henri IV. conquered his people, and here are the people conquering their
King.” The word “conquest” offended her; she never forgave M. Bailly for
this fine academical phrase.
Five days after the King’s visit to Paris, the departure of the troops, and
the removal of the Princes and some of the nobility whose influence seemed
to alarm the people, a horrible deed committed by hired assassins proved
that the King had descended the steps of his throne without having effected
a reconciliation with his people.
M. Foulon, adjoint to the administration while M. de Broglie was
commanding the army assembled at Versailles, had concealed himself at
‘if it were true! Tacitus himself never wrote anything so
concise or so happy.’ Louis XVI. wished to take the reign of
that Prince for a model. In the following year the party that
raised a commotion among the people on account of the
dearness of corn removed the tablet inscribed Resurrexit
from the statue of Henri IV., and placed it under that of
Louis XV., whose memory was then detested, as he was
believed to have traded on the scarcity of food. Louis XVI.,
who was informed of it, withdrew into his private
apartments, where he was found in a fever shedding tears;
and during the whole of that day he could not be prevailed
upon either to dine, walk out, or sup. From this
circumstance we may judge what he endured at the
commencement of the Revolution, when he was accused of
not loving the French people.”—NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
His return to Versailles filled his family with inexpressible joy; in the
arms of the Queen, his sister, and his children, he congratulated himself that
no accident had happened; and he repeated several times, “Happily no
blood has been shed, and I swear that never shall a drop of French blood be
shed by my order,”—a determination full of humanity, but too openly
avowed in such factious times!
The King’s last measure raised a hope in many that general tranquillity
would soon enable the Assembly to resume its, labours, and promptly bring
its session to a close. The Queen never flattered herself so far; M. Bailly’s
speech to the King had equally wounded her pride and hurt her feelings.
“Henri IV. conquered his people, and here are the people conquering their
King.” The word “conquest” offended her; she never forgave M. Bailly for
this fine academical phrase.
Five days after the King’s visit to Paris, the departure of the troops, and
the removal of the Princes and some of the nobility whose influence seemed
to alarm the people, a horrible deed committed by hired assassins proved
that the King had descended the steps of his throne without having effected
a reconciliation with his people.
M. Foulon, adjoint to the administration while M. de Broglie was
commanding the army assembled at Versailles, had concealed himself at
Page 237
Viry. He was there recognised, and the peasants seized him, and dragged
him to the Hotel de Ville. The cry for death was heard; the electors, the
members of committee, and M. de La Fayette, at that time the idol of Paris,
in vain endeavoured to save the unfortunate man. After tormenting him in a
manner which makes humanity shudder, his body was dragged about the
streets, and to the Palais Royal, and his heart was carried by women in the
midst of a bunch of white carnations! M. Berthier, M. Foulon’s son-in-law,
intendant of Paris, was seized at Compiegne, at the same time that his
father-in-law was seized at Viry, and treated with still more relentless
cruelty.
The Queen was always persuaded that this horrible deed was occasioned
by some indiscretion; and she informed me that M. Foulon had drawn up
two memorials for the direction of the King’s conduct at the time of his
being called to Court on the removal of M. Necker; and that these
memorials contained two schemes of totally different nature for extricating
the King from the dreadful situation in which he was placed. In the first of
these projects M. Foulon expressed himself without reserve respecting the
criminal views of the Duc d’Orleans; said that he ought to be put under
arrest, and that no time should be lost in commencing a prosecution against
him, while the criminal tribunals were still in existence; he likewise pointed
out such deputies as should be apprehended, and advised the King not to
separate himself from his army until order was restored.
His other plan was that the King should make himself master of the
revolution before its complete explosion; he advised his Majesty to go to
the Assembly, and there, in person, to demand the cahiers, and to make the
greatest sacrifices to satisfy the legitimate wishes of the people, and not to
give the factious time to enlist them in aid of their criminal designs.
[Cahiers, the memorials or lists of complaints,
grievances, and requirements of the electors drawn up by the
primary assemblies and sent with the deputies.]
Madame Adelaide had M. Foulon’s two memorials read to her in the
presence of four or five persons. One of them, Comte Louis de Narbonne,
was very intimate with Madame de Stael, and that intimacy gave the Queen
reason to believe that the opposite party had gained information of M.
Foulon’s schemes.
him to the Hotel de Ville. The cry for death was heard; the electors, the
members of committee, and M. de La Fayette, at that time the idol of Paris,
in vain endeavoured to save the unfortunate man. After tormenting him in a
manner which makes humanity shudder, his body was dragged about the
streets, and to the Palais Royal, and his heart was carried by women in the
midst of a bunch of white carnations! M. Berthier, M. Foulon’s son-in-law,
intendant of Paris, was seized at Compiegne, at the same time that his
father-in-law was seized at Viry, and treated with still more relentless
cruelty.
The Queen was always persuaded that this horrible deed was occasioned
by some indiscretion; and she informed me that M. Foulon had drawn up
two memorials for the direction of the King’s conduct at the time of his
being called to Court on the removal of M. Necker; and that these
memorials contained two schemes of totally different nature for extricating
the King from the dreadful situation in which he was placed. In the first of
these projects M. Foulon expressed himself without reserve respecting the
criminal views of the Duc d’Orleans; said that he ought to be put under
arrest, and that no time should be lost in commencing a prosecution against
him, while the criminal tribunals were still in existence; he likewise pointed
out such deputies as should be apprehended, and advised the King not to
separate himself from his army until order was restored.
His other plan was that the King should make himself master of the
revolution before its complete explosion; he advised his Majesty to go to
the Assembly, and there, in person, to demand the cahiers, and to make the
greatest sacrifices to satisfy the legitimate wishes of the people, and not to
give the factious time to enlist them in aid of their criminal designs.
[Cahiers, the memorials or lists of complaints,
grievances, and requirements of the electors drawn up by the
primary assemblies and sent with the deputies.]
Madame Adelaide had M. Foulon’s two memorials read to her in the
presence of four or five persons. One of them, Comte Louis de Narbonne,
was very intimate with Madame de Stael, and that intimacy gave the Queen
reason to believe that the opposite party had gained information of M.
Foulon’s schemes.
Page 238
It is known that young Barnave, during an aberration of mind, since
expiated by sincere repentance, and even by death, uttered these atrocious
words: “Is then the blood now, flowing so pure?” when M. Berthier’s son
came to the Assembly to implore the eloquence of M. de Lally to entreat
that body to save his father’s life. I have since been informed that a son of
M. Foulon, having returned to France after these first ebullitions of the
Revolution, saw Barnave, and gave him one of those memorials in which
M. Foulon advised Louis XVI. to prevent the revolutionary explosion by
voluntarily granting all that the Assembly required before the 14th of July.
“Read this memorial,” said he; “I have brought it to increase your remorse:
it is the only revenge I wish to inflict on you.” Barnave burst into tears, and
said to him all that the profoundest grief could dictate.
expiated by sincere repentance, and even by death, uttered these atrocious
words: “Is then the blood now, flowing so pure?” when M. Berthier’s son
came to the Assembly to implore the eloquence of M. de Lally to entreat
that body to save his father’s life. I have since been informed that a son of
M. Foulon, having returned to France after these first ebullitions of the
Revolution, saw Barnave, and gave him one of those memorials in which
M. Foulon advised Louis XVI. to prevent the revolutionary explosion by
voluntarily granting all that the Assembly required before the 14th of July.
“Read this memorial,” said he; “I have brought it to increase your remorse:
it is the only revenge I wish to inflict on you.” Barnave burst into tears, and
said to him all that the profoundest grief could dictate.
Page 239
CHAPTER II.
After the 14th of July, by a manoeuvre for which the most skilful factions
of any age might have envied the Assembly, the whole population of France
was armed and organised into a National Guard. A report was spread
throughout France on the same day, and almost at the same hour, that four
thousand brigands were marching towards such towns or villages as it was
wished to induce to take arms. Never was any plan better laid; terror spread
at the same moment all over the kingdom. In 1791 a peasant showed me a
steep rock in the mountains of the Mont d’Or on which his wife concealed
herself on the day when the four thousand brigands were to attack their
village, and told me they had been obliged to make use of ropes to let her
down from the height which fear alone had enabled her to climb.
Versailles was certainly the place where the national military uniform
appeared most offensive. All the King’s valets, even of the lowest class,
were metamorphosed into lieutenants or captains; almost all the musicians
of the chapel ventured one day to make their appearance at the King’s mass
in a military costume; and an Italian soprano adopted the uniform of a
grenadier captain. The King was very much offended at this conduct, and
forbade his servants to appear in his presence in so unsuitable a dress.
The departure of the Duchesse de Polignac naturally left the Abbe de
Vermond exposed to all the dangers of favouritism. He was already talked
of as an adviser dangerous to the nation. The Queen was alarmed at it, and
recommended him to remove to Valenciennes, where Count Esterhazy was
in command. He was obliged to leave that place in a few days and set off
for Vienna, where he remained.
On the night of the 17th of July the Queen, being unable to sleep, made
me watch by her until three in the morning. I was extremely surprised to
hear her say that it would be a very long time before the Abbe de Vermond
would make his appearance at Court again, even if the existing ferment
should subside, because he would not readily be forgiven for his attachment
After the 14th of July, by a manoeuvre for which the most skilful factions
of any age might have envied the Assembly, the whole population of France
was armed and organised into a National Guard. A report was spread
throughout France on the same day, and almost at the same hour, that four
thousand brigands were marching towards such towns or villages as it was
wished to induce to take arms. Never was any plan better laid; terror spread
at the same moment all over the kingdom. In 1791 a peasant showed me a
steep rock in the mountains of the Mont d’Or on which his wife concealed
herself on the day when the four thousand brigands were to attack their
village, and told me they had been obliged to make use of ropes to let her
down from the height which fear alone had enabled her to climb.
Versailles was certainly the place where the national military uniform
appeared most offensive. All the King’s valets, even of the lowest class,
were metamorphosed into lieutenants or captains; almost all the musicians
of the chapel ventured one day to make their appearance at the King’s mass
in a military costume; and an Italian soprano adopted the uniform of a
grenadier captain. The King was very much offended at this conduct, and
forbade his servants to appear in his presence in so unsuitable a dress.
The departure of the Duchesse de Polignac naturally left the Abbe de
Vermond exposed to all the dangers of favouritism. He was already talked
of as an adviser dangerous to the nation. The Queen was alarmed at it, and
recommended him to remove to Valenciennes, where Count Esterhazy was
in command. He was obliged to leave that place in a few days and set off
for Vienna, where he remained.
On the night of the 17th of July the Queen, being unable to sleep, made
me watch by her until three in the morning. I was extremely surprised to
hear her say that it would be a very long time before the Abbe de Vermond
would make his appearance at Court again, even if the existing ferment
should subside, because he would not readily be forgiven for his attachment
Page 240
to the Archbishop of Sens; and that she had lost in him a very devoted
servant. Then she suddenly remarked to me, that although he was not much
prejudiced against me I could not have much regard for him, because he
could not bear my father-in-law to hold the place of secretary of the closet.
She went on to say that I must have studied the Abbe’s character, and, as I
had sometimes drawn her portraits of living characters, in imitation of those
which were fashionable in the time of Louis XIV., she desired me to sketch
that of the Abbe, without any reserve. My astonishment was extreme; the
Queen spoke of the man who, the day before, had been in the greatest
intimacy with her with the utmost coolness, and as a person whom, perhaps,
she might never see again! I remained petrified; the Queen persisted, and
told me that he had been the enemy of my family for more than twelve
years, without having been able to injure it in her opinion; so that I had no
occasion to dread his return, however severely I might depict him. I
promptly summarised my ideas about the favourite; but I only remember
that the portrait was drawn with sincerity, except that everything which
could denote antipathy was kept out of it. I shall make but one extract from
it: I said that he had been born talkative and indiscreet, and had assumed a
character of singularity and abruptness in order to conceal those two
failings. The Queen interrupted me by saying, “Ah! how true that is!” I
have since discovered that, notwithstanding the high favour which the Abbe
de Vermond enjoyed, the Queen took precautions to guard herself against an
ascendency the consequences of which she could not calculate.
On the death of my father-in-law his executors placed in my hands a box
containing a few jewels deposited by the Queen with M. Campan on the
departure from Versailles of the 6th of October, and two sealed packets,
each inscribed, “Campan will take care of these papers for me.” I took the
two packets to her Majesty, who kept the jewels and the larger packet, and,
returning me the smaller, said, “Take care of that for me as your father-in-
law did.”
After the fatal 10th of August, 1792,—[The day of the attack on the
Tuileries, slaughter of the Swiss guard, and suspension of the King from his
functions.]—when my house was about to be surrounded, I determined to
burn the most interesting papers of which I was the depositary; I thought it
my duty, however, to open this packet, which it might perhaps be necessary
for me to preserve at all hazards. I saw that it contained a letter from the
Abbe de Vermond to the Queen. I have already related that in the earlier
servant. Then she suddenly remarked to me, that although he was not much
prejudiced against me I could not have much regard for him, because he
could not bear my father-in-law to hold the place of secretary of the closet.
She went on to say that I must have studied the Abbe’s character, and, as I
had sometimes drawn her portraits of living characters, in imitation of those
which were fashionable in the time of Louis XIV., she desired me to sketch
that of the Abbe, without any reserve. My astonishment was extreme; the
Queen spoke of the man who, the day before, had been in the greatest
intimacy with her with the utmost coolness, and as a person whom, perhaps,
she might never see again! I remained petrified; the Queen persisted, and
told me that he had been the enemy of my family for more than twelve
years, without having been able to injure it in her opinion; so that I had no
occasion to dread his return, however severely I might depict him. I
promptly summarised my ideas about the favourite; but I only remember
that the portrait was drawn with sincerity, except that everything which
could denote antipathy was kept out of it. I shall make but one extract from
it: I said that he had been born talkative and indiscreet, and had assumed a
character of singularity and abruptness in order to conceal those two
failings. The Queen interrupted me by saying, “Ah! how true that is!” I
have since discovered that, notwithstanding the high favour which the Abbe
de Vermond enjoyed, the Queen took precautions to guard herself against an
ascendency the consequences of which she could not calculate.
On the death of my father-in-law his executors placed in my hands a box
containing a few jewels deposited by the Queen with M. Campan on the
departure from Versailles of the 6th of October, and two sealed packets,
each inscribed, “Campan will take care of these papers for me.” I took the
two packets to her Majesty, who kept the jewels and the larger packet, and,
returning me the smaller, said, “Take care of that for me as your father-in-
law did.”
After the fatal 10th of August, 1792,—[The day of the attack on the
Tuileries, slaughter of the Swiss guard, and suspension of the King from his
functions.]—when my house was about to be surrounded, I determined to
burn the most interesting papers of which I was the depositary; I thought it
my duty, however, to open this packet, which it might perhaps be necessary
for me to preserve at all hazards. I saw that it contained a letter from the
Abbe de Vermond to the Queen. I have already related that in the earlier
Page 241
days of Madame de Polignac’s favour he determined to remove from
Versailles, and that the Queen recalled him by means of the Comte de
Mercy. This letter contained nothing but certain conditions for his return; it
was the most whimsical of treaties; I confess I greatly regretted being under
the necessity of destroying it. He reproached the Queen for her infatuation
for the Comtesse Jules, her family, and society; and told her several truths
about the possible consequences of a friendship which ranked that lady
among the favourites of the Queens of France, a title always disliked by the
nation. He complained that his advice was neglected, and then came to the
conditions of his return to Versailles; after strong assurances that he would
never, in all his life, aim at the higher church dignities, he said that he
delighted in an unbounded confidence; and that he asked but two things of
her Majesty as essential: the first was, not to give him her orders through
any third person, and to write to him herself; he complained much that he
had had no letter in her own hand since he had left Vienna; then he
demanded of her an income of eighty thousand livres, in ecclesiastical
benefices; and concluded by saying that, if she condescended to assure him
herself that she would set about procuring him what he wished, her letter
would be sufficient in itself to show him that her Majesty had accepted the
two conditions he ventured to make respecting his return. No doubt the
letter was written; at least it is very certain that the benefices were granted,
and that his absence from Versailles lasted only a single week.
In the course of July, 1789, the regiment of French guards, which had
been in a state of insurrection from the latter end of June, abandoned its
colours. One single company of grenadiers remained faithful, to its post at
Versailles. M. le Baron de Leval was the captain of this company. He came
every evening to request me to give the Queen an account of the disposition
of his soldiers; but M. de La Fayette having sent them a note, they all
deserted during the night and joined their comrades, who were enrolled in
the Paris guard; so that Louis XVI. on rising saw no guard whatever at the
various posts entrusted to them.
The decrees of the 4th of August, by which all privileges were abolished,
are well known.
[“It was during the night of the 4th of August,” says
Rivarol, “that the demagogues of the nobility, wearied with
a protracted discussion upon the rights of man, and burning
Versailles, and that the Queen recalled him by means of the Comte de
Mercy. This letter contained nothing but certain conditions for his return; it
was the most whimsical of treaties; I confess I greatly regretted being under
the necessity of destroying it. He reproached the Queen for her infatuation
for the Comtesse Jules, her family, and society; and told her several truths
about the possible consequences of a friendship which ranked that lady
among the favourites of the Queens of France, a title always disliked by the
nation. He complained that his advice was neglected, and then came to the
conditions of his return to Versailles; after strong assurances that he would
never, in all his life, aim at the higher church dignities, he said that he
delighted in an unbounded confidence; and that he asked but two things of
her Majesty as essential: the first was, not to give him her orders through
any third person, and to write to him herself; he complained much that he
had had no letter in her own hand since he had left Vienna; then he
demanded of her an income of eighty thousand livres, in ecclesiastical
benefices; and concluded by saying that, if she condescended to assure him
herself that she would set about procuring him what he wished, her letter
would be sufficient in itself to show him that her Majesty had accepted the
two conditions he ventured to make respecting his return. No doubt the
letter was written; at least it is very certain that the benefices were granted,
and that his absence from Versailles lasted only a single week.
In the course of July, 1789, the regiment of French guards, which had
been in a state of insurrection from the latter end of June, abandoned its
colours. One single company of grenadiers remained faithful, to its post at
Versailles. M. le Baron de Leval was the captain of this company. He came
every evening to request me to give the Queen an account of the disposition
of his soldiers; but M. de La Fayette having sent them a note, they all
deserted during the night and joined their comrades, who were enrolled in
the Paris guard; so that Louis XVI. on rising saw no guard whatever at the
various posts entrusted to them.
The decrees of the 4th of August, by which all privileges were abolished,
are well known.
[“It was during the night of the 4th of August,” says
Rivarol, “that the demagogues of the nobility, wearied with
a protracted discussion upon the rights of man, and burning
Page 242
to signalise their zeal, rose all at once, and with loud
exclamations called for the last sighs of the feudal system.
This demand electrified the Assembly. All heads were
frenzied. The younger sons of good families, having nothing,
were delighted to sacrifice their too fortunate elders upon
the altar of the country; a few country cures felt no less
pleasure in renouncing the benefices of others; but what
posterity will hardly believe is that the same enthusiasm
infected the whole nobility; zeal walked hand in hand with
malevolence; they made sacrifice upon sacrifice. And as in
Japan the point of honour lies in a man’s killing himself in
the presence of the person who has offended him, so did the
deputies of the nobility vie in striking at themselves and their
constituents. The people who were present at this noble
contest increased the intoxication of their new allies by their
shouts; and the deputies of the commons, seeing that this
memorable night would only afford them profit without
honour, consoled their self-love by wondering at what
Nobility, grafted upon the Third Estate, could do. They
named that night the ‘night of dupes’; the nobles called it
the ‘night of sacrifices’.”—NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
The King sanctioned all that tended to the diminution of his own personal
gratifications, but refused his consent to the other decrees of that
tumultuous night; this refusal was one of the chief causes of the ferments of
the month of October.
In the early part of September meetings were held at the Palais Royal,
and propositions made to go to Versailles; it was said to be necessary to
separate the King from his evil counsellors, and keep him, as well as the
Dauphin, at the Louvre. The proclamations by the officers of the commune
for the restoration of tranquillity were ineffectual; but M. de La Fayette
succeeded this time in dispersing the populace. The Assembly declared
itself permanent; and during the whole of September, in which no doubt the
preparations were made for the great insurrections of the following month,
the Court was not disturbed.
The King had the Flanders regiment removed to Versailles; unfortunately
the idea of the officers of that regiment fraternising with the Body Guards
exclamations called for the last sighs of the feudal system.
This demand electrified the Assembly. All heads were
frenzied. The younger sons of good families, having nothing,
were delighted to sacrifice their too fortunate elders upon
the altar of the country; a few country cures felt no less
pleasure in renouncing the benefices of others; but what
posterity will hardly believe is that the same enthusiasm
infected the whole nobility; zeal walked hand in hand with
malevolence; they made sacrifice upon sacrifice. And as in
Japan the point of honour lies in a man’s killing himself in
the presence of the person who has offended him, so did the
deputies of the nobility vie in striking at themselves and their
constituents. The people who were present at this noble
contest increased the intoxication of their new allies by their
shouts; and the deputies of the commons, seeing that this
memorable night would only afford them profit without
honour, consoled their self-love by wondering at what
Nobility, grafted upon the Third Estate, could do. They
named that night the ‘night of dupes’; the nobles called it
the ‘night of sacrifices’.”—NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
The King sanctioned all that tended to the diminution of his own personal
gratifications, but refused his consent to the other decrees of that
tumultuous night; this refusal was one of the chief causes of the ferments of
the month of October.
In the early part of September meetings were held at the Palais Royal,
and propositions made to go to Versailles; it was said to be necessary to
separate the King from his evil counsellors, and keep him, as well as the
Dauphin, at the Louvre. The proclamations by the officers of the commune
for the restoration of tranquillity were ineffectual; but M. de La Fayette
succeeded this time in dispersing the populace. The Assembly declared
itself permanent; and during the whole of September, in which no doubt the
preparations were made for the great insurrections of the following month,
the Court was not disturbed.
The King had the Flanders regiment removed to Versailles; unfortunately
the idea of the officers of that regiment fraternising with the Body Guards
Page 243
was conceived, and the latter invited the former to a dinner, which was
given in the great theatre of Versailles, and not in the Salon of Hercules, as
some chroniclers say. Boxes were appropriated to various persons who
wished to be present at this entertainment. The Queen told me she had been
advised to make her appearance on the occasion, but that under existing
circumstances she thought such a step might do more harm than good; and
that, moreover, neither she nor the King ought directly to have anything to
do with such a festival. She ordered me to go, and desired me to observe
everything closely, in order to give a faithful account of the whole affair.
The tables were set out upon the stage; at them were placed one of the
Body Guard and an officer of the Flanders regiment alternately. There was a
numerous orchestra in the room, and the boxes were filled with spectators.
The air, “O Richard, O mon Roi!” was played, and shouts of “Vive de Roi!”
shook the roof for several minutes. I had with me one of my nieces, and a
young person brought up with Madame by her Majesty. They were crying
“Vive le Roi!” with all their might when a deputy of the Third Estate, who
was in the next box to mine, and whom I had never seen, called to them,
and reproached them for their exclamations; it hurt him, he said, to see
young and handsome Frenchwomen brought up in such servile habits,
screaming so outrageously for the life of one man, and with true fanaticism
exalting him in their hearts above even their dearest relations; he told them
what contempt worthy American women would feel on seeing
Frenchwomen thus corrupted from their earliest infancy. My niece replied
with tolerable spirit, and I requested the deputy to put an end to the subject,
which could by no means afford him any satisfaction, inasmuch as the
young persons who were with me lived, as well as myself, for the sole
purpose of serving and loving the King. While I was speaking what was my
astonishment at seeing the King, the Queen, and the Dauphin enter the
chamber! It was M. de Luxembourg who had effected this change in the
Queen’s determination.
The enthusiasm became general; the moment their Majesties arrived the
orchestra repeated the air I have just mentioned, and afterwards played a
song in the “Deserter,” “Can we grieve those whom we love?” which also
made a powerful impression upon those present: on all sides were heard
praises of their Majesties, exclamations of affection, expressions of regret
for what they had suffered, clapping of hands, and shouts of “Vive le Roi!
Vive la Reine! Vive le Dauphin!” It has been said that white cockades were
given in the great theatre of Versailles, and not in the Salon of Hercules, as
some chroniclers say. Boxes were appropriated to various persons who
wished to be present at this entertainment. The Queen told me she had been
advised to make her appearance on the occasion, but that under existing
circumstances she thought such a step might do more harm than good; and
that, moreover, neither she nor the King ought directly to have anything to
do with such a festival. She ordered me to go, and desired me to observe
everything closely, in order to give a faithful account of the whole affair.
The tables were set out upon the stage; at them were placed one of the
Body Guard and an officer of the Flanders regiment alternately. There was a
numerous orchestra in the room, and the boxes were filled with spectators.
The air, “O Richard, O mon Roi!” was played, and shouts of “Vive de Roi!”
shook the roof for several minutes. I had with me one of my nieces, and a
young person brought up with Madame by her Majesty. They were crying
“Vive le Roi!” with all their might when a deputy of the Third Estate, who
was in the next box to mine, and whom I had never seen, called to them,
and reproached them for their exclamations; it hurt him, he said, to see
young and handsome Frenchwomen brought up in such servile habits,
screaming so outrageously for the life of one man, and with true fanaticism
exalting him in their hearts above even their dearest relations; he told them
what contempt worthy American women would feel on seeing
Frenchwomen thus corrupted from their earliest infancy. My niece replied
with tolerable spirit, and I requested the deputy to put an end to the subject,
which could by no means afford him any satisfaction, inasmuch as the
young persons who were with me lived, as well as myself, for the sole
purpose of serving and loving the King. While I was speaking what was my
astonishment at seeing the King, the Queen, and the Dauphin enter the
chamber! It was M. de Luxembourg who had effected this change in the
Queen’s determination.
The enthusiasm became general; the moment their Majesties arrived the
orchestra repeated the air I have just mentioned, and afterwards played a
song in the “Deserter,” “Can we grieve those whom we love?” which also
made a powerful impression upon those present: on all sides were heard
praises of their Majesties, exclamations of affection, expressions of regret
for what they had suffered, clapping of hands, and shouts of “Vive le Roi!
Vive la Reine! Vive le Dauphin!” It has been said that white cockades were
Page 244
worn on this occasion; that was not the case; the fact is, that a few young
men belonging to the National Guard of Versailles, who were invited to the
entertainment, turned the white lining of their national cockades outwards.
All the military men quitted the hall, and reconducted the King and his
family to their apartments. There was intoxication in these ebullitions of
joy: a thousand extravagances were committed by the military, and many of
them danced under the King’s windows; a soldier belonging to the Flanders
regiment climbed up to the balcony of the King’s chamber in order to shout
“Vive le Roi!” nearer his Majesty; this very soldier, as I have been told by
several officers of the corps, was one of the first and most dangerous of
their insurgents in the riots of the 5th and 6th of October. On the same
evening another soldier of that regiment killed himself with a sword. One of
my relations, chaplain to the Queen, who supped with me, saw him
stretched out in a corner of the Place d’Armes; he went to him to give him
spiritual assistance, and received his confession and his last sighs. He
destroyed himself out of regret at having suffered himself to be corrupted
by the enemies of his King, and said that, since he had seen him and the
Queen and the Dauphin, remorse had turned his brain.
I returned home, delighted with all that I had seen.
I found a great many people there. M. de Beaumetz, deputy for Arras,
listened to my description with a chilling air, and, when I had finished, told
me that all that had passed was terrific; that he knew the disposition of the
Assembly, and that the greatest misfortunes would follow the drama of that
night; and he begged my leave to withdraw that he might take time for
deliberate reflection whether he should on the very next day emigrate, or
pass over to the left side of the Assembly. He adopted the latter course, and
never appeared again among my associates.
On the 2d of October the military entertainment was followed up by a
breakfast given at the hotel of the Body Guards. It is said that a discussion
took place whether they should not march against the Assembly; but I am
utterly ignorant of what passed at that breakfast. From that moment Paris
was constantly in commotion; there were continual mobs, and the most
virulent proposals were heard in all public places; the conversation was
invariably about proceeding to Versailles. The King and Queen did not
seem apprehensive of such a measure, and took no precaution against it;
even when the army had actually left Paris, on the evening of the 5th of
men belonging to the National Guard of Versailles, who were invited to the
entertainment, turned the white lining of their national cockades outwards.
All the military men quitted the hall, and reconducted the King and his
family to their apartments. There was intoxication in these ebullitions of
joy: a thousand extravagances were committed by the military, and many of
them danced under the King’s windows; a soldier belonging to the Flanders
regiment climbed up to the balcony of the King’s chamber in order to shout
“Vive le Roi!” nearer his Majesty; this very soldier, as I have been told by
several officers of the corps, was one of the first and most dangerous of
their insurgents in the riots of the 5th and 6th of October. On the same
evening another soldier of that regiment killed himself with a sword. One of
my relations, chaplain to the Queen, who supped with me, saw him
stretched out in a corner of the Place d’Armes; he went to him to give him
spiritual assistance, and received his confession and his last sighs. He
destroyed himself out of regret at having suffered himself to be corrupted
by the enemies of his King, and said that, since he had seen him and the
Queen and the Dauphin, remorse had turned his brain.
I returned home, delighted with all that I had seen.
I found a great many people there. M. de Beaumetz, deputy for Arras,
listened to my description with a chilling air, and, when I had finished, told
me that all that had passed was terrific; that he knew the disposition of the
Assembly, and that the greatest misfortunes would follow the drama of that
night; and he begged my leave to withdraw that he might take time for
deliberate reflection whether he should on the very next day emigrate, or
pass over to the left side of the Assembly. He adopted the latter course, and
never appeared again among my associates.
On the 2d of October the military entertainment was followed up by a
breakfast given at the hotel of the Body Guards. It is said that a discussion
took place whether they should not march against the Assembly; but I am
utterly ignorant of what passed at that breakfast. From that moment Paris
was constantly in commotion; there were continual mobs, and the most
virulent proposals were heard in all public places; the conversation was
invariably about proceeding to Versailles. The King and Queen did not
seem apprehensive of such a measure, and took no precaution against it;
even when the army had actually left Paris, on the evening of the 5th of
Page 245
October, the King was shooting at Meudon, and the Queen was alone in her
gardens at Trianon, which she then beheld for the last time in her life. She
was sitting in her grotto absorbed in painful reflection, when she received a
note from the Comte de Saint-Priest, entreating her to return to Versailles.
M. de Cubieres at the same time went off to request the King to leave his
sport and return to the palace; the King did so on horseback, and very
leisurely. A few minutes afterwards he was informed that a numerous body
of women, which preceded the Parisian army, was at Chaville, at the
entrance of the avenue from Paris.
The scarcity of bread and the entertainment of the Body Guards were the
pretexts for the insurrection of the 5th and 6th of October, 1789; but it is
clear to demonstration that this new movement of the people was a part of
the original plan of the factious, insomuch as, ever since the beginning of
September, a report had been industriously circulated that the King intended
to withdraw, with his family and ministers, to some stronghold; and at all
the popular assemblies there had been always a great deal said about going
to Versailles to seize the King.
At first only women showed themselves; the latticed doors of the
Chateau were closed, and the Body Guard and Flanders regiment were
drawn up in the Place d’Armes. As the details of that dreadful day are given
with precision in several works, I will only observe that general
consternation and disorder reigned throughout the interior of the palace.
I was not in attendance on the Queen at this time. M. Campan remained
with her till two in the morning. As he was leaving her she
condescendingly, and with infinite kindness, desired him to make me easy
as to the dangers of the moment, and to repeat to me M. de La Fayette’s
own words, which he had just used on soliciting the royal family to retire to
bed, undertaking to answer for his army.
The Queen was far from relying upon M. de La Fayette’s loyalty; but she
has often told me that she believed on that day, that La Fayette, having
affirmed to the King, in the presence of a crowd of witnesses, that he would
answer for the army of Paris, would not risk his honour as a commander,
and was sure of being able to redeem his pledge. She also thought the
Parisian army was devoted to him, and that all he said about his being
forced to march upon Versailles was mere pretence.
gardens at Trianon, which she then beheld for the last time in her life. She
was sitting in her grotto absorbed in painful reflection, when she received a
note from the Comte de Saint-Priest, entreating her to return to Versailles.
M. de Cubieres at the same time went off to request the King to leave his
sport and return to the palace; the King did so on horseback, and very
leisurely. A few minutes afterwards he was informed that a numerous body
of women, which preceded the Parisian army, was at Chaville, at the
entrance of the avenue from Paris.
The scarcity of bread and the entertainment of the Body Guards were the
pretexts for the insurrection of the 5th and 6th of October, 1789; but it is
clear to demonstration that this new movement of the people was a part of
the original plan of the factious, insomuch as, ever since the beginning of
September, a report had been industriously circulated that the King intended
to withdraw, with his family and ministers, to some stronghold; and at all
the popular assemblies there had been always a great deal said about going
to Versailles to seize the King.
At first only women showed themselves; the latticed doors of the
Chateau were closed, and the Body Guard and Flanders regiment were
drawn up in the Place d’Armes. As the details of that dreadful day are given
with precision in several works, I will only observe that general
consternation and disorder reigned throughout the interior of the palace.
I was not in attendance on the Queen at this time. M. Campan remained
with her till two in the morning. As he was leaving her she
condescendingly, and with infinite kindness, desired him to make me easy
as to the dangers of the moment, and to repeat to me M. de La Fayette’s
own words, which he had just used on soliciting the royal family to retire to
bed, undertaking to answer for his army.
The Queen was far from relying upon M. de La Fayette’s loyalty; but she
has often told me that she believed on that day, that La Fayette, having
affirmed to the King, in the presence of a crowd of witnesses, that he would
answer for the army of Paris, would not risk his honour as a commander,
and was sure of being able to redeem his pledge. She also thought the
Parisian army was devoted to him, and that all he said about his being
forced to march upon Versailles was mere pretence.
Page 246
On the first intimation of the march of the Parisians, the Comte de Saint-
Priest prepared Rambouillet for the reception of the King, his family, and
suite, and the carriages were even drawn out; but a few cries of “Vive le
Roi!” when the women reported his Majesty’s favourable answer,
occasioned the intention of going away to be given up, and orders were
given to the troops to withdraw.
[Compare this account with the particulars given in the
“Memoirs” of Ferribres, Weber, Bailly, and Saint-Priest,
from the latter of which the following sentence is taken:
“M. d’Estaing knew not what to do with the Body Guards
beyond bringing them into the courtyard of the ministers,
and shutting the grilles. Thence they proceeded to the
terrace of the Chateau, then to Trianon, and lastly to
Rambouillet.
“I could not refrain from expressing to M. d’Estaing,
when he came to the King, my astonishment at not seeing
him make any military disposition. ‘Monsieur,’ replied he, ‘I
await the orders of the King’ (who did not open his mouth).
‘When the King gives no orders,’ pursued I, ‘a general
should decide for himself in a soldierly manner.’ This
observation remained unanswered.”]
The Body Guards were, however, assailed with stones and musketry
while they were passing from the Place d’Armes to, their hotel. Alarm
revived; again it was thought necessary that the royal family should go
away; some carriages still remained ready for travelling; they were called
for; they were stopped by a wretched player belonging to the theatre of the
town, seconded by the mob: the opportunity for flight had been lost.
The insurrection was directed against the Queen in particular; I shudder
even now at the recollection of the poissardes, or rather furies, who wore
white aprons, which they screamed out were intended to receive the bowels
of Marie Antoinette, and that they would make cockades of them, mixing
the most obscene expressions with these horrible threats.
The Queen went to bed at two in the morning, and even slept, tired out
with the events of so distressing a day. She had ordered her two women to
Priest prepared Rambouillet for the reception of the King, his family, and
suite, and the carriages were even drawn out; but a few cries of “Vive le
Roi!” when the women reported his Majesty’s favourable answer,
occasioned the intention of going away to be given up, and orders were
given to the troops to withdraw.
[Compare this account with the particulars given in the
“Memoirs” of Ferribres, Weber, Bailly, and Saint-Priest,
from the latter of which the following sentence is taken:
“M. d’Estaing knew not what to do with the Body Guards
beyond bringing them into the courtyard of the ministers,
and shutting the grilles. Thence they proceeded to the
terrace of the Chateau, then to Trianon, and lastly to
Rambouillet.
“I could not refrain from expressing to M. d’Estaing,
when he came to the King, my astonishment at not seeing
him make any military disposition. ‘Monsieur,’ replied he, ‘I
await the orders of the King’ (who did not open his mouth).
‘When the King gives no orders,’ pursued I, ‘a general
should decide for himself in a soldierly manner.’ This
observation remained unanswered.”]
The Body Guards were, however, assailed with stones and musketry
while they were passing from the Place d’Armes to, their hotel. Alarm
revived; again it was thought necessary that the royal family should go
away; some carriages still remained ready for travelling; they were called
for; they were stopped by a wretched player belonging to the theatre of the
town, seconded by the mob: the opportunity for flight had been lost.
The insurrection was directed against the Queen in particular; I shudder
even now at the recollection of the poissardes, or rather furies, who wore
white aprons, which they screamed out were intended to receive the bowels
of Marie Antoinette, and that they would make cockades of them, mixing
the most obscene expressions with these horrible threats.
The Queen went to bed at two in the morning, and even slept, tired out
with the events of so distressing a day. She had ordered her two women to
Page 247
bed, imagining there was nothing to dread, at least for that night; but the
unfortunate Princess was indebted for her life to that feeling of attachment
which prevented their obeying her. My sister, who was one of the ladies in
question, informed me next day of all that I am about to relate.
On leaving the Queen’s bedchamber, these ladies called their femmes de
chambre, and all four remained sitting together against her Majesty’s
bedroom door. About half-past four in the morning they heard horrible yells
and discharges of firearms; one ran to the Queen to awaken her and get her
out of bed; my sister flew to the place from which the tumult seemed to
proceed; she opened the door of the antechamber which leads to the great
guard-room, and beheld one of the Body Guard holding his musket across
the door, and attacked by a mob, who were striking at him; his face was
covered with blood; he turned round and exclaimed: “Save the Queen,
madame; they are come to assassinate her!” She hastily shut the door upon
the unfortunate victim of duty, fastened it with the great bolt, and took the
same precaution on leaving the next room. On reaching the Queen’s
chamber she cried out to her, “Get up, Madame! Don’t stay to dress
yourself; fly to the King’s apartment!” The terrified Queen threw herself out
of bed; they put a petticoat upon her without tying it, and the two ladies
conducted her towards the oile-de-boeuf. A door, which led from the
Queen’s dressing-room to that apartment, had never before been fastened
but on her side. What a dreadful moment! It was found to be secured on the
other side. They knocked repeatedly with all their strength; a servant of one
of the King’s valets de chambre came and opened it; the Queen entered the
King’s chamber, but he was not there. Alarmed for the Queen’s life, he had
gone down the staircases and through the corridors under the oeil-de-boeuf,
by means of which he was accustomed to go to the Queen’s apartments
without being under the necessity of crossing that room. He entered her
Majesty’s room and found no one there but some Body Guards, who had
taken refuge in it. The King, unwilling to expose their lives, told them to
wait a few minutes, and afterwards sent to desire them to go to the oeil-de-
boeuf. Madame de Tourzel, at that time governess of the children of France,
had just taken Madame and the Dauphin to the King’s apartments. The
Queen saw her children again. The reader must imagine this scene of
tenderness and despair.
It is not true that the assassins penetrated to the Queen’s chamber and
pierced the bed with their swords. The fugitive Body Guards were the only
unfortunate Princess was indebted for her life to that feeling of attachment
which prevented their obeying her. My sister, who was one of the ladies in
question, informed me next day of all that I am about to relate.
On leaving the Queen’s bedchamber, these ladies called their femmes de
chambre, and all four remained sitting together against her Majesty’s
bedroom door. About half-past four in the morning they heard horrible yells
and discharges of firearms; one ran to the Queen to awaken her and get her
out of bed; my sister flew to the place from which the tumult seemed to
proceed; she opened the door of the antechamber which leads to the great
guard-room, and beheld one of the Body Guard holding his musket across
the door, and attacked by a mob, who were striking at him; his face was
covered with blood; he turned round and exclaimed: “Save the Queen,
madame; they are come to assassinate her!” She hastily shut the door upon
the unfortunate victim of duty, fastened it with the great bolt, and took the
same precaution on leaving the next room. On reaching the Queen’s
chamber she cried out to her, “Get up, Madame! Don’t stay to dress
yourself; fly to the King’s apartment!” The terrified Queen threw herself out
of bed; they put a petticoat upon her without tying it, and the two ladies
conducted her towards the oile-de-boeuf. A door, which led from the
Queen’s dressing-room to that apartment, had never before been fastened
but on her side. What a dreadful moment! It was found to be secured on the
other side. They knocked repeatedly with all their strength; a servant of one
of the King’s valets de chambre came and opened it; the Queen entered the
King’s chamber, but he was not there. Alarmed for the Queen’s life, he had
gone down the staircases and through the corridors under the oeil-de-boeuf,
by means of which he was accustomed to go to the Queen’s apartments
without being under the necessity of crossing that room. He entered her
Majesty’s room and found no one there but some Body Guards, who had
taken refuge in it. The King, unwilling to expose their lives, told them to
wait a few minutes, and afterwards sent to desire them to go to the oeil-de-
boeuf. Madame de Tourzel, at that time governess of the children of France,
had just taken Madame and the Dauphin to the King’s apartments. The
Queen saw her children again. The reader must imagine this scene of
tenderness and despair.
It is not true that the assassins penetrated to the Queen’s chamber and
pierced the bed with their swords. The fugitive Body Guards were the only
Page 248
persons who entered it; and if the crowd had reached so far they would all
have been massacred. Besides, when the rebels had forced the doors of the
antechamber, the footmen and officers on duty, knowing that the Queen was
no longer in her apartments, told them so with that air of truth which always
carries conviction. The ferocious horde instantly rushed towards the oeil-de-
boeuf, hoping, no doubt, to intercept her on her way.
Many have asserted that they recognised the Duc d’Orleans in a greatcoat
and slouched hat, at half-past four in the morning, at the top of the marble
staircase, pointing out with his hand the guard-room, which led to the
Queen’s apartments. This fact was deposed to at the Chatelet by several
individuals in the course of the inquiry instituted respecting the transactions
of the 5th and 6th of October.
[The National Assembly was sitting when information of
the march of the Parisians was given to it by one of the
deputies who came from Paris. A certain number of the
members were no strangers, to this movement. It appears
that Mirabeau wished to avail himself of it to raise the Duc
d’Orleans to the throne. Mounier, who presided over the
National Assembly, rejected the idea with horror. “My good
man,” said Mirabeau to him, “what difference will it make
to you to have Louis XVII. for your King instead of Louis
XVI.?” (The Duc d’Orleans was baptised Louis.)]
The prudence and honourable feeling of several officers of the Parisian
guards, and the judicious conduct of M. de Vaudreuil, lieutenant-general of
marine, and of M. de Chevanne, one of the King’s Guards, brought about an
understanding between the grenadiers of the National Guard of Paris and
the King’s Guard. The doors of the oeil-de-boeuf were closed, and the
antechamber which precedes that room was filled with grenadiers who
wanted to get in to massacre the Guards. M. de Chevanne offered himself to
them as a victim if they wished for one, and demanded what they would
have. A report had been spread through their ranks that the Body Guards set
them at defiance, and that they all wore black cockades. M. de Chevanne
showed them that he wore, as did the corps, the cockade of their uniform;
and promised that the Guards should exchange it for that of the nation. This
was done; they even went so far as to exchange their grenadiers’ caps for
have been massacred. Besides, when the rebels had forced the doors of the
antechamber, the footmen and officers on duty, knowing that the Queen was
no longer in her apartments, told them so with that air of truth which always
carries conviction. The ferocious horde instantly rushed towards the oeil-de-
boeuf, hoping, no doubt, to intercept her on her way.
Many have asserted that they recognised the Duc d’Orleans in a greatcoat
and slouched hat, at half-past four in the morning, at the top of the marble
staircase, pointing out with his hand the guard-room, which led to the
Queen’s apartments. This fact was deposed to at the Chatelet by several
individuals in the course of the inquiry instituted respecting the transactions
of the 5th and 6th of October.
[The National Assembly was sitting when information of
the march of the Parisians was given to it by one of the
deputies who came from Paris. A certain number of the
members were no strangers, to this movement. It appears
that Mirabeau wished to avail himself of it to raise the Duc
d’Orleans to the throne. Mounier, who presided over the
National Assembly, rejected the idea with horror. “My good
man,” said Mirabeau to him, “what difference will it make
to you to have Louis XVII. for your King instead of Louis
XVI.?” (The Duc d’Orleans was baptised Louis.)]
The prudence and honourable feeling of several officers of the Parisian
guards, and the judicious conduct of M. de Vaudreuil, lieutenant-general of
marine, and of M. de Chevanne, one of the King’s Guards, brought about an
understanding between the grenadiers of the National Guard of Paris and
the King’s Guard. The doors of the oeil-de-boeuf were closed, and the
antechamber which precedes that room was filled with grenadiers who
wanted to get in to massacre the Guards. M. de Chevanne offered himself to
them as a victim if they wished for one, and demanded what they would
have. A report had been spread through their ranks that the Body Guards set
them at defiance, and that they all wore black cockades. M. de Chevanne
showed them that he wore, as did the corps, the cockade of their uniform;
and promised that the Guards should exchange it for that of the nation. This
was done; they even went so far as to exchange their grenadiers’ caps for
Page 249
the hats of the Body Guards; those who were on guard took off their
shoulder-belts; embraces and transports of fraternisation instantly
succeeded to the savage eagerness to murder the band which had shown so
much fidelity to its sovereign. The cry was now “Vivent le Roi, la Nation, et
les Gardes-du-corps!”
The army occupied the Place d’Armes, all the courtyards of the Chateau,
and the entrance to the avenue. They called for the Queen to appear in the
balcony: she came forward with Madame and the Dauphin. There was a cry
of “No children!” Was this with a view to deprive her of the interest she
inspired, accompanied as she was by her young family, or did the leaders of
the democrats hope that some madman would venture to aim a mortal blow
at her person? The unfortunate Princess certainly was impressed with the
latter idea, for she sent away her children, and with her hands and eyes
raised towards heaven, advanced upon the balcony like a self-devoted
victim.
A few voices shouted “To Paris!” The exclamation soon became general.
Before the King agreed to this removal he wished to consult the National
Assembly, and caused that body to be invited to sit at the Chateau.
Mirabeau opposed this measure. While these discussions were going
forward it became more and more difficult to restrain the immense
disorderly multitude. The King, without consulting any one, now said to the
people: “You wish, my children, that I should follow you to Paris: I consent,
but on condition that I shall not be separated from my wife and family.” The
King added that he required safety also for his Guards; he was answered by
shouts of “Vivo le Roi! Vivent les Gardes-du-corps!” The Guards, with their
hats in the air, turned so as to exhibit the cockade, shouted “Vive le Roi!
Vive la Nation!” shortly afterwards a general discharge of all the muskets
took place, in token of joy. The King and Queen set off from Versailles at
one o’clock. The Dauphin, Madame, the King’s daughter, Monsieur,
Madame,—[Madame, here, the wife of Monsieur le Comte de Provence.]—
Madame Elisabeth, and Madame de Tourzel, were in the carriage; the
Princesse de Chimay and the ladies of the bedchamber for the week, the
King’s suite and servants, followed in Court carriages; a hundred deputies
in carriages, and the bulk of the Parisian army, closed the procession.
The poissardes went before and around the carriage of their Majesties,
Crying, “We shall no longer want bread! We have the baker, the baker’s
shoulder-belts; embraces and transports of fraternisation instantly
succeeded to the savage eagerness to murder the band which had shown so
much fidelity to its sovereign. The cry was now “Vivent le Roi, la Nation, et
les Gardes-du-corps!”
The army occupied the Place d’Armes, all the courtyards of the Chateau,
and the entrance to the avenue. They called for the Queen to appear in the
balcony: she came forward with Madame and the Dauphin. There was a cry
of “No children!” Was this with a view to deprive her of the interest she
inspired, accompanied as she was by her young family, or did the leaders of
the democrats hope that some madman would venture to aim a mortal blow
at her person? The unfortunate Princess certainly was impressed with the
latter idea, for she sent away her children, and with her hands and eyes
raised towards heaven, advanced upon the balcony like a self-devoted
victim.
A few voices shouted “To Paris!” The exclamation soon became general.
Before the King agreed to this removal he wished to consult the National
Assembly, and caused that body to be invited to sit at the Chateau.
Mirabeau opposed this measure. While these discussions were going
forward it became more and more difficult to restrain the immense
disorderly multitude. The King, without consulting any one, now said to the
people: “You wish, my children, that I should follow you to Paris: I consent,
but on condition that I shall not be separated from my wife and family.” The
King added that he required safety also for his Guards; he was answered by
shouts of “Vivo le Roi! Vivent les Gardes-du-corps!” The Guards, with their
hats in the air, turned so as to exhibit the cockade, shouted “Vive le Roi!
Vive la Nation!” shortly afterwards a general discharge of all the muskets
took place, in token of joy. The King and Queen set off from Versailles at
one o’clock. The Dauphin, Madame, the King’s daughter, Monsieur,
Madame,—[Madame, here, the wife of Monsieur le Comte de Provence.]—
Madame Elisabeth, and Madame de Tourzel, were in the carriage; the
Princesse de Chimay and the ladies of the bedchamber for the week, the
King’s suite and servants, followed in Court carriages; a hundred deputies
in carriages, and the bulk of the Parisian army, closed the procession.
The poissardes went before and around the carriage of their Majesties,
Crying, “We shall no longer want bread! We have the baker, the baker’s
Page 250
wife, and the baker’s boy with us!” In the midst of this troop of cannibals
the heads of two murdered Body Guards were carried on poles. The
monsters, who made trophies of them, conceived the horrid idea of forcing
a wigmaker of Sevres to dress them up and powder their bloody locks. The
unfortunate man who was forced to perform this dreadful work died in
consequence of the shock it gave him.
[The King did not leave Versailles till one o’clock. The
Queen, the Dauphin, Madame Royale, Monsieur, Madame
Elisabeth, and Madame de Tourzel were in his Majesty’s
carriage. The hundred deputies in their carriages came next.
A detachment of brigands, bearing the heads of the two
Body Guards in triumph, formed the advance guard, and set
out two hours earlier. These cannibals stopped a moment at
Sevres, and carried their cruelty to the length of forcing an
unfortunate hairdresser to dress the gory heads; the bulk of
the Parisian army followed them closely. The King’s
carriage was preceded by the ‘poissardes’, who had arrived
the day before from Paris, and a rabble of prostitutes, the
vile refuse of their sex, still drunk with fury and wine.
Several of them rode astride upon cannons, boasting, in the
most horrible songs, of the crimes they had committed
themselves, or seen others commit. Those who were nearest
the King’s carriage sang ballads, the allusions in which by
means of their vulgar gestures they applied to the Queen.
Wagons, full of corn and flour,—which had been brought
into Versailles, formed a train escorted by grenadiers, and
surrounded by women and bullies, some armed with pikes,
and some carrying long branches of poplar. At some
distance this part of the procession had a most singular
effect: it looked like a moving forest, amidst which shone
pike-heads and gun-barrels. In the paroxysms of their brutal
joy the women stopped passengers, and, pointing to the
King’s carriage, howled in their ears: “Cheer up, friends;
we shall no longer be in want of bread! We bring you the
baker, the baker’s wife, and the baker’s little boy!” Behind
his Majesty’s carriage were several of his faithful Guards,
the heads of two murdered Body Guards were carried on poles. The
monsters, who made trophies of them, conceived the horrid idea of forcing
a wigmaker of Sevres to dress them up and powder their bloody locks. The
unfortunate man who was forced to perform this dreadful work died in
consequence of the shock it gave him.
[The King did not leave Versailles till one o’clock. The
Queen, the Dauphin, Madame Royale, Monsieur, Madame
Elisabeth, and Madame de Tourzel were in his Majesty’s
carriage. The hundred deputies in their carriages came next.
A detachment of brigands, bearing the heads of the two
Body Guards in triumph, formed the advance guard, and set
out two hours earlier. These cannibals stopped a moment at
Sevres, and carried their cruelty to the length of forcing an
unfortunate hairdresser to dress the gory heads; the bulk of
the Parisian army followed them closely. The King’s
carriage was preceded by the ‘poissardes’, who had arrived
the day before from Paris, and a rabble of prostitutes, the
vile refuse of their sex, still drunk with fury and wine.
Several of them rode astride upon cannons, boasting, in the
most horrible songs, of the crimes they had committed
themselves, or seen others commit. Those who were nearest
the King’s carriage sang ballads, the allusions in which by
means of their vulgar gestures they applied to the Queen.
Wagons, full of corn and flour,—which had been brought
into Versailles, formed a train escorted by grenadiers, and
surrounded by women and bullies, some armed with pikes,
and some carrying long branches of poplar. At some
distance this part of the procession had a most singular
effect: it looked like a moving forest, amidst which shone
pike-heads and gun-barrels. In the paroxysms of their brutal
joy the women stopped passengers, and, pointing to the
King’s carriage, howled in their ears: “Cheer up, friends;
we shall no longer be in want of bread! We bring you the
baker, the baker’s wife, and the baker’s little boy!” Behind
his Majesty’s carriage were several of his faithful Guards,
Page 251
some on foot, and some on horseback, most of them
uncovered, all unarmed, and worn out with hunger and
fatigue; the dragoons, the Flanders regiment, the hundred
Swiss, and the National Guards preceded, accompanied, or
followed the file of carriages. I witnessed this heartrending
spectacle; I saw the ominous procession. In the midst of all
the tumult, clamour, and singing, interrupted by frequent
discharges of musketry, which the hand of a monster or a
bungler might so easily render fatal, I saw the Queen
preserving most courageous tranquillity of soul, and an air
of nobleness and inexpressible dignity, and my eyes were
suffused with tears of admiration and grief.—“Memoirs of
Bertrand de Molleville.”]
The progress of the procession was so slow that it was near six in the
evening when this august family, made prisoners by their own people,
arrived at the Hotel de Ville. Bailly received them there; they were placed
upon a throne, just when that of their ancestors had been overthrown. The
King spoke in a firm yet gracious manner; he said that he always came with
pleasure and confidence among the inhabitants of his good city of Paris. M.
Bailly repeated this observation to the representatives of the commune, who
came to address the King; but he forgot the word confidence. The Queen
instantly and loudly reminded him of the omission. The King and Queen,
their children, and Madame Elisabeth, retired to the Tuileries. Nothing was
ready for their reception there. All the living-rooms had been long given up
to persons belonging to the Court; they hastily quitted them on that day,
leaving their furniture, which was purchased by the Court. The Comtesse de
la Marck, sister to the Marechaux de Noailles and de Mouchy, had occupied
the apartments now appropriated to the Queen. Monsieur and Madame
retired to the Luxembourg.
The Queen had sent for me on the morning of the 6th of October, to leave
me and my father-in-law in charge of her most valuable property. She took
away only her casket of diamonds. Comte Gouvernet de la Tour-du-Pin, to
whom the military government of Versailles was entrusted ‘pro tempore’,
came and gave orders to the National Guard, which had taken possession of
the apartments, to allow us to remove everything that we should deem
necessary for the Queen’s accommodation.
uncovered, all unarmed, and worn out with hunger and
fatigue; the dragoons, the Flanders regiment, the hundred
Swiss, and the National Guards preceded, accompanied, or
followed the file of carriages. I witnessed this heartrending
spectacle; I saw the ominous procession. In the midst of all
the tumult, clamour, and singing, interrupted by frequent
discharges of musketry, which the hand of a monster or a
bungler might so easily render fatal, I saw the Queen
preserving most courageous tranquillity of soul, and an air
of nobleness and inexpressible dignity, and my eyes were
suffused with tears of admiration and grief.—“Memoirs of
Bertrand de Molleville.”]
The progress of the procession was so slow that it was near six in the
evening when this august family, made prisoners by their own people,
arrived at the Hotel de Ville. Bailly received them there; they were placed
upon a throne, just when that of their ancestors had been overthrown. The
King spoke in a firm yet gracious manner; he said that he always came with
pleasure and confidence among the inhabitants of his good city of Paris. M.
Bailly repeated this observation to the representatives of the commune, who
came to address the King; but he forgot the word confidence. The Queen
instantly and loudly reminded him of the omission. The King and Queen,
their children, and Madame Elisabeth, retired to the Tuileries. Nothing was
ready for their reception there. All the living-rooms had been long given up
to persons belonging to the Court; they hastily quitted them on that day,
leaving their furniture, which was purchased by the Court. The Comtesse de
la Marck, sister to the Marechaux de Noailles and de Mouchy, had occupied
the apartments now appropriated to the Queen. Monsieur and Madame
retired to the Luxembourg.
The Queen had sent for me on the morning of the 6th of October, to leave
me and my father-in-law in charge of her most valuable property. She took
away only her casket of diamonds. Comte Gouvernet de la Tour-du-Pin, to
whom the military government of Versailles was entrusted ‘pro tempore’,
came and gave orders to the National Guard, which had taken possession of
the apartments, to allow us to remove everything that we should deem
necessary for the Queen’s accommodation.
Page 252
I saw her Majesty alone in her private apartments a moment before her
departure for Paris; she could hardly speak; tears bedewed her face, to
which all the blood in her body seemed to have rushed; she condescended
to embrace me, gave her hand to M. Campan to kiss, and said to us, “Come
immediately and settle at Paris; I will lodge you at the Tuileries; come, and
do not leave me henceforward; faithful servants at moments like these
become useful friends; we are lost, dragged away, perhaps to death; when
kings become prisoners they are very near it.”
I had frequent opportunities during the course of our misfortunes of
observing that the people never entirely give their allegiance to factious
leaders, but easily escape their control when some cause reminds them of
their duty. As soon as the most violent Jacobins had an opportunity of
seeing the Queen near at hand, of speaking to her, and of hearing her voice,
they became her most zealous partisans; and even when she was in the
prison of the Temple several of those who had contributed to place her there
perished for having attempted to get her out again.
On the morning of the 7th of October the same women who the day
before surrounded the carriage of the august prisoners, riding on cannons
and uttering the most abusive language, assembled under the Queen’s
windows, upon the terrace of the Chateau, and desired to see her. Her
Majesty appeared. There are always among mobs of this description orators,
that is to say, beings who have more assurance than the rest; a woman of
this description told the Queen that she must now remove far from her all
such courtiers as ruin kings, and that she must love the inhabitants of her
good city. The Queen answered that she had loved them at Versailles, and
would likewise love them at Paris. “Yes, yes,” said another; “but on the
14th of July you wanted to besiege the city and have it bombarded; and on
the 6th of October you wanted to fly to the frontiers.” The Queen replied,
affably, that they had been told so, and had believed it; that there lay the
cause of the unhappiness of the people and of the best of kings. A third
addressed a few words to her in German: the Queen told her she did not
understand it; that she had become so entirely French as even to have
forgotten her mother tongue. This declaration was answered with “Bravo!”
and clapping of hands; they then desired her to make a compact with them.
“Ah,” said she, “how can I make a compact with you, since you have no
faith in that which my duty points out to me, and which I ought for my own
happiness to respect?” They asked her for the ribbons and flowers out of her
departure for Paris; she could hardly speak; tears bedewed her face, to
which all the blood in her body seemed to have rushed; she condescended
to embrace me, gave her hand to M. Campan to kiss, and said to us, “Come
immediately and settle at Paris; I will lodge you at the Tuileries; come, and
do not leave me henceforward; faithful servants at moments like these
become useful friends; we are lost, dragged away, perhaps to death; when
kings become prisoners they are very near it.”
I had frequent opportunities during the course of our misfortunes of
observing that the people never entirely give their allegiance to factious
leaders, but easily escape their control when some cause reminds them of
their duty. As soon as the most violent Jacobins had an opportunity of
seeing the Queen near at hand, of speaking to her, and of hearing her voice,
they became her most zealous partisans; and even when she was in the
prison of the Temple several of those who had contributed to place her there
perished for having attempted to get her out again.
On the morning of the 7th of October the same women who the day
before surrounded the carriage of the august prisoners, riding on cannons
and uttering the most abusive language, assembled under the Queen’s
windows, upon the terrace of the Chateau, and desired to see her. Her
Majesty appeared. There are always among mobs of this description orators,
that is to say, beings who have more assurance than the rest; a woman of
this description told the Queen that she must now remove far from her all
such courtiers as ruin kings, and that she must love the inhabitants of her
good city. The Queen answered that she had loved them at Versailles, and
would likewise love them at Paris. “Yes, yes,” said another; “but on the
14th of July you wanted to besiege the city and have it bombarded; and on
the 6th of October you wanted to fly to the frontiers.” The Queen replied,
affably, that they had been told so, and had believed it; that there lay the
cause of the unhappiness of the people and of the best of kings. A third
addressed a few words to her in German: the Queen told her she did not
understand it; that she had become so entirely French as even to have
forgotten her mother tongue. This declaration was answered with “Bravo!”
and clapping of hands; they then desired her to make a compact with them.
“Ah,” said she, “how can I make a compact with you, since you have no
faith in that which my duty points out to me, and which I ought for my own
happiness to respect?” They asked her for the ribbons and flowers out of her
Page 253
hat; her Majesty herself unfastened them and gave them; they were divided
among the party, which for above half an hour cried out, without ceasing,
“Marie Antoinette for ever! Our good Queen for ever!”
Two days after the King’s arrival at Paris, the city and the National Guard
sent to request the Queen to appear at the theatre, and prove by her presence
and the King’s that it was with pleasure they resided in their capital. I
introduced the deputation which came to make this request. Her Majesty
replied that she should have infinite pleasure in acceding to the invitation of
the city of Paris; but that time must be allowed her to soften the recollection
of the distressing events which had just occurred, and from which she had
suffered too much. She added, that having come into Paris preceded by the
heads of the faithful Guards who had perished before the door of their
sovereign, she could not think that such an entry into the capital ought to be
followed by rejoicings; but that the happiness she had always felt in
appearing in the midst of the inhabitants of Paris was not effaced from her
memory, and that she should enjoy it again as soon as she found herself able
to do so.
Their Majesties found some consolation in their private life: from
Madame’s—[Madame, here, the Princesse Marie Therese, daughter of
Marie Antoinette.]—gentle manners and filial affection, from the
accomplishments and vivacity of the little Dauphin, and the attention and
tenderness of the pious Princess Elisabeth, they still derived moments of
happiness. The young Prince daily gave proofs of sensibility and
penetration; he was not yet beyond female care, but a private tutor, the Abbe
Davout, gave him all the instruction suitable to his age; his memory was
highly cultivated, and he recited verses with much grace and feeling.
[On the 19th of October, that is to say, thirteen days after
he had taken up his abode at Paris, the King went, on foot
and almost alone, to review some detachments of the
National Guard. After the review Louis XVI. met with a child
sweeping the street, who asked him for money. The child
called the King “M. le Chevalier.” His Majesty gave him six
francs. The little sweeper, surprised at receiving so large a
sum, cried out, “Oh! I have no change; you will give me
money another time.” A person who accompanied the
monarch said to the child, “Keep it all, my friend; the
among the party, which for above half an hour cried out, without ceasing,
“Marie Antoinette for ever! Our good Queen for ever!”
Two days after the King’s arrival at Paris, the city and the National Guard
sent to request the Queen to appear at the theatre, and prove by her presence
and the King’s that it was with pleasure they resided in their capital. I
introduced the deputation which came to make this request. Her Majesty
replied that she should have infinite pleasure in acceding to the invitation of
the city of Paris; but that time must be allowed her to soften the recollection
of the distressing events which had just occurred, and from which she had
suffered too much. She added, that having come into Paris preceded by the
heads of the faithful Guards who had perished before the door of their
sovereign, she could not think that such an entry into the capital ought to be
followed by rejoicings; but that the happiness she had always felt in
appearing in the midst of the inhabitants of Paris was not effaced from her
memory, and that she should enjoy it again as soon as she found herself able
to do so.
Their Majesties found some consolation in their private life: from
Madame’s—[Madame, here, the Princesse Marie Therese, daughter of
Marie Antoinette.]—gentle manners and filial affection, from the
accomplishments and vivacity of the little Dauphin, and the attention and
tenderness of the pious Princess Elisabeth, they still derived moments of
happiness. The young Prince daily gave proofs of sensibility and
penetration; he was not yet beyond female care, but a private tutor, the Abbe
Davout, gave him all the instruction suitable to his age; his memory was
highly cultivated, and he recited verses with much grace and feeling.
[On the 19th of October, that is to say, thirteen days after
he had taken up his abode at Paris, the King went, on foot
and almost alone, to review some detachments of the
National Guard. After the review Louis XVI. met with a child
sweeping the street, who asked him for money. The child
called the King “M. le Chevalier.” His Majesty gave him six
francs. The little sweeper, surprised at receiving so large a
sum, cried out, “Oh! I have no change; you will give me
money another time.” A person who accompanied the
monarch said to the child, “Keep it all, my friend; the
Page 254
gentleman is not chevalier, he is the eldest of the family.”—
NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
The day after the arrival of the Court at Paris, terrified at hearing some
noise in the gardens of the Tuileries, the young prince threw himself into
the arms of the Queen, crying out, “Grand-Dieu, mamma! will it be
yesterday over again?” A few days after this affecting exclamation, he went
up to the King, and looked at him with a pensive air. The King asked him
what he wanted; he answered, that he had something very serious to say to
him. The King having prevailed on him to explain himself, the young
Prince asked why his people, who formerly loved him so well, were all at
once angry with him; and what he had done to irritate them so much. His
father took him upon his knees, and spoke to him nearly as follows: “I
wished, child, to render the people still happier than they were; I wanted
money to pay the expenses occasioned by wars. I asked my people for
money, as my predecessors have always done; magistrates, composing the
Parliament, opposed it, and said that my people alone had a right to consent
to it. I assembled the principal inhabitants of every town, whether
distinguished by birth, fortune, or talents, at Versailles; that is what is called
the States General. When they were assembled they required concessions of
me which I could not make, either with due respect for myself or with
justice to you, who will be my successor; wicked men inducing the people
to rise have occasioned the excesses of the last few days; the people must
not be blamed for them.”
NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
The day after the arrival of the Court at Paris, terrified at hearing some
noise in the gardens of the Tuileries, the young prince threw himself into
the arms of the Queen, crying out, “Grand-Dieu, mamma! will it be
yesterday over again?” A few days after this affecting exclamation, he went
up to the King, and looked at him with a pensive air. The King asked him
what he wanted; he answered, that he had something very serious to say to
him. The King having prevailed on him to explain himself, the young
Prince asked why his people, who formerly loved him so well, were all at
once angry with him; and what he had done to irritate them so much. His
father took him upon his knees, and spoke to him nearly as follows: “I
wished, child, to render the people still happier than they were; I wanted
money to pay the expenses occasioned by wars. I asked my people for
money, as my predecessors have always done; magistrates, composing the
Parliament, opposed it, and said that my people alone had a right to consent
to it. I assembled the principal inhabitants of every town, whether
distinguished by birth, fortune, or talents, at Versailles; that is what is called
the States General. When they were assembled they required concessions of
me which I could not make, either with due respect for myself or with
justice to you, who will be my successor; wicked men inducing the people
to rise have occasioned the excesses of the last few days; the people must
not be blamed for them.”
Page 255
The Queen made the young Prince clearly comprehend that he ought to
treat the commanders of battalions, the officers of the National Guard, and
all the Parisians who were about him, with affability; the child took great
pains to please all those people, and when he had had an opportunity of
replying obligingly to the mayor or members of the commune he came and
whispered in his mother’s ear, “Was that right?”
He requested M. Bailly to show him the shield of Scipio, which is in the
royal library; and M. Bailly asking him which he preferred, Scipio or
Hannibal, the young Prince replied, without hesitation, that he preferred
him who had defended his own country. He gave frequent proofs of ready
wit. One day, while the Queen was hearing Madame repeat her exercises in
ancient history, the young Princess could not at the moment recollect the
name of the Queen of Carthage; the Dauphin was vexed at his sister’s want
of memory, and though he never spoke to her in the second person singular,
he bethought himself of the expedient of saying to her, “But ‘dis donc’ the
name of the Queen, to mamma; ‘dis donc’ what her name was.”
Shortly after the arrival of the King and his family at Paris the Duchesse
de Luynes came, in pursuance of the advice of a committee of the
Constitutional Assembly, to propose to the Queen a temporary retirement
from France, in order to leave the constitution to perfect itself, so that the
patriots should not accuse her of influencing the King to oppose it. The
Duchess knew how far the schemes of the conspirers extended, and her
attachment to the Queen was the principal cause of the advice she gave her.
The Queen perfectly comprehended the Duchesse de Luynes’s motive; but
replied that she would never leave either the King or her son; that if she
thought herself alone obnoxious to public hatred she would instantly offer
treat the commanders of battalions, the officers of the National Guard, and
all the Parisians who were about him, with affability; the child took great
pains to please all those people, and when he had had an opportunity of
replying obligingly to the mayor or members of the commune he came and
whispered in his mother’s ear, “Was that right?”
He requested M. Bailly to show him the shield of Scipio, which is in the
royal library; and M. Bailly asking him which he preferred, Scipio or
Hannibal, the young Prince replied, without hesitation, that he preferred
him who had defended his own country. He gave frequent proofs of ready
wit. One day, while the Queen was hearing Madame repeat her exercises in
ancient history, the young Princess could not at the moment recollect the
name of the Queen of Carthage; the Dauphin was vexed at his sister’s want
of memory, and though he never spoke to her in the second person singular,
he bethought himself of the expedient of saying to her, “But ‘dis donc’ the
name of the Queen, to mamma; ‘dis donc’ what her name was.”
Shortly after the arrival of the King and his family at Paris the Duchesse
de Luynes came, in pursuance of the advice of a committee of the
Constitutional Assembly, to propose to the Queen a temporary retirement
from France, in order to leave the constitution to perfect itself, so that the
patriots should not accuse her of influencing the King to oppose it. The
Duchess knew how far the schemes of the conspirers extended, and her
attachment to the Queen was the principal cause of the advice she gave her.
The Queen perfectly comprehended the Duchesse de Luynes’s motive; but
replied that she would never leave either the King or her son; that if she
thought herself alone obnoxious to public hatred she would instantly offer
Page 256
her life as a sacrifice;—but that it was the throne which was aimed at, and
that, in abandoning the King, she should be merely committing an act of
cowardice, since she saw no other advantage in it than that of saving her
own life.
One evening, in the month of November, 1790, I returned home rather
late; I there found the Prince de Poix; he told me he came to request me to
assist him in regaining his peace of mind; that at the commencement of the
sittings of the National Assembly he had suffered himself to be seduced into
the hope of a better order of things; that he blushed for his error, and that he
abhorred plans which had already produced such fatal results; that he broke
with the reformers for the rest of his life; that he had given in his
resignation as a deputy of the National Assembly; and, finally, that he was
anxious that the Queen should not sleep in ignorance of his sentiments. I
undertook his commission, and acquitted myself of it in the best way I
could; but I was totally unsuccessful. The Prince de Poix remained at Court;
he there suffered many mortifications, never ceasing to serve the King in
the most dangerous commissions with that zeal for which his house has
always been distinguished.
When the King, the Queen, and the children were suitably established at
the Tuileries, as well as Madame Elisabeth and the Princesse de Lamballe,
the Queen resumed her usual habits; she employed her mornings in
superintending the education of Madame, who received all her lessons in
her presence, and she herself began to work large pieces of tapestry. Her
mind was too much occupied with passing events and surrounding dangers
to admit her of applying herself to reading; the needle was the only
employment which could divert her.
[There was long preserved at Paris, in the house of
Mademoiselle Dubuquois, a tapestry-worker, a carpet
worked by the Queen and Madame Elisabeth for the large
room of her Majesty’s ground-floor apartments at the
Tuileries. The Empress Josephine saw and admired this
carpet, and desired it might be taken care of, in the hope of
one day sending it to Madame—MADAME CAMPAN.]
She received the Court twice a week before going to mass, and on those
days dined in public with the King; she spent the rest of the time with her
that, in abandoning the King, she should be merely committing an act of
cowardice, since she saw no other advantage in it than that of saving her
own life.
One evening, in the month of November, 1790, I returned home rather
late; I there found the Prince de Poix; he told me he came to request me to
assist him in regaining his peace of mind; that at the commencement of the
sittings of the National Assembly he had suffered himself to be seduced into
the hope of a better order of things; that he blushed for his error, and that he
abhorred plans which had already produced such fatal results; that he broke
with the reformers for the rest of his life; that he had given in his
resignation as a deputy of the National Assembly; and, finally, that he was
anxious that the Queen should not sleep in ignorance of his sentiments. I
undertook his commission, and acquitted myself of it in the best way I
could; but I was totally unsuccessful. The Prince de Poix remained at Court;
he there suffered many mortifications, never ceasing to serve the King in
the most dangerous commissions with that zeal for which his house has
always been distinguished.
When the King, the Queen, and the children were suitably established at
the Tuileries, as well as Madame Elisabeth and the Princesse de Lamballe,
the Queen resumed her usual habits; she employed her mornings in
superintending the education of Madame, who received all her lessons in
her presence, and she herself began to work large pieces of tapestry. Her
mind was too much occupied with passing events and surrounding dangers
to admit her of applying herself to reading; the needle was the only
employment which could divert her.
[There was long preserved at Paris, in the house of
Mademoiselle Dubuquois, a tapestry-worker, a carpet
worked by the Queen and Madame Elisabeth for the large
room of her Majesty’s ground-floor apartments at the
Tuileries. The Empress Josephine saw and admired this
carpet, and desired it might be taken care of, in the hope of
one day sending it to Madame—MADAME CAMPAN.]
She received the Court twice a week before going to mass, and on those
days dined in public with the King; she spent the rest of the time with her
Page 257
family and children; she had no concert, and did not go to the play until
1791, after the acceptation of the constitution. The Princesse de Lamballe,
however, had some evening parties in her apartments at the Tuileries, which
were tolerably brilliant in consequence of the great number of persons who
attended them. The Queen was present at a few of these assemblies; but
being soon convinced that her present situation forbade her appearing much
in public, she remained at home, and conversed as she sat at work. The sole
topic of her discourse was, as may well be supposed, the Revolution. She
sought to discover the real opinions of the Parisians respecting her, and how
she could have so completely lost the affections of the people, and even of
many persons in the higher ranks. She well knew that she ought to impute
the whole to the spirit of party, to the hatred of the Duc d’Orleans, and the
folly of the French, who desired to have a total change in the constitution;
but she was not the less desirous of ascertaining the private feelings of all
the people in power.
From the very commencement of the Revolution General Luckner
indulged in violent sallies against her. Her Majesty, knowing that I was
acquainted with a lady who had been long connected with the General,
desired me to discover through that channel what was the private motive on
which Luckner’s hatred against her was founded. On being questioned upon
this point, he answered that Marechal de Segur had assured him he had
proposed him for the command of a camp of observation, but that the
Queen had made a bar against his name; and that this ‘par’, as he called it,
in his German accent, he could not forget.
The Queen ordered me to repeat this reply to the King myself, and said to
him: “See, Sire, whether I was not right in telling you that your ministers, in
order to give themselves full scope in the distribution of favours, persuaded
the French that I interfered in everything; there was not a single license
given out in the country for the sale of salt or tobacco but the people
believed it was given to one of my favourites.”
“That is very, true,” replied the King; “but I find it very difficult to
believe that Marechal de Segur ever said any such thing to Luckner; he
knew too well that you never interfered in the distribution of favours.
“That Luckner is a good-for-nothing fellow, and Segur is a brave and
honourable man who never uttered such a falsehood; however, you are
1791, after the acceptation of the constitution. The Princesse de Lamballe,
however, had some evening parties in her apartments at the Tuileries, which
were tolerably brilliant in consequence of the great number of persons who
attended them. The Queen was present at a few of these assemblies; but
being soon convinced that her present situation forbade her appearing much
in public, she remained at home, and conversed as she sat at work. The sole
topic of her discourse was, as may well be supposed, the Revolution. She
sought to discover the real opinions of the Parisians respecting her, and how
she could have so completely lost the affections of the people, and even of
many persons in the higher ranks. She well knew that she ought to impute
the whole to the spirit of party, to the hatred of the Duc d’Orleans, and the
folly of the French, who desired to have a total change in the constitution;
but she was not the less desirous of ascertaining the private feelings of all
the people in power.
From the very commencement of the Revolution General Luckner
indulged in violent sallies against her. Her Majesty, knowing that I was
acquainted with a lady who had been long connected with the General,
desired me to discover through that channel what was the private motive on
which Luckner’s hatred against her was founded. On being questioned upon
this point, he answered that Marechal de Segur had assured him he had
proposed him for the command of a camp of observation, but that the
Queen had made a bar against his name; and that this ‘par’, as he called it,
in his German accent, he could not forget.
The Queen ordered me to repeat this reply to the King myself, and said to
him: “See, Sire, whether I was not right in telling you that your ministers, in
order to give themselves full scope in the distribution of favours, persuaded
the French that I interfered in everything; there was not a single license
given out in the country for the sale of salt or tobacco but the people
believed it was given to one of my favourites.”
“That is very, true,” replied the King; “but I find it very difficult to
believe that Marechal de Segur ever said any such thing to Luckner; he
knew too well that you never interfered in the distribution of favours.
“That Luckner is a good-for-nothing fellow, and Segur is a brave and
honourable man who never uttered such a falsehood; however, you are
Page 258
right; and because you provided for a few dependents, you are most
unjustly reported to have disposed of all offices, civil and military.”
All the nobility who had not left Paris made a point of presenting
themselves assiduously to the King, and there was a considerable influx to
the Tuileries. Marks of attachment were exhibited even in external symbols;
the women wore enormous bouquets of lilies in their bosoms and upon their
heads, and sometimes even bunches of white ribbon. At the play there were
often disputes between the pit and the boxes about removing these
ornaments, which the people thought dangerous emblems. National
cockades were sold in every corner of Paris; the sentinels stopped all who
did not wear them; the young men piqued themselves upon breaking
through this regulation, which was in some degree sanctioned by the
acquiescence of Louis XVI. Frays took place, which were to be regretted,
because they excited a spirit of lawlessness. The King adopted conciliatory
measures with the Assembly in order to promote tranquillity; the
revolutionists were but little disposed to think him sincere; unfortunately
the royalists encouraged this incredulity by incessantly repeating that the
King was not free, and that all that he did was completely null, and in no
way bound him for the time to come. Such was the heat and violence of
party spirit that persons the most sincerely attached to the King were not
even permitted to use the language of reason, and recommend greater
reserve in conversation. People would talk and argue at table without
considering that all the servants belonged to the hostile army; and it may
truly be said there was as much imprudence and levity in the party assailed
as there was cunning, boldness, and perseverance in that which made the
attack.
unjustly reported to have disposed of all offices, civil and military.”
All the nobility who had not left Paris made a point of presenting
themselves assiduously to the King, and there was a considerable influx to
the Tuileries. Marks of attachment were exhibited even in external symbols;
the women wore enormous bouquets of lilies in their bosoms and upon their
heads, and sometimes even bunches of white ribbon. At the play there were
often disputes between the pit and the boxes about removing these
ornaments, which the people thought dangerous emblems. National
cockades were sold in every corner of Paris; the sentinels stopped all who
did not wear them; the young men piqued themselves upon breaking
through this regulation, which was in some degree sanctioned by the
acquiescence of Louis XVI. Frays took place, which were to be regretted,
because they excited a spirit of lawlessness. The King adopted conciliatory
measures with the Assembly in order to promote tranquillity; the
revolutionists were but little disposed to think him sincere; unfortunately
the royalists encouraged this incredulity by incessantly repeating that the
King was not free, and that all that he did was completely null, and in no
way bound him for the time to come. Such was the heat and violence of
party spirit that persons the most sincerely attached to the King were not
even permitted to use the language of reason, and recommend greater
reserve in conversation. People would talk and argue at table without
considering that all the servants belonged to the hostile army; and it may
truly be said there was as much imprudence and levity in the party assailed
as there was cunning, boldness, and perseverance in that which made the
attack.
Page 259
CHAPTER III.
In February, 1790, another matter gave the Court much uneasiness; a
zealous individual of the name of Favras had conceived the scheme of
carrying off the King, and affecting a counter-revolution. Monsieur,
probably out of mere benevolence, gave him some money, and thence arose
a report that he thereby wished to favour the execution of the enterprise.
The step taken by Monsieur in going to the Hotel de Ville to explain himself
on this matter was unknown to the Queen; it is more than probable that the
King was acquainted with it. When judgment was pronounced upon M. de
Favras the Queen did not conceal from me her fears about the confessions
of the unfortunate man in his last moments.
I sent a confidential person to the Hotel de Ville; she came to inform the
Queen that the condemned had demanded to be taken from Notre-Dame to
the Hotel de Ville to make a final declaration, and give some particulars
verifying it. These particulars compromised nobody; Favras corrected his
last will after writing it, and went to the scaffold with heroic courage and
coolness. The judge who read his condemnation to him told him that his life
was a sacrifice which he owed to public tranquillity. It was asserted at the
time that Favras was given up as a victim in order to satisfy the people and
save the Baron de Besenval, who was a prisoner in the Abbaye.
[Thomas Mahy, Marquis de Favras, was accused in the
month of December, 1789, of having conspired against the
Revolution. Having been arrested by order of the committee
of inquiry of the National Assembly, he was transferred to
the Chatelet, where he defended himself with much coolness
and presence of mind, repelling the accusations brought
against him by Morel, Turcati, and Marquis, with
considerable force. These witnesses declared he had
imparted his plan to them; it was to be carried into
execution by 12,000 Swiss and 12,000 Germans, who were
In February, 1790, another matter gave the Court much uneasiness; a
zealous individual of the name of Favras had conceived the scheme of
carrying off the King, and affecting a counter-revolution. Monsieur,
probably out of mere benevolence, gave him some money, and thence arose
a report that he thereby wished to favour the execution of the enterprise.
The step taken by Monsieur in going to the Hotel de Ville to explain himself
on this matter was unknown to the Queen; it is more than probable that the
King was acquainted with it. When judgment was pronounced upon M. de
Favras the Queen did not conceal from me her fears about the confessions
of the unfortunate man in his last moments.
I sent a confidential person to the Hotel de Ville; she came to inform the
Queen that the condemned had demanded to be taken from Notre-Dame to
the Hotel de Ville to make a final declaration, and give some particulars
verifying it. These particulars compromised nobody; Favras corrected his
last will after writing it, and went to the scaffold with heroic courage and
coolness. The judge who read his condemnation to him told him that his life
was a sacrifice which he owed to public tranquillity. It was asserted at the
time that Favras was given up as a victim in order to satisfy the people and
save the Baron de Besenval, who was a prisoner in the Abbaye.
[Thomas Mahy, Marquis de Favras, was accused in the
month of December, 1789, of having conspired against the
Revolution. Having been arrested by order of the committee
of inquiry of the National Assembly, he was transferred to
the Chatelet, where he defended himself with much coolness
and presence of mind, repelling the accusations brought
against him by Morel, Turcati, and Marquis, with
considerable force. These witnesses declared he had
imparted his plan to them; it was to be carried into
execution by 12,000 Swiss and 12,000 Germans, who were
Page 260
to be assembled at Montargis, thence to march upon Paris,
carry off the King, and assassinate Bailly, La Fayette, and
Necker. The greater number of these charges he denied, and
declared that the rest related only to the levy of a troop
intended to favour the revolution preparing in Brabant. The
judge having refused to disclose who had denounced him, he
complained to the Assembly, which passed to the order of the
day. His death was obviously inevitable. During the whole
time of the proceedings the populace never ceased
threatening the judges and shouting, “A la lanterne!” It was
even necessary to keep numerous troops and artillery
constantly ready to act in the courtyard of the Chatelet. The
judges, who had just acquitted M. de Besenval in an affair
nearly similar, doubtless dreaded the effects of this fury.
When they refused to hear Favras’s witnesses in exculpation,
he compared them to the tribunal of the Inquisition. The
principal charge against him was founded on a letter from
M. de Foucault, asking him, “where are your troops? in
which direction will they enter Paris? I should like to be
employed among them.” Favras was condemned to make the
‘amende honorable’ in front of the Cathedral, and to be
hanged at the Place de Greve. He heard this sentence with
wonderful calmness, and said to his judges, “I pity you
much if the testimony of two men is sufficient to induce you
to condemn.” The judge having said to him, “I have no
other consolation to hold out to you than that which religion
affords,” he replied, nobly, “My greatest consolation is that
which I derive from my innocence.”—“Biographic
Universelle”]
On the morning of the Sunday following this execution M. de la
Villeurnoy came to my house to tell me that he was going that day to the
public dinner of the King and Queen to present Madame de Favras and her
son, both of them in mourning for the brave Frenchman who fell a sacrifice
for his King; and that all the royalists expected to see the Queen load the
unfortunate family with favours. I did all that lay in my power to prevent
this proceeding. I foresaw the effect it would have upon the Queen’s feeling
carry off the King, and assassinate Bailly, La Fayette, and
Necker. The greater number of these charges he denied, and
declared that the rest related only to the levy of a troop
intended to favour the revolution preparing in Brabant. The
judge having refused to disclose who had denounced him, he
complained to the Assembly, which passed to the order of the
day. His death was obviously inevitable. During the whole
time of the proceedings the populace never ceased
threatening the judges and shouting, “A la lanterne!” It was
even necessary to keep numerous troops and artillery
constantly ready to act in the courtyard of the Chatelet. The
judges, who had just acquitted M. de Besenval in an affair
nearly similar, doubtless dreaded the effects of this fury.
When they refused to hear Favras’s witnesses in exculpation,
he compared them to the tribunal of the Inquisition. The
principal charge against him was founded on a letter from
M. de Foucault, asking him, “where are your troops? in
which direction will they enter Paris? I should like to be
employed among them.” Favras was condemned to make the
‘amende honorable’ in front of the Cathedral, and to be
hanged at the Place de Greve. He heard this sentence with
wonderful calmness, and said to his judges, “I pity you
much if the testimony of two men is sufficient to induce you
to condemn.” The judge having said to him, “I have no
other consolation to hold out to you than that which religion
affords,” he replied, nobly, “My greatest consolation is that
which I derive from my innocence.”—“Biographic
Universelle”]
On the morning of the Sunday following this execution M. de la
Villeurnoy came to my house to tell me that he was going that day to the
public dinner of the King and Queen to present Madame de Favras and her
son, both of them in mourning for the brave Frenchman who fell a sacrifice
for his King; and that all the royalists expected to see the Queen load the
unfortunate family with favours. I did all that lay in my power to prevent
this proceeding. I foresaw the effect it would have upon the Queen’s feeling
Page 261
heart, and the painful constraint she would experience, having the horrible
Santerre, the commandant of a battalion of the Parisian guard, behind her
chair during dinner-time. I could not make M. de la Villeurnoy comprehend
my argument; the Queen was gone to mass, surrounded by her whole Court,
and I had not even means of apprising her of his intention.
When dinner was over I heard a knocking at the door of my apartment,
which opened into the corridor next that of the Queen; it was herself. She
asked me whether there was anybody with me; I was alone; she threw
herself into an armchair, and told me she came to weep with me over the
foolish conduct of the ultras of the King’s party. “We must fall,” said she,
“attacked as we are by men who possess every talent and shrink from no
crime, while we are defended only by those who are no doubt very
estimable, but have no adequate idea of our situation. They have exposed
me to the animosity of both parties by presenting the widow and son of
Favras to me. Were I free to act as I wish, I should take the child of the man
who has just sacrificed himself for us and place him at table between the
King and myself; but surrounded by the assassins who have destroyed his
father, I did not dare even to cast my eyes upon him. The royalists will
blame me for not having appeared interested in this poor child; the
revolutionists will be enraged at the idea that his presentation should have
been thought agreeable to me.” However, the Queen added that she knew
Madame de Favras was in want, and that she desired me to send her next
day, through a person who could be relied on, a few rouleaus of fifty Louis,
and to direct that she should be assured her Majesty would always watch
over the fortunes of herself and her son.
In the month of March following I had an opportunity of ascertaining the
King’s sentiments respecting the schemes which were continually proposed
to him for making his escape. One night about ten o’clock Comte d’Inisdal,
who was deputed by the nobility, came to request that I would see him in
private, as he had an important matter to communicate to me. He told me
that on that very night the King was to be carried off; that the section of the
National Guard, that day commanded by M. d’Aumont, was gained over,
and that sets of horses, furnished by some good royalists, were placed in
relays at suitable distances; that he had just left a number of the nobility
assembled for the execution of this scheme, and that he had been sent to me
that I might, through the medium of the Queen, obtain the King’s positive
consent to it before midnight; that the King was aware of their plan, but that
Santerre, the commandant of a battalion of the Parisian guard, behind her
chair during dinner-time. I could not make M. de la Villeurnoy comprehend
my argument; the Queen was gone to mass, surrounded by her whole Court,
and I had not even means of apprising her of his intention.
When dinner was over I heard a knocking at the door of my apartment,
which opened into the corridor next that of the Queen; it was herself. She
asked me whether there was anybody with me; I was alone; she threw
herself into an armchair, and told me she came to weep with me over the
foolish conduct of the ultras of the King’s party. “We must fall,” said she,
“attacked as we are by men who possess every talent and shrink from no
crime, while we are defended only by those who are no doubt very
estimable, but have no adequate idea of our situation. They have exposed
me to the animosity of both parties by presenting the widow and son of
Favras to me. Were I free to act as I wish, I should take the child of the man
who has just sacrificed himself for us and place him at table between the
King and myself; but surrounded by the assassins who have destroyed his
father, I did not dare even to cast my eyes upon him. The royalists will
blame me for not having appeared interested in this poor child; the
revolutionists will be enraged at the idea that his presentation should have
been thought agreeable to me.” However, the Queen added that she knew
Madame de Favras was in want, and that she desired me to send her next
day, through a person who could be relied on, a few rouleaus of fifty Louis,
and to direct that she should be assured her Majesty would always watch
over the fortunes of herself and her son.
In the month of March following I had an opportunity of ascertaining the
King’s sentiments respecting the schemes which were continually proposed
to him for making his escape. One night about ten o’clock Comte d’Inisdal,
who was deputed by the nobility, came to request that I would see him in
private, as he had an important matter to communicate to me. He told me
that on that very night the King was to be carried off; that the section of the
National Guard, that day commanded by M. d’Aumont, was gained over,
and that sets of horses, furnished by some good royalists, were placed in
relays at suitable distances; that he had just left a number of the nobility
assembled for the execution of this scheme, and that he had been sent to me
that I might, through the medium of the Queen, obtain the King’s positive
consent to it before midnight; that the King was aware of their plan, but that
Page 262
his Majesty never would speak decidedly, and that it was necessary he
should consent to the undertaking. I greatly displeased Comte d’Inisdal by
expressing my astonishment that the nobility at the moment of the
execution of so important a project should send to me, the Queen’s first
woman, to obtain a consent which ought to have been the basis of any well-
concerted scheme. I told him, also, that it would be impossible for me to go
at that time to the Queen’s apartments without exciting the attention of the
people in the antechambers; that the King was at cards with the Queen and
his family, and that I never broke in upon their privacy unless I was called
for. I added, however, that M. Campan could enter without being called;
and if the Count chose to give him his confidence he might rely upon him.
My father-in-law, to whom Comte d’Inisdal repeated what he had said to
me, took the commission upon himself, and went to the Queen’s
apartments. The King was playing at whist with the Queen, Monsieur, and
Madame; Madame Elisabeth was kneeling on a stool near the table. M.
Campan informed the Queen of what had been communicated to me;
nobody uttered a word. The Queen broke silence and said to the King, “Do
you hear, Sire, what Campan says to us?”—“Yes, I hear,” said the King, and
continued his game. Monsieur, who was in the habit of introducing
passages from plays into his conversation, said to my father-in-law, “M.
Campan, that pretty little couplet again, if you please;” and pressed the
King to reply. At length the Queen said, “But something must be said to
Campan.” The King then spoke to my father-in-law in these words: “Tell
M. d’Inisdal that I cannot consent to be carried off!” The Queen enjoined
M. Campan to take care and, report this answer faithfully. “You
understand,” added she, “the King cannot consent to be carried off.”
Comte d’Inisdal was very much dissatisfied with the King’s answer, and
went out, saying, “I understand; he wishes to throw all the blame,
beforehand, upon those who are to devote themselves for him.”
He went away, and I thought the enterprise would be abandoned.
However, the Queen remained alone with me till midnight, preparing her
cases of valuables, and ordered me not to go to bed. She imagined the
King’s answer would be understood as a tacit consent, and merely a refusal
to participate in the design. I do not know what passed in the King’s
apartments during the night; but I occasionally looked out at the windows: I
saw the garden clear; I heard no noise in the palace, and day at length
should consent to the undertaking. I greatly displeased Comte d’Inisdal by
expressing my astonishment that the nobility at the moment of the
execution of so important a project should send to me, the Queen’s first
woman, to obtain a consent which ought to have been the basis of any well-
concerted scheme. I told him, also, that it would be impossible for me to go
at that time to the Queen’s apartments without exciting the attention of the
people in the antechambers; that the King was at cards with the Queen and
his family, and that I never broke in upon their privacy unless I was called
for. I added, however, that M. Campan could enter without being called;
and if the Count chose to give him his confidence he might rely upon him.
My father-in-law, to whom Comte d’Inisdal repeated what he had said to
me, took the commission upon himself, and went to the Queen’s
apartments. The King was playing at whist with the Queen, Monsieur, and
Madame; Madame Elisabeth was kneeling on a stool near the table. M.
Campan informed the Queen of what had been communicated to me;
nobody uttered a word. The Queen broke silence and said to the King, “Do
you hear, Sire, what Campan says to us?”—“Yes, I hear,” said the King, and
continued his game. Monsieur, who was in the habit of introducing
passages from plays into his conversation, said to my father-in-law, “M.
Campan, that pretty little couplet again, if you please;” and pressed the
King to reply. At length the Queen said, “But something must be said to
Campan.” The King then spoke to my father-in-law in these words: “Tell
M. d’Inisdal that I cannot consent to be carried off!” The Queen enjoined
M. Campan to take care and, report this answer faithfully. “You
understand,” added she, “the King cannot consent to be carried off.”
Comte d’Inisdal was very much dissatisfied with the King’s answer, and
went out, saying, “I understand; he wishes to throw all the blame,
beforehand, upon those who are to devote themselves for him.”
He went away, and I thought the enterprise would be abandoned.
However, the Queen remained alone with me till midnight, preparing her
cases of valuables, and ordered me not to go to bed. She imagined the
King’s answer would be understood as a tacit consent, and merely a refusal
to participate in the design. I do not know what passed in the King’s
apartments during the night; but I occasionally looked out at the windows: I
saw the garden clear; I heard no noise in the palace, and day at length
Page 263
confirmed my opinion that the project had been given up. “We must,
however, fly,” said the Queen to me, shortly afterwards; “who knows how
far the factious may go? The danger increases every day.”
[The disturbances of the 13th of April, 1790, occasioned
by the warmth of the discussions upon Dom Gerle’s
imprudent motion in the National Assembly, having afforded
room for apprehension that the enemies of the country would
endeavour to carry off the King from the capital, M. de La
Fayette promised to keep watch, and told Louis XVI. that if
he saw any alarming movement among the disaffected he
would give him notice of it by the discharge of a cannon
from Henri IV.‘s battery on the Pont Neuf. On the same night
a few casual discharges of musketry were heard from the
terrace of the Tuileries. The King, deceived by the noise,
flew to the Queen’s apartments; he did not find her; he ran
to the Dauphin’s room, where he found the Queen holding
her son in her arms. “Madame;” said the King to her, “I
have been seeking you; and you have made me uneasy.” The
Queen, showing her son, said to him, “I was at my
post.”—“Anecdotes of the Reign of Louis XVI.”]
This Princess received advice and memorials from all quarters. Rivarol
addressed several to her, which I read to her. They were full of ingenious
observations; but the Queen did not find that they, contained anything of
essential service under the circumstances in which the royal family was
placed. Comte du Moustier also sent memorials and plans of conduct. I
remember that in one of his writings he said to the King, “Read
‘Telemachus’ again, Sire; in that book which delighted your Majesty in
infancy you will find the first seeds of those principles which, erroneously
followed up by men of ardent imaginations, are bringing on the explosion
we expect every moment.” I read so many of these memorials that I could
hardly give a faithful account of them, and I am determined to note in this
work no other events than such as I witnessed; no other words than such as
(notwithstanding the lapse of time) still in some measure vibrate in my ears.
Comte de Segur, on his return from Russia, was employed some time by
the Queen, and had a certain degree of influence over her; but that did not
however, fly,” said the Queen to me, shortly afterwards; “who knows how
far the factious may go? The danger increases every day.”
[The disturbances of the 13th of April, 1790, occasioned
by the warmth of the discussions upon Dom Gerle’s
imprudent motion in the National Assembly, having afforded
room for apprehension that the enemies of the country would
endeavour to carry off the King from the capital, M. de La
Fayette promised to keep watch, and told Louis XVI. that if
he saw any alarming movement among the disaffected he
would give him notice of it by the discharge of a cannon
from Henri IV.‘s battery on the Pont Neuf. On the same night
a few casual discharges of musketry were heard from the
terrace of the Tuileries. The King, deceived by the noise,
flew to the Queen’s apartments; he did not find her; he ran
to the Dauphin’s room, where he found the Queen holding
her son in her arms. “Madame;” said the King to her, “I
have been seeking you; and you have made me uneasy.” The
Queen, showing her son, said to him, “I was at my
post.”—“Anecdotes of the Reign of Louis XVI.”]
This Princess received advice and memorials from all quarters. Rivarol
addressed several to her, which I read to her. They were full of ingenious
observations; but the Queen did not find that they, contained anything of
essential service under the circumstances in which the royal family was
placed. Comte du Moustier also sent memorials and plans of conduct. I
remember that in one of his writings he said to the King, “Read
‘Telemachus’ again, Sire; in that book which delighted your Majesty in
infancy you will find the first seeds of those principles which, erroneously
followed up by men of ardent imaginations, are bringing on the explosion
we expect every moment.” I read so many of these memorials that I could
hardly give a faithful account of them, and I am determined to note in this
work no other events than such as I witnessed; no other words than such as
(notwithstanding the lapse of time) still in some measure vibrate in my ears.
Comte de Segur, on his return from Russia, was employed some time by
the Queen, and had a certain degree of influence over her; but that did not
Page 264
last long. Comte Augustus de la Marck likewise endeavoured to negotiate
for the King’s advantage with the leaders of the factious. M. de Fontanges,
Archbishop of Toulouse, possessed also the Queen’s confidence; but none
of the endeavours which were made on the spot produced any, beneficial
result. The Empress Catherine II. also conveyed her opinion upon the
situation of Louis XVI. to the Queen, and her Majesty made me read a few
lines in the Empress’s own handwriting, which concluded with these words:
“Kings ought to proceed in their career undisturbed by the cries of the
people, even as the moon pursues her course unimpeded by the baying of
dogs.” This maxim of the despotic sovereign of Russia was very
inapplicable to the situation of a captive king.
Meanwhile the revolutionary party followed up its audacious enterprise
in a determined manner, without meeting any opposition. The advice from
without, as well from Coblentz as from Vienna, made various impressions
upon the members of the royal family, and those cabinets were not in
accordance with each other. I often had reason to infer from what the Queen
said to me that she thought the King, by leaving all the honour of restoring
order to the Coblentz party,—[The Princes and the chief of the emigrant
nobility assembled at Coblentz, and the name was used to designate the
reactionary party.]—would, on the return of the emigrants, be put under a
kind of guardianship which would increase his own misfortunes. She
frequently said to me, “If the emigrants succeed, they will rule the roast for
a long time; it will be impossible to refuse them anything; to owe the crown
to them would be contracting too great an obligation.” It always appeared to
me that she wished her own family to counterbalance the claims of the
emigrants by disinterested services. She was fearful of M. de Calonne, and
with good reason. She had proof that this minister was her bitterest enemy,
and that he made use of the most criminal means in order to blacken her
reputation. I can testify that I have seen in the hands of the Queen a
manuscript copy of the infamous memoirs of the woman De Lamotte,
which had been brought to her from London, and in which all those
passages where a total ignorance of the customs of Courts had occasioned
that wretched woman to make blunders which would have been too
palpable were corrected in M. de Calonne’s own handwriting.
The two King’s Guards who were wounded at her Majesty’s door on the
6th of October were M. du Repaire and M. de Miomandre de Sainte-Marie;
for the King’s advantage with the leaders of the factious. M. de Fontanges,
Archbishop of Toulouse, possessed also the Queen’s confidence; but none
of the endeavours which were made on the spot produced any, beneficial
result. The Empress Catherine II. also conveyed her opinion upon the
situation of Louis XVI. to the Queen, and her Majesty made me read a few
lines in the Empress’s own handwriting, which concluded with these words:
“Kings ought to proceed in their career undisturbed by the cries of the
people, even as the moon pursues her course unimpeded by the baying of
dogs.” This maxim of the despotic sovereign of Russia was very
inapplicable to the situation of a captive king.
Meanwhile the revolutionary party followed up its audacious enterprise
in a determined manner, without meeting any opposition. The advice from
without, as well from Coblentz as from Vienna, made various impressions
upon the members of the royal family, and those cabinets were not in
accordance with each other. I often had reason to infer from what the Queen
said to me that she thought the King, by leaving all the honour of restoring
order to the Coblentz party,—[The Princes and the chief of the emigrant
nobility assembled at Coblentz, and the name was used to designate the
reactionary party.]—would, on the return of the emigrants, be put under a
kind of guardianship which would increase his own misfortunes. She
frequently said to me, “If the emigrants succeed, they will rule the roast for
a long time; it will be impossible to refuse them anything; to owe the crown
to them would be contracting too great an obligation.” It always appeared to
me that she wished her own family to counterbalance the claims of the
emigrants by disinterested services. She was fearful of M. de Calonne, and
with good reason. She had proof that this minister was her bitterest enemy,
and that he made use of the most criminal means in order to blacken her
reputation. I can testify that I have seen in the hands of the Queen a
manuscript copy of the infamous memoirs of the woman De Lamotte,
which had been brought to her from London, and in which all those
passages where a total ignorance of the customs of Courts had occasioned
that wretched woman to make blunders which would have been too
palpable were corrected in M. de Calonne’s own handwriting.
The two King’s Guards who were wounded at her Majesty’s door on the
6th of October were M. du Repaire and M. de Miomandre de Sainte-Marie;
Page 265
on the dreadful night of the 6th of October the latter took the post of the
former the moment he became incapable of maintaining it.
A considerable number of the Body Guards, who were wounded on the
6th of October, betook themselves to the infirmary at Versailles. The
brigands wanted to make their way into the infirmary in order to massacre
them. M. Viosin, head surgeon of that infirmary, ran to the entrance hall,
invited the assailants to refresh themselves, ordered wine to be brought, and
found means to direct the Sister Superior to remove the Guards into a ward
appropriated to the poor, and dress them in the caps and greatcoats
furnished by the institution. The good sisters executed this order so
promptly that the Guards were removed, dressed as paupers, and their beds
made, while the assassins were drinking. They searched all the wards, and
fancied they saw no persons there but the sick poor; thus the Guards were
saved.
M. de Miomandre was at Paris, living on terms of friendship with another
of the Guards, who, on the same day, received a gunshot wound from the
brigands in another part of the Chateau. These two officers, who were
attended and cured together at the infirmary of Versailles, were almost
constant companions; they were recognised at the Palais Royal, and
insulted. The Queen thought it necessary for them to quit Paris. She desired
me to write to M. de Miomandre de Sainte-Marie, and tell him to come to
me at eight o’clock in the evening; and then to communicate to him her
wish to hear of his being in safety; and ordered me, when he had made up
his mind to go, to tell him in her name that gold could not repay such a
service as he had rendered; that she hoped some day to be in sufficiently
happy circumstances to recompense him as she ought; but that for the
present her offer of money was only that of a sister to a brother situated as
he then was, and that she requested he would take whatever might be
necessary to discharge his debts at Paris and defray the expenses of his
journey. She told me also to desire he would bring his friend Bertrand with
him, and to make him the same offer.
The two Guards came at the appointed hour, and accepted, I think, each
one or two hundred louis. A moment afterwards the Queen opened my door;
she was accompanied by the King and Madame Elisabeth; the King stood
with his back against the fireplace; the Queen sat down upon a sofa and
Madame Elisabeth sat near her; I placed myself behind the Queen, and the
former the moment he became incapable of maintaining it.
A considerable number of the Body Guards, who were wounded on the
6th of October, betook themselves to the infirmary at Versailles. The
brigands wanted to make their way into the infirmary in order to massacre
them. M. Viosin, head surgeon of that infirmary, ran to the entrance hall,
invited the assailants to refresh themselves, ordered wine to be brought, and
found means to direct the Sister Superior to remove the Guards into a ward
appropriated to the poor, and dress them in the caps and greatcoats
furnished by the institution. The good sisters executed this order so
promptly that the Guards were removed, dressed as paupers, and their beds
made, while the assassins were drinking. They searched all the wards, and
fancied they saw no persons there but the sick poor; thus the Guards were
saved.
M. de Miomandre was at Paris, living on terms of friendship with another
of the Guards, who, on the same day, received a gunshot wound from the
brigands in another part of the Chateau. These two officers, who were
attended and cured together at the infirmary of Versailles, were almost
constant companions; they were recognised at the Palais Royal, and
insulted. The Queen thought it necessary for them to quit Paris. She desired
me to write to M. de Miomandre de Sainte-Marie, and tell him to come to
me at eight o’clock in the evening; and then to communicate to him her
wish to hear of his being in safety; and ordered me, when he had made up
his mind to go, to tell him in her name that gold could not repay such a
service as he had rendered; that she hoped some day to be in sufficiently
happy circumstances to recompense him as she ought; but that for the
present her offer of money was only that of a sister to a brother situated as
he then was, and that she requested he would take whatever might be
necessary to discharge his debts at Paris and defray the expenses of his
journey. She told me also to desire he would bring his friend Bertrand with
him, and to make him the same offer.
The two Guards came at the appointed hour, and accepted, I think, each
one or two hundred louis. A moment afterwards the Queen opened my door;
she was accompanied by the King and Madame Elisabeth; the King stood
with his back against the fireplace; the Queen sat down upon a sofa and
Madame Elisabeth sat near her; I placed myself behind the Queen, and the
Page 266
two Guards stood facing the King. The Queen told them that the King
wished to see before they went away two of the brave men who had
afforded him the strongest proofs of courage and attachment. Miomandre
said all that the Queen’s affecting observations were calculated to inspire.
Madame Elisabeth spoke of the King’s gratitude; the Queen resumed the
subject of their speedy departure, urging the necessity of it; the King was
silent; but his emotion was evident, and his eyes were suffused with tears.
The Queen rose, the King went out, and Madame Elisabeth followed him;
the Queen stopped and said to me, in the recess of a window, “I am sorry I
brought the King here! I am sure Elisabeth thinks with me; if the King had
but given utterance to a fourth part of what he thinks of those brave men
they would have been in ecstacies; but he cannot overcome his diffidence.”
The Emperor Joseph died about this time. The Queen’s grief was not
excessive; that brother of whom she had been so proud, and whom she had
loved so tenderly, had probably suffered greatly in her opinion; she
reproached him sometimes, though with moderation, for having adopted
several of the principles of the new philosophy, and perhaps she knew that
he looked upon our troubles with the eye of the sovereign of Germany
rather than that of the brother of the Queen of France.
The Emperor on one occasion sent the Queen an engraving which
represented unfrocked nuns and monks. The first were trying on fashionable
dresses, the latter were having their hair arranged; the picture was always
left in the closet, and never hung up. The Queen told me to have it taken
away; for she was hurt to see how much influence the philosophers had
over her brother’s mind and actions.
Mirabeau had not lost the hope of becoming the last resource of the
oppressed Court; and at this time some communications passed between the
Queen and him. The question was about an office to be conferred upon him.
This transpired, and it must have been about this period that the Assembly
decreed that no deputy could hold an office as a minister of the King until
the expiration of two years after the cessation of his legislative functions. I
know that the Queen was much hurt at this decision, and considered that the
Court had lost a promising opening.
The palace of the Tuileries was a very disagreeable residence during the
summer, which made the Queen wish to go to St. Cloud. The removal was
decided on without any opposition; the National Guard of Paris followed
wished to see before they went away two of the brave men who had
afforded him the strongest proofs of courage and attachment. Miomandre
said all that the Queen’s affecting observations were calculated to inspire.
Madame Elisabeth spoke of the King’s gratitude; the Queen resumed the
subject of their speedy departure, urging the necessity of it; the King was
silent; but his emotion was evident, and his eyes were suffused with tears.
The Queen rose, the King went out, and Madame Elisabeth followed him;
the Queen stopped and said to me, in the recess of a window, “I am sorry I
brought the King here! I am sure Elisabeth thinks with me; if the King had
but given utterance to a fourth part of what he thinks of those brave men
they would have been in ecstacies; but he cannot overcome his diffidence.”
The Emperor Joseph died about this time. The Queen’s grief was not
excessive; that brother of whom she had been so proud, and whom she had
loved so tenderly, had probably suffered greatly in her opinion; she
reproached him sometimes, though with moderation, for having adopted
several of the principles of the new philosophy, and perhaps she knew that
he looked upon our troubles with the eye of the sovereign of Germany
rather than that of the brother of the Queen of France.
The Emperor on one occasion sent the Queen an engraving which
represented unfrocked nuns and monks. The first were trying on fashionable
dresses, the latter were having their hair arranged; the picture was always
left in the closet, and never hung up. The Queen told me to have it taken
away; for she was hurt to see how much influence the philosophers had
over her brother’s mind and actions.
Mirabeau had not lost the hope of becoming the last resource of the
oppressed Court; and at this time some communications passed between the
Queen and him. The question was about an office to be conferred upon him.
This transpired, and it must have been about this period that the Assembly
decreed that no deputy could hold an office as a minister of the King until
the expiration of two years after the cessation of his legislative functions. I
know that the Queen was much hurt at this decision, and considered that the
Court had lost a promising opening.
The palace of the Tuileries was a very disagreeable residence during the
summer, which made the Queen wish to go to St. Cloud. The removal was
decided on without any opposition; the National Guard of Paris followed
Page 267
the Court thither. At this period new opportunities of escape were presented;
nothing would have been more easy than to execute them. The King had
obtained leave (!) to go out without guards, and to be accompanied only by
an aide-de-camp of M. de La Fayette. The Queen also had one on duty with
her, and so had the Dauphin. The King and Queen often went out at four in
the afternoon, and did not return until eight or nine.
I will relate one of the plans of emigration which the Queen
communicated to me, the success of which seemed infallible. The royal
family were to meet in a wood four leagues from St. Cloud; some persons
who could be fully relied on were to accompany the King, who was always
followed by his equerries and pages; the Queen was to join him with her
daughter and Madame Elisabeth. These Princesses, as well as the Queen,
had equerries and pages, of whose fidelity no doubt could be entertained.
The Dauphin likewise was to be at the place of rendezvous with Madame de
Tourzel; a large berlin and a chaise for the attendants were sufficient for the
whole family; the aides-de-camp were to have been gained over or
mastered. The King was to leave a letter for the President of the National
Assembly on his bureau at St. Cloud. The people in the service of the King
and Queen would have waited until nine in the evening without anxiety,
because the family sometimes did not return until that hour. The letter could
not be forwarded to Paris until ten o’clock at the earliest. The Assembly
would not then be sitting; the President must have been sought for at his
own house or elsewhere; it would have been midnight before the Assembly
could have been summoned and couriers sent off to have the royal family
stopped; but the latter would have been six or seven hours in advance, as
they would have started at six leagues’ distance from Paris; and at this
period travelling was not yet impeded in France.
The Queen approved of this plan; but I did not venture to interrogate her,
and I even thought if it were put in execution she would leave me in
ignorance of it. One evening in the month of June the people of the
Chateau, finding the King did not return by nine o’clock, were walking
about the courtyards in a state of great anxiety. I thought the family, was
gone, and I could scarcely breathe amidst the confusion of my good wishes,
when I heard the sound of the carriages. I confessed to the Queen that I
thought she had set off; she told me she must wait until Mesdames the
King’s aunts had quitted France, and afterwards see whether the plan agreed
with those formed abroad.
nothing would have been more easy than to execute them. The King had
obtained leave (!) to go out without guards, and to be accompanied only by
an aide-de-camp of M. de La Fayette. The Queen also had one on duty with
her, and so had the Dauphin. The King and Queen often went out at four in
the afternoon, and did not return until eight or nine.
I will relate one of the plans of emigration which the Queen
communicated to me, the success of which seemed infallible. The royal
family were to meet in a wood four leagues from St. Cloud; some persons
who could be fully relied on were to accompany the King, who was always
followed by his equerries and pages; the Queen was to join him with her
daughter and Madame Elisabeth. These Princesses, as well as the Queen,
had equerries and pages, of whose fidelity no doubt could be entertained.
The Dauphin likewise was to be at the place of rendezvous with Madame de
Tourzel; a large berlin and a chaise for the attendants were sufficient for the
whole family; the aides-de-camp were to have been gained over or
mastered. The King was to leave a letter for the President of the National
Assembly on his bureau at St. Cloud. The people in the service of the King
and Queen would have waited until nine in the evening without anxiety,
because the family sometimes did not return until that hour. The letter could
not be forwarded to Paris until ten o’clock at the earliest. The Assembly
would not then be sitting; the President must have been sought for at his
own house or elsewhere; it would have been midnight before the Assembly
could have been summoned and couriers sent off to have the royal family
stopped; but the latter would have been six or seven hours in advance, as
they would have started at six leagues’ distance from Paris; and at this
period travelling was not yet impeded in France.
The Queen approved of this plan; but I did not venture to interrogate her,
and I even thought if it were put in execution she would leave me in
ignorance of it. One evening in the month of June the people of the
Chateau, finding the King did not return by nine o’clock, were walking
about the courtyards in a state of great anxiety. I thought the family, was
gone, and I could scarcely breathe amidst the confusion of my good wishes,
when I heard the sound of the carriages. I confessed to the Queen that I
thought she had set off; she told me she must wait until Mesdames the
King’s aunts had quitted France, and afterwards see whether the plan agreed
with those formed abroad.
Page 268
Page 269
CHAPTER IV.
There was a meeting at Paris for the first federation on the 14th of July,
1790, the anniversary of the taking of the Bastille. What an astonishing
assemblage of four hundred thousand men, of whom there were not perhaps
two hundred who did not believe that the King found happiness and glory in
the order of things then being established. The love which was borne him
by all, with the exception of those who meditated his ruin, still reigned in
the hearts of the French in the departments; but if I may judge from those
whom I had an opportunity of seeing, it was totally impossible to enlighten
them; they were as much attached to the King as to the constitution, and to
the constitution as to the King; and it was impossible to separate the one
from the other in their hearts and minds.
The Court returned to St. Cloud after the federation. A wretch, named
Rotondo, made his way into the palace with the intention of assassinating
the Queen. It is known that he penetrated to the inner gardens: the rain
prevented her Majesty from going out that day. M. de La Fayette, who was
There was a meeting at Paris for the first federation on the 14th of July,
1790, the anniversary of the taking of the Bastille. What an astonishing
assemblage of four hundred thousand men, of whom there were not perhaps
two hundred who did not believe that the King found happiness and glory in
the order of things then being established. The love which was borne him
by all, with the exception of those who meditated his ruin, still reigned in
the hearts of the French in the departments; but if I may judge from those
whom I had an opportunity of seeing, it was totally impossible to enlighten
them; they were as much attached to the King as to the constitution, and to
the constitution as to the King; and it was impossible to separate the one
from the other in their hearts and minds.
The Court returned to St. Cloud after the federation. A wretch, named
Rotondo, made his way into the palace with the intention of assassinating
the Queen. It is known that he penetrated to the inner gardens: the rain
prevented her Majesty from going out that day. M. de La Fayette, who was
Page 270
aware of this plot, gave all the sentinels the strictest orders, and a
description of the monster was distributed throughout the palace by order of
the General. I do not know how he was saved from punishment. The police
belonging to the King discovered that there was likewise a scheme on foot
for poisoning the Queen. She spoke to me, as well as to her head physician,
M. Vicq-d’Azyr, about it, without the slightest emotion, but both he and I
consulted what precautions it would be proper to take. He relied much upon
the Queen’s temperance; yet he recommended me always to have a bottle of
oil of sweet almonds within reach, and to renew it occasionally, that oil and
milk being, as is known, the most certain antidotes to the divellication of
corrosive poisons.
The Queen had a habit which rendered M. Vicq-d’Azyr particularly
uneasy: there was always some pounded sugar upon the table in her
Majesty’s bedchamber; and she frequently, without calling anybody, put
spoonfuls of it into a glass of water when she wished to drink. It was agreed
that I should get a considerable quantity of sugar powdered; that I should
always have some papers of it in my bag, and that three or four times a day,
when alone in the Queen’s room, I should substitute it for that in her sugar-
basin. We knew that the Queen would have prevented all such precautions,
but we were not aware of her reason. One day she caught me alone making
this exchange, and told me, she supposed it was agreed on between myself
and M. Vicq-d’Azyr, but that I gave myself very unnecessary trouble.
“Remember,” added she, “that not a grain of poison will be put in use
against me. The Brinvilliers do not belong to this century: this age
possesses calumny, which is a much more convenient instrument of death;
and it is by that I shall perish.”
Even while melancholy presentiments afflicted this unfortunate Princess,
manifestations of attachment to her person, and to the King’s cause, would
frequently raise agreeable illusions in her mind, or present to her the
affecting spectacle of tears shed for her sorrows. I was one day, during this
same visit to St. Cloud, witness of a very touching scene, which we took
great care to keep secret. It was four in the afternoon; the guard was not set;
there was scarcely anybody at St. Cloud that day, and I was reading to the
Queen, who was at work in a room the balcony of which hung over the
courtyard. The windows were closed, yet we heard a sort of inarticulate
murmur from a great number of voices. The Queen desired me to go and
see what it was; I raised the muslin curtain, and perceived more than fifty
description of the monster was distributed throughout the palace by order of
the General. I do not know how he was saved from punishment. The police
belonging to the King discovered that there was likewise a scheme on foot
for poisoning the Queen. She spoke to me, as well as to her head physician,
M. Vicq-d’Azyr, about it, without the slightest emotion, but both he and I
consulted what precautions it would be proper to take. He relied much upon
the Queen’s temperance; yet he recommended me always to have a bottle of
oil of sweet almonds within reach, and to renew it occasionally, that oil and
milk being, as is known, the most certain antidotes to the divellication of
corrosive poisons.
The Queen had a habit which rendered M. Vicq-d’Azyr particularly
uneasy: there was always some pounded sugar upon the table in her
Majesty’s bedchamber; and she frequently, without calling anybody, put
spoonfuls of it into a glass of water when she wished to drink. It was agreed
that I should get a considerable quantity of sugar powdered; that I should
always have some papers of it in my bag, and that three or four times a day,
when alone in the Queen’s room, I should substitute it for that in her sugar-
basin. We knew that the Queen would have prevented all such precautions,
but we were not aware of her reason. One day she caught me alone making
this exchange, and told me, she supposed it was agreed on between myself
and M. Vicq-d’Azyr, but that I gave myself very unnecessary trouble.
“Remember,” added she, “that not a grain of poison will be put in use
against me. The Brinvilliers do not belong to this century: this age
possesses calumny, which is a much more convenient instrument of death;
and it is by that I shall perish.”
Even while melancholy presentiments afflicted this unfortunate Princess,
manifestations of attachment to her person, and to the King’s cause, would
frequently raise agreeable illusions in her mind, or present to her the
affecting spectacle of tears shed for her sorrows. I was one day, during this
same visit to St. Cloud, witness of a very touching scene, which we took
great care to keep secret. It was four in the afternoon; the guard was not set;
there was scarcely anybody at St. Cloud that day, and I was reading to the
Queen, who was at work in a room the balcony of which hung over the
courtyard. The windows were closed, yet we heard a sort of inarticulate
murmur from a great number of voices. The Queen desired me to go and
see what it was; I raised the muslin curtain, and perceived more than fifty
Page 271
persons beneath the balcony: this group consisted of women, young and
old, perfectly well dressed in the country costume, old chevaliers of St.
Louis, young knights of Malta, and a few ecclesiastics. I told the Queen it
was probably an assemblage of persons residing in the neighbourhood who
wished to see her. She rose, opened the window, and appeared in the
balcony; immediately all these worthy people said to her, in an undertone:
“Courage, Madame; good Frenchmen suffer for you, and with you; they
pray for you. Heaven will hear their prayers; we love you, we respect you,
we will continue to venerate our virtuous King.” The Queen burst into tears,
and held her handkerchief to her eyes. “Poor Queen! she weeps!” said the
women and young girls; but the dread of exposing her Majesty, and even
the persons who showed so much affection for her, to observation,
prompted me to take her hand, and prevail upon her to retire into her room;
and, raising my eyes, I gave the excellent people to understand that my
conduct was dictated by prudence. They comprehended me, for I heard,
“That lady is right;” and afterwards, “Farewell, Madame!” from several of
them; and all this in accents of feeling so true and so mournful, that I am
affected at the recollection of them even after a lapse of twenty years.
A few days afterwards the insurrection of Nancy took place.
[The insurrection of the troops at Nancy broke out in
August 1790, and was put down by Marechal de Bouille on
the last day of that month. See “Bouille,” p. 195.]
Only the ostensible cause is known; there was another, of which I might
have been in full possession, if the great confusion I was in upon the subject
had not deprived me of the power of paying attention to it. I will endeavour
to make myself understood. In the early part of September the Queen, as
she was going to bed, desired me to let all her people go, and to remain with
her myself; when we were alone she said to me, “The King will come here
at midnight. You know that he has always shown you marks of distinction;
he now proves his confidence in you by selecting you to write down the
whole affair of Nancy from his dictation. He must have several copies of
it.” At midnight the King came to the Queen’s apartments, and said to me,
smiling, “You did not expect to become my secretary, and that, too, during
the night.” I followed the King into the council chamber. I found there
sheets of paper, an inkstand, and pens all ready prepared. He sat down by
old, perfectly well dressed in the country costume, old chevaliers of St.
Louis, young knights of Malta, and a few ecclesiastics. I told the Queen it
was probably an assemblage of persons residing in the neighbourhood who
wished to see her. She rose, opened the window, and appeared in the
balcony; immediately all these worthy people said to her, in an undertone:
“Courage, Madame; good Frenchmen suffer for you, and with you; they
pray for you. Heaven will hear their prayers; we love you, we respect you,
we will continue to venerate our virtuous King.” The Queen burst into tears,
and held her handkerchief to her eyes. “Poor Queen! she weeps!” said the
women and young girls; but the dread of exposing her Majesty, and even
the persons who showed so much affection for her, to observation,
prompted me to take her hand, and prevail upon her to retire into her room;
and, raising my eyes, I gave the excellent people to understand that my
conduct was dictated by prudence. They comprehended me, for I heard,
“That lady is right;” and afterwards, “Farewell, Madame!” from several of
them; and all this in accents of feeling so true and so mournful, that I am
affected at the recollection of them even after a lapse of twenty years.
A few days afterwards the insurrection of Nancy took place.
[The insurrection of the troops at Nancy broke out in
August 1790, and was put down by Marechal de Bouille on
the last day of that month. See “Bouille,” p. 195.]
Only the ostensible cause is known; there was another, of which I might
have been in full possession, if the great confusion I was in upon the subject
had not deprived me of the power of paying attention to it. I will endeavour
to make myself understood. In the early part of September the Queen, as
she was going to bed, desired me to let all her people go, and to remain with
her myself; when we were alone she said to me, “The King will come here
at midnight. You know that he has always shown you marks of distinction;
he now proves his confidence in you by selecting you to write down the
whole affair of Nancy from his dictation. He must have several copies of
it.” At midnight the King came to the Queen’s apartments, and said to me,
smiling, “You did not expect to become my secretary, and that, too, during
the night.” I followed the King into the council chamber. I found there
sheets of paper, an inkstand, and pens all ready prepared. He sat down by
Page 272
my side and dictated to me the report of the Marquis de Bouille, which he
himself copied at the same time. My hand trembled; I wrote with difficulty;
my reflections scarcely left me sufficient power of attention to listen to the
King. The large table, the velvet cloth, seats which ought to have been filled
by none but the King’s chief councillors; what that chamber had been, and
what it was at that moment, when the King was employing a woman in an
office which had so little affinity with her ordinary functions; the
misfortunes which had brought him to the necessity of doing so,—all these
ideas made such an impression upon me that when I had returned to the
Queen’s apartments I could not sleep for the remainder of the night, nor
could I remember what I had written.
The more I saw that I had the happiness to be of some use to my
employers, the more scrupulously careful was I to live entirely with my
family; and I never indulged in any conversation which could betray the
intimacy to which I was admitted; but nothing at Court remains long
concealed, and I soon saw I had many enemies. The means of injuring
others in the minds of sovereigns are but too easily obtained, and they had
become still more so, since the mere suspicion of communication with
partisans of the Revolution was sufficient to forfeit the esteem and
confidence of the King and Queen; happily, my conduct protected me, with
them, against calumny. I had left St. Cloud two days, when I received at
Paris a note from the Queen, containing these words:
“Come to St. Cloud immediately; I have something concerning you to
communicate.” I set off without loss of time. Her Majesty told me she had a
sacrifice to request of me; I answered that it was made. She said it went so
far as the renunciation of a friend’s society; that such a renunciation was
always painful, but that it must be particularly so to me; that, for her own
part, it might have been very useful that a deputy, a man of talent, should be
constantly received at my house; but at this moment she thought only of my
welfare. The Queen then informed me that the ladies of the bedchamber
had, the preceding evening, assured her that M. de Beaumetz, deputy from
the nobility of Artois, who had taken his seat on the left of the Assembly,
spent his whole time at my house. Perceiving on what false grounds the
attempt to injure, me was based, I replied respectfully, but at the same time
smiling, that it was impossible for me to make the sacrifice exacted by her
Majesty; that M. de Beaumetz, a man of great judgment, had not
determined to cross over to the left of the Assembly with the intention of
himself copied at the same time. My hand trembled; I wrote with difficulty;
my reflections scarcely left me sufficient power of attention to listen to the
King. The large table, the velvet cloth, seats which ought to have been filled
by none but the King’s chief councillors; what that chamber had been, and
what it was at that moment, when the King was employing a woman in an
office which had so little affinity with her ordinary functions; the
misfortunes which had brought him to the necessity of doing so,—all these
ideas made such an impression upon me that when I had returned to the
Queen’s apartments I could not sleep for the remainder of the night, nor
could I remember what I had written.
The more I saw that I had the happiness to be of some use to my
employers, the more scrupulously careful was I to live entirely with my
family; and I never indulged in any conversation which could betray the
intimacy to which I was admitted; but nothing at Court remains long
concealed, and I soon saw I had many enemies. The means of injuring
others in the minds of sovereigns are but too easily obtained, and they had
become still more so, since the mere suspicion of communication with
partisans of the Revolution was sufficient to forfeit the esteem and
confidence of the King and Queen; happily, my conduct protected me, with
them, against calumny. I had left St. Cloud two days, when I received at
Paris a note from the Queen, containing these words:
“Come to St. Cloud immediately; I have something concerning you to
communicate.” I set off without loss of time. Her Majesty told me she had a
sacrifice to request of me; I answered that it was made. She said it went so
far as the renunciation of a friend’s society; that such a renunciation was
always painful, but that it must be particularly so to me; that, for her own
part, it might have been very useful that a deputy, a man of talent, should be
constantly received at my house; but at this moment she thought only of my
welfare. The Queen then informed me that the ladies of the bedchamber
had, the preceding evening, assured her that M. de Beaumetz, deputy from
the nobility of Artois, who had taken his seat on the left of the Assembly,
spent his whole time at my house. Perceiving on what false grounds the
attempt to injure, me was based, I replied respectfully, but at the same time
smiling, that it was impossible for me to make the sacrifice exacted by her
Majesty; that M. de Beaumetz, a man of great judgment, had not
determined to cross over to the left of the Assembly with the intention of
Page 273
afterwards making himself unpopular by spending his time with the
Queen’s first woman; and that, ever since the 1st of October, 1789, I had
seen him nowhere but at the play, or in the public walks, and even then
without his ever coming to speak to me; that this line of conduct had
appeared to me perfectly consistent: for whether he was desirous to please
the popular party, or to be sought after by the Court, he could not act in any
other way towards me. The Queen closed this explanation by saying, “Oh!
it is clear, as clear as the day! this opportunity for trying to do you an injury
is very ill chosen; but be cautious in your slightest actions; you perceive
that the confidence placed in you by the King and myself raises you up
powerful enemies.”
The private communications which were still kept up between the Court
and Mirabeau at length procured him an interview with the Queen, in the
gardens of St. Cloud. He left Paris on horseback, on pretence of going into
the country, to M. de Clavieres, one of his friends; but he stopped at one of
the gates of the gardens of St. Cloud, and was led to a spot situated in the
highest part of the private garden, where the Queen was waiting for him.
She told me she accosted him by saying, “With a common enemy, with a
man who had sworn to destroy monarchy without appreciating its utility
among a great people, I should at this moment be guilty of a most ill-
advised step; but in speaking to a Mirabeau,” etc. The poor Queen was
delighted at having discovered this method of exalting him above all others
of his principles; and in imparting the particulars of this interview to me she
said, “Do you know that those words, ‘a Mirabeau,’ appeared to flatter him
exceedingly.” On leaving the Queen he said to her with warmth, “Madame,
the monarchy is saved!” It must have been soon afterwards that Mirabeau
received considerable sums of money. He showed it too plainly by the
increase of his expenditure. Already did some of his remarks upon the
necessity of arresting the progress of the democrats circulate in society.
Being once invited to meet a person at dinner who was very much attached
to the Queen, he learned that that person withdrew on hearing that he was
one of the guests; the party who invited him told him this with some degree
of satisfaction; but all were very much astonished when they heard
Mirabeau eulogise the absent guest, and declare that in his place he would
have done the same; but, he added, they had only to invite that person again
in a few months, and he would then dine with the restorer of the monarchy.
Queen’s first woman; and that, ever since the 1st of October, 1789, I had
seen him nowhere but at the play, or in the public walks, and even then
without his ever coming to speak to me; that this line of conduct had
appeared to me perfectly consistent: for whether he was desirous to please
the popular party, or to be sought after by the Court, he could not act in any
other way towards me. The Queen closed this explanation by saying, “Oh!
it is clear, as clear as the day! this opportunity for trying to do you an injury
is very ill chosen; but be cautious in your slightest actions; you perceive
that the confidence placed in you by the King and myself raises you up
powerful enemies.”
The private communications which were still kept up between the Court
and Mirabeau at length procured him an interview with the Queen, in the
gardens of St. Cloud. He left Paris on horseback, on pretence of going into
the country, to M. de Clavieres, one of his friends; but he stopped at one of
the gates of the gardens of St. Cloud, and was led to a spot situated in the
highest part of the private garden, where the Queen was waiting for him.
She told me she accosted him by saying, “With a common enemy, with a
man who had sworn to destroy monarchy without appreciating its utility
among a great people, I should at this moment be guilty of a most ill-
advised step; but in speaking to a Mirabeau,” etc. The poor Queen was
delighted at having discovered this method of exalting him above all others
of his principles; and in imparting the particulars of this interview to me she
said, “Do you know that those words, ‘a Mirabeau,’ appeared to flatter him
exceedingly.” On leaving the Queen he said to her with warmth, “Madame,
the monarchy is saved!” It must have been soon afterwards that Mirabeau
received considerable sums of money. He showed it too plainly by the
increase of his expenditure. Already did some of his remarks upon the
necessity of arresting the progress of the democrats circulate in society.
Being once invited to meet a person at dinner who was very much attached
to the Queen, he learned that that person withdrew on hearing that he was
one of the guests; the party who invited him told him this with some degree
of satisfaction; but all were very much astonished when they heard
Mirabeau eulogise the absent guest, and declare that in his place he would
have done the same; but, he added, they had only to invite that person again
in a few months, and he would then dine with the restorer of the monarchy.
Page 274
Mirabeau forgot that it was more easy to do harm than good, and thought
himself the political Atlas of the whole world.
Outrages and mockery were incessantly mingled with the audacious
proceedings of the revolutionists. It was customary to give serenades under
the King’s windows on New Year’s Day. The band of the National Guard
repaired thither on that festival in 1791; in allusion to the liquidation of the
debts of the State, decreed by the Assembly, they played solely, and
repeatedly, that air from the comic opera of the “Debts,” the burden of
which is, “But our creditors are paid, and that makes us easy.”
On the same day some “conquerors of the Bastille,” grenadiers of the
Parisian guard, preceded by military music, came to present to the young
Dauphin, as a New Year’s gift, a box of dominoes, made of some of the
stone and marble of which that state prison was built. The Queen gave me
this inauspicious curiosity, desiring me to preserve it, as it would be a
curious illustration of the history of the Revolution. Upon the lid were
engraved some bad verses, the purport of which was as follows: “Stones
from those walls, which enclosed the innocent victims of arbitrary power,
have been converted into a toy, to be presented to you, Monseigneur, as a
mark of the people’s love; and to teach you their power.”
The Queen said that M. de La Fayette’s thirst for popularity induced him
to lend himself, without discrimination, to all popular follies. Her distrust of
the General increased daily, and grew so powerful that when, towards the
end of the Revolution, he seemed willing to support the tottering throne, she
could never bring herself to incur so great an obligation to him.
M. de J——-, a colonel attached to the staff of the army, was fortunate
enough to render several services to the Queen, and acquitted himself with
discretion and dignity of various important missions.
[During the Queen’s detention in the Temple he introduced himself Into
that prison in the dress of a lamplighter, and there discharged his duty
unrecognised.—MADAME CAMPAN.]
Their Majesties had the highest confidence in him, although it frequently
happened that his prudence, when inconsiderate projects were under
discussion, brought upon him the charge of adopting the principles of the
constitutionals. Being sent to Turin, he had some difficulty in dissuading the
Princes from a scheme they had formed at that period of reentering France,
with a very weak army, by way of Lyons; and when, in a council which
himself the political Atlas of the whole world.
Outrages and mockery were incessantly mingled with the audacious
proceedings of the revolutionists. It was customary to give serenades under
the King’s windows on New Year’s Day. The band of the National Guard
repaired thither on that festival in 1791; in allusion to the liquidation of the
debts of the State, decreed by the Assembly, they played solely, and
repeatedly, that air from the comic opera of the “Debts,” the burden of
which is, “But our creditors are paid, and that makes us easy.”
On the same day some “conquerors of the Bastille,” grenadiers of the
Parisian guard, preceded by military music, came to present to the young
Dauphin, as a New Year’s gift, a box of dominoes, made of some of the
stone and marble of which that state prison was built. The Queen gave me
this inauspicious curiosity, desiring me to preserve it, as it would be a
curious illustration of the history of the Revolution. Upon the lid were
engraved some bad verses, the purport of which was as follows: “Stones
from those walls, which enclosed the innocent victims of arbitrary power,
have been converted into a toy, to be presented to you, Monseigneur, as a
mark of the people’s love; and to teach you their power.”
The Queen said that M. de La Fayette’s thirst for popularity induced him
to lend himself, without discrimination, to all popular follies. Her distrust of
the General increased daily, and grew so powerful that when, towards the
end of the Revolution, he seemed willing to support the tottering throne, she
could never bring herself to incur so great an obligation to him.
M. de J——-, a colonel attached to the staff of the army, was fortunate
enough to render several services to the Queen, and acquitted himself with
discretion and dignity of various important missions.
[During the Queen’s detention in the Temple he introduced himself Into
that prison in the dress of a lamplighter, and there discharged his duty
unrecognised.—MADAME CAMPAN.]
Their Majesties had the highest confidence in him, although it frequently
happened that his prudence, when inconsiderate projects were under
discussion, brought upon him the charge of adopting the principles of the
constitutionals. Being sent to Turin, he had some difficulty in dissuading the
Princes from a scheme they had formed at that period of reentering France,
with a very weak army, by way of Lyons; and when, in a council which
Page 275
lasted till three o’clock in the morning, he showed his instructions, and
demonstrated that the measure would endanger the King, the Comte
d’Artois alone declared against the plan, which emanated from the Prince
de Conde.
Among the persons employed in subordinate situations, whom the critical
circumstances of the times involved in affairs of importance, was M. de
Goguelat, a geographical engineer at Versailles, and an excellent
draughtsman. He made plans of St. Cloud and Trianon for the Queen; she
was very much pleased with them, and had the engineer admitted into the
staff of the army. At the commencement of the Revolution he was sent to
Count Esterhazy, at Valenciennes, in the capacity of aide-de-camp. The
latter rank was given him solely to get him away from Versailles, where his
rashness endangered the Queen during the earlier months of the Assembly
of the States General. Making a parade of his devotion to the King’s
interests, he went repeatedly to the tribunes of the Assembly, and there
openly railed at all the motions of the deputies, and then returned to the
Queen’s antechamber, where he repeated all that he had just heard, or had
had the imprudence to say. Unfortunately, at the same time that the Queen
sent away M. de Goguelat, she still believed that, in a dangerous
predicament, requiring great self-devotion, the man might be employed
advantageously. In 1791 he was commissioned to act in concert with the
Marquis de Bouille in furtherance of the King’s intended escape.
[See the “Memoirs” of M. de Bouille, those of the Duc de
Choiseul, and the account of the journey to Varennes, by M.
de Fontanges, in “Weber’s Memoirs.”—NOTE BY THE
EDITOR.]
Projectors in great numbers endeavoured to introduce themselves not
only to the Queen, but to Madame Elisabeth, who had communications with
many individuals who took upon themselves to make plans for the conduct
of the Court. The Baron de Gilliers and M. de Vanoise were of this
description; they went to the Baronne de Mackau’s, where the Princess
spent almost all her evenings. The Queen did not like these meetings, where
Madame Elisabeth might adopt views in opposition to the King’s intentions
or her own.
demonstrated that the measure would endanger the King, the Comte
d’Artois alone declared against the plan, which emanated from the Prince
de Conde.
Among the persons employed in subordinate situations, whom the critical
circumstances of the times involved in affairs of importance, was M. de
Goguelat, a geographical engineer at Versailles, and an excellent
draughtsman. He made plans of St. Cloud and Trianon for the Queen; she
was very much pleased with them, and had the engineer admitted into the
staff of the army. At the commencement of the Revolution he was sent to
Count Esterhazy, at Valenciennes, in the capacity of aide-de-camp. The
latter rank was given him solely to get him away from Versailles, where his
rashness endangered the Queen during the earlier months of the Assembly
of the States General. Making a parade of his devotion to the King’s
interests, he went repeatedly to the tribunes of the Assembly, and there
openly railed at all the motions of the deputies, and then returned to the
Queen’s antechamber, where he repeated all that he had just heard, or had
had the imprudence to say. Unfortunately, at the same time that the Queen
sent away M. de Goguelat, she still believed that, in a dangerous
predicament, requiring great self-devotion, the man might be employed
advantageously. In 1791 he was commissioned to act in concert with the
Marquis de Bouille in furtherance of the King’s intended escape.
[See the “Memoirs” of M. de Bouille, those of the Duc de
Choiseul, and the account of the journey to Varennes, by M.
de Fontanges, in “Weber’s Memoirs.”—NOTE BY THE
EDITOR.]
Projectors in great numbers endeavoured to introduce themselves not
only to the Queen, but to Madame Elisabeth, who had communications with
many individuals who took upon themselves to make plans for the conduct
of the Court. The Baron de Gilliers and M. de Vanoise were of this
description; they went to the Baronne de Mackau’s, where the Princess
spent almost all her evenings. The Queen did not like these meetings, where
Madame Elisabeth might adopt views in opposition to the King’s intentions
or her own.
Page 276
The Queen gave frequent audiences to M. de La Fayette. One day, when
he was in her inner closet, his aides-de-camp, who waited for him, were
walking up and down the great room where the persons in attendance
remained. Some imprudent young women were thoughtless enough to say,
with the intention of being overheard by those officers, that it was very
alarming to see the Queen alone with a rebel and a brigand. I was annoyed
at their indiscretion, and imposed silence on them. One of them persisted in
the appellation “brigand.” I told her that M. de La Fayette well deserved the
name of rebel, but that the title of leader of a party was given by history to
every man commanding forty thousand men, a capital, and forty leagues of
country; that kings had frequently treated with such leaders, and if it was
convenient to the Queen to do the same, it remained for us only to be silent
and respect her actions. On the morrow the Queen, with a serious air; but
with the greatest kindness, asked what I had said respecting M. de La
Fayette on the preceding day; adding that she had been assured I had
enjoined her women silence, because they did not like him, and that I had
taken his part. I repeated what had passed to the Queen, word for word. She
condescended to tell me that I had done perfectly right.
Whenever any false reports respecting me were conveyed to her she was
kind enough to inform me of them; and they had no effect on the confidence
with which she continued to honour me, and which I am happy to think I
have justified even at the risk of my life.
Mesdames, the King’s aunts, set out from Bellevue in the beginning of
the year 1791. Alexandre Berthier, afterwards Prince de Neufchatel, then a
colonel on the staff of the army, and commandant of the National Guard of
Versailles, facilitated the departure of Mesdames. The Jacobins of that town
procured his dismissal, and he ran the greatest risk, on account of having
rendered this service to these Princesses.
I went to take leave of Madame Victoire. I little thought that I was then
seeing her for the last time. She received me alone in her closet, and assured
me that she hoped, as well as wished, soon to return to France; that the
French would be much to be pitied if the excesses of the Revolution should
arrive at such a pitch as to force her to prolong her absence.
[General Berthier justified the monarch’s confidence by a
firm and prudent line of conduct which entitled him to the
highest military honours, and to the esteem of the great
he was in her inner closet, his aides-de-camp, who waited for him, were
walking up and down the great room where the persons in attendance
remained. Some imprudent young women were thoughtless enough to say,
with the intention of being overheard by those officers, that it was very
alarming to see the Queen alone with a rebel and a brigand. I was annoyed
at their indiscretion, and imposed silence on them. One of them persisted in
the appellation “brigand.” I told her that M. de La Fayette well deserved the
name of rebel, but that the title of leader of a party was given by history to
every man commanding forty thousand men, a capital, and forty leagues of
country; that kings had frequently treated with such leaders, and if it was
convenient to the Queen to do the same, it remained for us only to be silent
and respect her actions. On the morrow the Queen, with a serious air; but
with the greatest kindness, asked what I had said respecting M. de La
Fayette on the preceding day; adding that she had been assured I had
enjoined her women silence, because they did not like him, and that I had
taken his part. I repeated what had passed to the Queen, word for word. She
condescended to tell me that I had done perfectly right.
Whenever any false reports respecting me were conveyed to her she was
kind enough to inform me of them; and they had no effect on the confidence
with which she continued to honour me, and which I am happy to think I
have justified even at the risk of my life.
Mesdames, the King’s aunts, set out from Bellevue in the beginning of
the year 1791. Alexandre Berthier, afterwards Prince de Neufchatel, then a
colonel on the staff of the army, and commandant of the National Guard of
Versailles, facilitated the departure of Mesdames. The Jacobins of that town
procured his dismissal, and he ran the greatest risk, on account of having
rendered this service to these Princesses.
I went to take leave of Madame Victoire. I little thought that I was then
seeing her for the last time. She received me alone in her closet, and assured
me that she hoped, as well as wished, soon to return to France; that the
French would be much to be pitied if the excesses of the Revolution should
arrive at such a pitch as to force her to prolong her absence.
[General Berthier justified the monarch’s confidence by a
firm and prudent line of conduct which entitled him to the
highest military honours, and to the esteem of the great
Page 277
warrior whose fortune, dangers, and glory he afterwards
shared. This officer, full of honour, and gifted with the
highest courage, was shut into the courtyard of Bellevue by
his own troop, and ran great risk of being murdered. It was
not until the 14th of March that he succeeded in executing
his instructions (“Memoirs of Mesdames,” by Montigny, vol.
i.)]
I knew from the Queen that the departure of Mesdames was deemed
necessary, in order to leave the King free to act when he should be
compelled to go away with his family. It being impossible that the
constitution of the clergy should be otherwise than in direct opposition to
the religious principles of Mesdames, they thought their journey to Rome
would be attributed to piety alone. It was, however, difficult to deceive an
Assembly which weighed the slightest actions of the royal family, and from
that moment they were more than ever alive to what was passing at the
Tuileries.
Mesdames were desirous of taking Madame Elisabeth to Rome. The free
exercise of religion, the happiness of taking refuge with the head of the
Church, and the prospect of living in safety with her aunts, whom she
tenderly loved, were sacrificed by that virtuous Princess to her attachment
to the King.
The oath required of priests by the civil constitution of the clergy
introduced into France a division which added to the dangers by which the
King was already surrounded.
[The priests were required to swear to the civil
constitution of the clergy of 1790, by which all the former
bishoprics and parishes were remodelled, and the priests
and bishops elected by the people. Most refused, and under
the name of ‘pretres insermentes’ (as opposed to the few who
took the oath, ‘pretres assermentes’) were bitterly
persecuted. A simple promise to obey the constitution of the
State was substituted by Napoleon as soon as he came to
power.]
shared. This officer, full of honour, and gifted with the
highest courage, was shut into the courtyard of Bellevue by
his own troop, and ran great risk of being murdered. It was
not until the 14th of March that he succeeded in executing
his instructions (“Memoirs of Mesdames,” by Montigny, vol.
i.)]
I knew from the Queen that the departure of Mesdames was deemed
necessary, in order to leave the King free to act when he should be
compelled to go away with his family. It being impossible that the
constitution of the clergy should be otherwise than in direct opposition to
the religious principles of Mesdames, they thought their journey to Rome
would be attributed to piety alone. It was, however, difficult to deceive an
Assembly which weighed the slightest actions of the royal family, and from
that moment they were more than ever alive to what was passing at the
Tuileries.
Mesdames were desirous of taking Madame Elisabeth to Rome. The free
exercise of religion, the happiness of taking refuge with the head of the
Church, and the prospect of living in safety with her aunts, whom she
tenderly loved, were sacrificed by that virtuous Princess to her attachment
to the King.
The oath required of priests by the civil constitution of the clergy
introduced into France a division which added to the dangers by which the
King was already surrounded.
[The priests were required to swear to the civil
constitution of the clergy of 1790, by which all the former
bishoprics and parishes were remodelled, and the priests
and bishops elected by the people. Most refused, and under
the name of ‘pretres insermentes’ (as opposed to the few who
took the oath, ‘pretres assermentes’) were bitterly
persecuted. A simple promise to obey the constitution of the
State was substituted by Napoleon as soon as he came to
power.]
Page 278
Mirabeau spent a whole night with the cure of St. Eustache, confessor of
the King and Queen, to persuade him to take the oath required by that
constitution. Their Majesties chose another confessor, who remained
unknown.
A few months afterwards (2d April, 1791), the too celebrated Mirabeau,
the mercenary democrat and venal royalist, terminated his career. The
Queen regretted him, and was astonished at her own regret; but she had
hoped that he who had possessed adroitness and weight enough to throw
everything into confusion would have been able by the same means to
repair the mischief he had caused. Much has been said respecting the cause
of Mirabeau’s death. M. Cabanis, his friend and physician, denied that he
was poisoned. M. Vicq-d’Azyr assured the Queen that the ‘proces-verbal’
drawn up on the state of the intestines would apply just as well to a case of
death produced by violent remedies as to one produced by poison. He said,
also, that the report had been faithful; but that it was prudent to conclude it
by a declaration of natural death, since, in the critical state in which France
then was, if a suspicion of foul play were admitted, a person innocent of
any such crime might be sacrificed to public vengeance.
the King and Queen, to persuade him to take the oath required by that
constitution. Their Majesties chose another confessor, who remained
unknown.
A few months afterwards (2d April, 1791), the too celebrated Mirabeau,
the mercenary democrat and venal royalist, terminated his career. The
Queen regretted him, and was astonished at her own regret; but she had
hoped that he who had possessed adroitness and weight enough to throw
everything into confusion would have been able by the same means to
repair the mischief he had caused. Much has been said respecting the cause
of Mirabeau’s death. M. Cabanis, his friend and physician, denied that he
was poisoned. M. Vicq-d’Azyr assured the Queen that the ‘proces-verbal’
drawn up on the state of the intestines would apply just as well to a case of
death produced by violent remedies as to one produced by poison. He said,
also, that the report had been faithful; but that it was prudent to conclude it
by a declaration of natural death, since, in the critical state in which France
then was, if a suspicion of foul play were admitted, a person innocent of
any such crime might be sacrificed to public vengeance.
Page 279
CHAPTER V.
In the beginning of the spring of 1791, the King, tired of remaining at the
Tuileries, wished to return to St. Cloud. His whole household had already
gone, and his dinner was prepared there. He got into his carriage at one; the
guard mutinied, shut the gates, and declared they would not let him pass.
This event certainly proceeded from some suspicion of a plan to escape.
Two persons who drew near the King’s carriage were very ill treated. My
father-in-law was violently laid hold of by the guards, who took his sword
from him. The King and his family were obliged to alight and return to their
apartments.
They did not much regret this outrage in their hearts; they saw in it a
justification, even in the eyes of the people, of their intention to leave Paris.
So early as the month of March in the same year, the Queen began to
busy herself in preparing for her departure. I spent that month with her, and
executed a great number of secret orders which she gave me respecting the
intended event. It was with uneasiness that I saw her occupied with cares
which seemed to me useless, and even dangerous, and I remarked to her
that the Queen of France would find linen and gowns everywhere. My
observations were made in vain; she determined to have a complete
wardrobe with her at Brussels, as well for her children as herself. I went out
alone and almost disguised to purchase the articles necessary and have them
made up.
I ordered six chemises at the shop of one seamstress, six at that of
another, gowns, combing cloths, etc. My sister had a complete set of clothes
made for Madame, by the measure of her eldest daughter, and I ordered
clothes for the Dauphin from those of my son. I filled a trunk with these
things, and addressed them, by the Queen’s orders, to one of her women,
my aunt, Madame Cardon,—a widow living at Arras, by virtue of an
unlimited leave of absence,—in order that she might be ready to start for
Brussels, or any other place, as soon as she should be directed to do so. This
In the beginning of the spring of 1791, the King, tired of remaining at the
Tuileries, wished to return to St. Cloud. His whole household had already
gone, and his dinner was prepared there. He got into his carriage at one; the
guard mutinied, shut the gates, and declared they would not let him pass.
This event certainly proceeded from some suspicion of a plan to escape.
Two persons who drew near the King’s carriage were very ill treated. My
father-in-law was violently laid hold of by the guards, who took his sword
from him. The King and his family were obliged to alight and return to their
apartments.
They did not much regret this outrage in their hearts; they saw in it a
justification, even in the eyes of the people, of their intention to leave Paris.
So early as the month of March in the same year, the Queen began to
busy herself in preparing for her departure. I spent that month with her, and
executed a great number of secret orders which she gave me respecting the
intended event. It was with uneasiness that I saw her occupied with cares
which seemed to me useless, and even dangerous, and I remarked to her
that the Queen of France would find linen and gowns everywhere. My
observations were made in vain; she determined to have a complete
wardrobe with her at Brussels, as well for her children as herself. I went out
alone and almost disguised to purchase the articles necessary and have them
made up.
I ordered six chemises at the shop of one seamstress, six at that of
another, gowns, combing cloths, etc. My sister had a complete set of clothes
made for Madame, by the measure of her eldest daughter, and I ordered
clothes for the Dauphin from those of my son. I filled a trunk with these
things, and addressed them, by the Queen’s orders, to one of her women,
my aunt, Madame Cardon,—a widow living at Arras, by virtue of an
unlimited leave of absence,—in order that she might be ready to start for
Brussels, or any other place, as soon as she should be directed to do so. This
Page 280
lady had landed property in Austrian Flanders, and could at any time quit
Arras unobserved.
The Queen was to take only her first woman in attendance with her from
Paris. She apprised me that if I should not be on duty at the moment of
departure, she would make arrangements for my joining her. She
determined also to take her travelling dressing-case. She consulted me on
her idea of sending it off, under pretence of making a present of it to the
Archduchess Christina, Gouvernante of the Netherlands. I ventured to
oppose this plan strongly, and observed that, amidst so many people who
watched her slightest actions, there would be found a sufficient number
sharp-sighted enough to discover that it was only a pretext for sending away
the property in question before her own departure; she persisted in her
intention, and all I could arrange was that the dressing-case should not be
removed from her apartment, and that M. de charge d’afaires from the
Court of Vienna during the absence of the Comte de Mercy, should come
and ask her, at her toilet, before all her people, to order one exactly like her
own for Madame the Gouvernante of the Netherlands. The Queen,
therefore, commanded me before the charge d’affaires to order the article in
question. This occasioned only an expense of five hundred louis, and
appeared calculated to lull suspicion completely.
About the middle of May, 1791, a month after the Queen had ordered me
to bespeak the dressing-case, she asked me whether it would soon be
finished. I sent for the ivory-turner who had it in hand. He could not
complete it for six weeks. I informed the Queen of this, and she told me she
should not be able to wait for it, as she was to set out in the course of June.
She added that, as she had ordered her sister’s dressing-case in the presence
of all her attendants, she had taken a sufficient precaution, especially by
saying that her sister was out of patience at not receiving it, and that
therefore her own must be emptied and cleaned, and taken to the charge
d’affaires, who would send it off. I executed this order without any,
appearance of mystery. I desired the wardrobe woman to take out of the
dressing-case all that it contained, because that intended for the
Archduchess could not be finished for some time; and to take great care to
leave no remains of the perfumes which might not suit that Princess.
The woman in question executed her commission punctually; but, on the
evening of that very day, the 15th of May, 1791, she informed M. Bailly, the
Arras unobserved.
The Queen was to take only her first woman in attendance with her from
Paris. She apprised me that if I should not be on duty at the moment of
departure, she would make arrangements for my joining her. She
determined also to take her travelling dressing-case. She consulted me on
her idea of sending it off, under pretence of making a present of it to the
Archduchess Christina, Gouvernante of the Netherlands. I ventured to
oppose this plan strongly, and observed that, amidst so many people who
watched her slightest actions, there would be found a sufficient number
sharp-sighted enough to discover that it was only a pretext for sending away
the property in question before her own departure; she persisted in her
intention, and all I could arrange was that the dressing-case should not be
removed from her apartment, and that M. de charge d’afaires from the
Court of Vienna during the absence of the Comte de Mercy, should come
and ask her, at her toilet, before all her people, to order one exactly like her
own for Madame the Gouvernante of the Netherlands. The Queen,
therefore, commanded me before the charge d’affaires to order the article in
question. This occasioned only an expense of five hundred louis, and
appeared calculated to lull suspicion completely.
About the middle of May, 1791, a month after the Queen had ordered me
to bespeak the dressing-case, she asked me whether it would soon be
finished. I sent for the ivory-turner who had it in hand. He could not
complete it for six weeks. I informed the Queen of this, and she told me she
should not be able to wait for it, as she was to set out in the course of June.
She added that, as she had ordered her sister’s dressing-case in the presence
of all her attendants, she had taken a sufficient precaution, especially by
saying that her sister was out of patience at not receiving it, and that
therefore her own must be emptied and cleaned, and taken to the charge
d’affaires, who would send it off. I executed this order without any,
appearance of mystery. I desired the wardrobe woman to take out of the
dressing-case all that it contained, because that intended for the
Archduchess could not be finished for some time; and to take great care to
leave no remains of the perfumes which might not suit that Princess.
The woman in question executed her commission punctually; but, on the
evening of that very day, the 15th of May, 1791, she informed M. Bailly, the
Page 281
Mayor of Paris, that preparations were making at the Queen’s residence for
a departure; and that the dressing-case was already sent off, under pretence
of its being presented to the Archduchess Christina.
[After the return from Varennes M. Bailly put this
woman’s deposition into the Queen’s hands.—MADAME
CAMPAN.]
It was necessary, likewise, to send off all the diamonds belonging to the
Queen. Her Majesty shut herself up with me in a closet in the entresol,
looking into the garden of the Tuileries, and we packed all the diamonds,
rubies, and pearls she possessed in a small chest. The cases containing these
ornaments, being altogether of considerable bulk, had been deposited, ever
since the 6th of October, 1789, with the valet de chambre who had the care
of the Queen’s jewels. That faithful servant, himself detecting the use that
was to be made of the valuables, destroyed all the boxes, which were, as
usual, covered with red morocco, marked with the cipher and arms of
France. It would have been impossible for him to hide them from the eyes
of the popular inquisitors during the domiciliary visits in January, 1793, and
the discovery might have formed a ground of accusation against the Queen.
I had but a few articles to place in the box when the Queen was
compelled to desist from packing it, being obliged to go down to cards,
which began at seven precisely. She therefore desired me to leave all the
diamonds upon the sofa, persuaded that, as she took the key of her closet
herself, and there was a sentinel under the window, no danger was to be
apprehended for that night, and she reckoned upon returning very early next
day to finish the work.
The same woman who had given information of the sending away of the
dressing-case was also deputed by the Queen to take care of her more
private rooms. No other servant was permitted to enter them; she renewed
the flowers, swept the carpets, etc. The Queen received back the key, when
the woman had finished putting them in order, from her own hands; but,
desirous of doing her duty well, and sometimes having the key in her
possession for a few minutes only, she had probably on that account ordered
one without the Queen’s knowledge. It is impossible not to believe this,
since the despatch of the diamonds was the subject of a second accusation
which the Queen heard of after the return from Varennes. She made a
a departure; and that the dressing-case was already sent off, under pretence
of its being presented to the Archduchess Christina.
[After the return from Varennes M. Bailly put this
woman’s deposition into the Queen’s hands.—MADAME
CAMPAN.]
It was necessary, likewise, to send off all the diamonds belonging to the
Queen. Her Majesty shut herself up with me in a closet in the entresol,
looking into the garden of the Tuileries, and we packed all the diamonds,
rubies, and pearls she possessed in a small chest. The cases containing these
ornaments, being altogether of considerable bulk, had been deposited, ever
since the 6th of October, 1789, with the valet de chambre who had the care
of the Queen’s jewels. That faithful servant, himself detecting the use that
was to be made of the valuables, destroyed all the boxes, which were, as
usual, covered with red morocco, marked with the cipher and arms of
France. It would have been impossible for him to hide them from the eyes
of the popular inquisitors during the domiciliary visits in January, 1793, and
the discovery might have formed a ground of accusation against the Queen.
I had but a few articles to place in the box when the Queen was
compelled to desist from packing it, being obliged to go down to cards,
which began at seven precisely. She therefore desired me to leave all the
diamonds upon the sofa, persuaded that, as she took the key of her closet
herself, and there was a sentinel under the window, no danger was to be
apprehended for that night, and she reckoned upon returning very early next
day to finish the work.
The same woman who had given information of the sending away of the
dressing-case was also deputed by the Queen to take care of her more
private rooms. No other servant was permitted to enter them; she renewed
the flowers, swept the carpets, etc. The Queen received back the key, when
the woman had finished putting them in order, from her own hands; but,
desirous of doing her duty well, and sometimes having the key in her
possession for a few minutes only, she had probably on that account ordered
one without the Queen’s knowledge. It is impossible not to believe this,
since the despatch of the diamonds was the subject of a second accusation
which the Queen heard of after the return from Varennes. She made a
Page 282
formal declaration that her Majesty, with the assistance of Madame
Campan, had packed up all her jewelry some time before the departure; that
she was certain of it, as she had found the diamonds, and the cotton which
served to wrap them, scattered upon the sofa in the Queen’s closet in the
‘entresol’; and most assuredly she could only have seen these preparations
in the interval between seven in the evening and seven in the morning. The
Queen having met me next day at the time appointed, the box was handed
over to Leonard, her Majesty’s hairdresser,—[This unfortunate man, after
having emigrated for some time, returned to France, and perished upon the
scaffold.—NOTE BY EDITOR]—who left the country with the Duc de
Choiseul. The box remained a long time at Brussels, and at length got into
the hands of Madame la Duchesse d’Angouleme, being delivered to her by
the Emperor on her arrival at Vienna.
In order not to leave out any of the Queen’s diamonds, I requested the
first tirewoman to give me the body of the full dress, and all the assortment
which served for the stomacher of the full dress on days of state, articles
which always remained at the wardrobe.
The superintendent and the dame d’honneur being absent, the first
tirewoman required me to sign a receipt, the terms of which she dictated,
and which acquitted her of all responsibility for these diamonds. She had
the prudence to burn this document on the 10th of August, 1792.—[The
date of the sack of the Tuileries and slaughter of the Swiss Guard]—The
Queen having determined, upon the arrest at Varennes, not to have her
diamonds brought back to France, was often anxious about them during the
year which elapsed between that period and the 10th of August, and dreaded
above all things that such a secret should be discovered.
In consequence of a decree of the Assembly, which deprived the King of
the custody of the Crown diamonds, the Queen had at this time already
given up those which she generally used.
She preferred the twelve brilliants called Hazarins, from the name of the
Cardinal who had enriched the treasury with them, a few rose-cut
diamonds, and the Sanci. She determined to deliver, with her own hands,
the box containing them to the commissioner nominated by the National
Assembly to place them with the Crown diamonds. After giving them to
him, she offered him a row of pearls of great beauty, saying to him that it
had been brought into France by Anne of Austria; that it was invaluable, on
Campan, had packed up all her jewelry some time before the departure; that
she was certain of it, as she had found the diamonds, and the cotton which
served to wrap them, scattered upon the sofa in the Queen’s closet in the
‘entresol’; and most assuredly she could only have seen these preparations
in the interval between seven in the evening and seven in the morning. The
Queen having met me next day at the time appointed, the box was handed
over to Leonard, her Majesty’s hairdresser,—[This unfortunate man, after
having emigrated for some time, returned to France, and perished upon the
scaffold.—NOTE BY EDITOR]—who left the country with the Duc de
Choiseul. The box remained a long time at Brussels, and at length got into
the hands of Madame la Duchesse d’Angouleme, being delivered to her by
the Emperor on her arrival at Vienna.
In order not to leave out any of the Queen’s diamonds, I requested the
first tirewoman to give me the body of the full dress, and all the assortment
which served for the stomacher of the full dress on days of state, articles
which always remained at the wardrobe.
The superintendent and the dame d’honneur being absent, the first
tirewoman required me to sign a receipt, the terms of which she dictated,
and which acquitted her of all responsibility for these diamonds. She had
the prudence to burn this document on the 10th of August, 1792.—[The
date of the sack of the Tuileries and slaughter of the Swiss Guard]—The
Queen having determined, upon the arrest at Varennes, not to have her
diamonds brought back to France, was often anxious about them during the
year which elapsed between that period and the 10th of August, and dreaded
above all things that such a secret should be discovered.
In consequence of a decree of the Assembly, which deprived the King of
the custody of the Crown diamonds, the Queen had at this time already
given up those which she generally used.
She preferred the twelve brilliants called Hazarins, from the name of the
Cardinal who had enriched the treasury with them, a few rose-cut
diamonds, and the Sanci. She determined to deliver, with her own hands,
the box containing them to the commissioner nominated by the National
Assembly to place them with the Crown diamonds. After giving them to
him, she offered him a row of pearls of great beauty, saying to him that it
had been brought into France by Anne of Austria; that it was invaluable, on
Page 283
account of its rarity; that, having been appropriated by that Princess to the
use of the Queens and Dauphinesses, Louis XV. had placed it in her hands
on her arrival in France; but that she considered it national property. “That
is an open question, Madame,” said the commissary. “Monsieur,” replied
the Queen, “it is one for me to decide, and is now settled.”
My father-in-law, who was dying of the grief he felt for the misfortunes
of his master and mistress, strongly interested and occupied the thoughts of
the Queen. He had been saved from the fury of the populace in the
courtyard of the Tuileries.
On the day on which the King was compelled by an insurrection to give
up a journey to St. Cloud, her Majesty looked upon this trusty servant as
inevitably lost, if, on going away, she should leave him in the apartment he
occupied in the Tuileries. Prompted by her apprehensions, she ordered M.
Vicq-d’Azyr, her physician, to recommend him the waters of Mont d’Or in
Auvergne, and to persuade him to set off at the latter end of May. At the
moment of my going away the Queen assured me that the grand project
would be executed between the 15th and the 20th of June; that as it was not
my month to be on duty, Madame Thibaut would take the journey; but that
she had many directions to give me before I went. She then desired me to
write to my aunt, Madame Cardon, who was by that time in possession of
the clothes which I had ordered, that as soon as she should receive a letter
from M. Augur, the date of which should be accompanied with a B, an L, or
an M, she was to proceed with her property to Brussels, Luxembourg, or
Montmedy. She desired me to explain the meaning of these three letters
clearly to my sister, and to leave them with her in writing, in order that at
the moment of my going away she might be able to take my place in writing
to Arras.
The Queen had a more delicate commission for me; it was to select from
among my acquaintance a prudent person of obscure rank, wholly devoted
to the interests of the Court, who would be willing to receive a portfolio
which she was to give up only to me, or some one furnished with a note
from the Queen. She added that she would not travel with this portfolio, and
that it was of the utmost importance that my opinion of the fidelity of the
person to whom it was to be entrusted should be well founded. I proposed
to her Madame Vallayer Coster, a painter of the Academy, and an amiable
and worthy artist, whom I had known from my infancy. She lived in the
use of the Queens and Dauphinesses, Louis XV. had placed it in her hands
on her arrival in France; but that she considered it national property. “That
is an open question, Madame,” said the commissary. “Monsieur,” replied
the Queen, “it is one for me to decide, and is now settled.”
My father-in-law, who was dying of the grief he felt for the misfortunes
of his master and mistress, strongly interested and occupied the thoughts of
the Queen. He had been saved from the fury of the populace in the
courtyard of the Tuileries.
On the day on which the King was compelled by an insurrection to give
up a journey to St. Cloud, her Majesty looked upon this trusty servant as
inevitably lost, if, on going away, she should leave him in the apartment he
occupied in the Tuileries. Prompted by her apprehensions, she ordered M.
Vicq-d’Azyr, her physician, to recommend him the waters of Mont d’Or in
Auvergne, and to persuade him to set off at the latter end of May. At the
moment of my going away the Queen assured me that the grand project
would be executed between the 15th and the 20th of June; that as it was not
my month to be on duty, Madame Thibaut would take the journey; but that
she had many directions to give me before I went. She then desired me to
write to my aunt, Madame Cardon, who was by that time in possession of
the clothes which I had ordered, that as soon as she should receive a letter
from M. Augur, the date of which should be accompanied with a B, an L, or
an M, she was to proceed with her property to Brussels, Luxembourg, or
Montmedy. She desired me to explain the meaning of these three letters
clearly to my sister, and to leave them with her in writing, in order that at
the moment of my going away she might be able to take my place in writing
to Arras.
The Queen had a more delicate commission for me; it was to select from
among my acquaintance a prudent person of obscure rank, wholly devoted
to the interests of the Court, who would be willing to receive a portfolio
which she was to give up only to me, or some one furnished with a note
from the Queen. She added that she would not travel with this portfolio, and
that it was of the utmost importance that my opinion of the fidelity of the
person to whom it was to be entrusted should be well founded. I proposed
to her Madame Vallayer Coster, a painter of the Academy, and an amiable
and worthy artist, whom I had known from my infancy. She lived in the
Page 284
galleries of the Louvre. The choice seemed a good one. The Queen
remembered that she had made her marriage possible by giving her a place
in the financial offices, and added that gratitude ought sometimes to be
reckoned on. She then pointed out to me the valet belonging to her toilet,
whom I was to take with me, to show him the residence of Madame Coster,
so that he might not mistake it when he should take the portfolio to her. The
day before her departure the Queen particularly recommended me to
proceed to Lyons and the frontiers as soon as she should have started. She
advised me to take with me a confidential person, fit to remain with M.
Campan when I should leave him, and assured me that she would give
orders to M. ——— to set off as soon as she should be known to be at the
frontiers in order to protect me in going out. She condescended to add that,
having a long journey to make in foreign countries, she determined to give
me three hundred louis.
I bathed the Queen’s hands with tears at the moment of this sorrowful
separation; and, having money at my disposal, I declined accepting her
gold. I did not dread the road I had to travel in order to rejoin her; all my
apprehension was that by treachery or miscalculation a scheme, the safety
of which was not sufficiently clear to me, should fail. I could answer for all
those who belonged to the service immediately about the Queen’s person,
and I was right; but her wardrobe woman gave me well-founded reason for
alarm. I mentioned to the Queen many revolutionary remarks which this
woman had made to me a few days before. Her office was directly under
the control of the first femme de chambre, yet she had refused to obey the
directions I gave her, talking insolently to me about “hierarchy overturned,
equality among men,” of course more especially among persons holding
offices at Court; and this jargon, at that time in the mouths of all the
partisans of the Revolution, was terminated by an observation which
frightened me. “You know many important secrets, madame,” said this
woman to me, “and I have guessed quite as many. I am not a fool; I see all
that is going forward here in consequence of the bad advice given to the
King and Queen; I could frustrate it all if I chose.” This argument, in which
I had been promptly silenced, left me pale and trembling. Unfortunately, as
I began my narrative to the Queen with particulars of this woman’s refusal
to obey me,—and sovereigns are all their lives importuned with complaints
upon the rights of places,—she believed that my own dissatisfaction had
much to do with the step I was taking; and she did not sufficiently fear the
remembered that she had made her marriage possible by giving her a place
in the financial offices, and added that gratitude ought sometimes to be
reckoned on. She then pointed out to me the valet belonging to her toilet,
whom I was to take with me, to show him the residence of Madame Coster,
so that he might not mistake it when he should take the portfolio to her. The
day before her departure the Queen particularly recommended me to
proceed to Lyons and the frontiers as soon as she should have started. She
advised me to take with me a confidential person, fit to remain with M.
Campan when I should leave him, and assured me that she would give
orders to M. ——— to set off as soon as she should be known to be at the
frontiers in order to protect me in going out. She condescended to add that,
having a long journey to make in foreign countries, she determined to give
me three hundred louis.
I bathed the Queen’s hands with tears at the moment of this sorrowful
separation; and, having money at my disposal, I declined accepting her
gold. I did not dread the road I had to travel in order to rejoin her; all my
apprehension was that by treachery or miscalculation a scheme, the safety
of which was not sufficiently clear to me, should fail. I could answer for all
those who belonged to the service immediately about the Queen’s person,
and I was right; but her wardrobe woman gave me well-founded reason for
alarm. I mentioned to the Queen many revolutionary remarks which this
woman had made to me a few days before. Her office was directly under
the control of the first femme de chambre, yet she had refused to obey the
directions I gave her, talking insolently to me about “hierarchy overturned,
equality among men,” of course more especially among persons holding
offices at Court; and this jargon, at that time in the mouths of all the
partisans of the Revolution, was terminated by an observation which
frightened me. “You know many important secrets, madame,” said this
woman to me, “and I have guessed quite as many. I am not a fool; I see all
that is going forward here in consequence of the bad advice given to the
King and Queen; I could frustrate it all if I chose.” This argument, in which
I had been promptly silenced, left me pale and trembling. Unfortunately, as
I began my narrative to the Queen with particulars of this woman’s refusal
to obey me,—and sovereigns are all their lives importuned with complaints
upon the rights of places,—she believed that my own dissatisfaction had
much to do with the step I was taking; and she did not sufficiently fear the
Page 285
woman. Her office, although a very inferior one, brought her in nearly
fifteen thousand francs a year. Still young, tolerably handsome, with
comfortable apartments in the entresols of the Tuileries, she saw a great
deal of company, and in the evening had assemblies, consisting of deputies
of the revolutionary party. M. de Gouvion, major-general of the National
Guard, passed almost every day with her; and it is to be presumed that she
had long worked for the party in opposition to the Court. The Queen asked
her for the key of a door which led to the principal vestibule of the
Tuileries, telling her she wished to have a similar one, that she might not be
under the necessity of going out through the pavilion of Flora. M. de
Gouvion and M. de La Fayette would, of course, be apprised of this
circumstance, and well-informed persons have assured me that on the very
night of the Queen’s departure this wretched woman had a spy with her,
who saw the royal family set off.
As soon as I had executed all the Queen’s orders, on the 30th of May,
1791, I set out for Auvergne, and was settled in the gloomy narrow valley of
Mont d’Or, when, about four in the afternoon of the 25th of June, I heard
the beat of a drum to call the inhabitants of the hamlet together. When it had
ceased I heard a hairdresser from Bresse proclaim in the provincial dialect
of Auvergne: “The King and Queen were taking flight in order to ruin
France, but I come to tell you that they are stopped, and are well guarded by
a hundred thousand men under arms.” I still ventured to hope that he was
repeating only a false report, but he went on: “The Queen,” with her well-
known haughtiness, lifted up the veil which covered her face, and said to
the citizens who were upbraiding the King, “Well, since you recognise your
sovereign, respect him.” Upon hearing these expressions, which the Jacobin
club of Clermont could not have invented, I exclaimed, “The news is true!”
I immediately learnt that, a courier being come from Paris to Clermont,
the ‘procureur’ of the commune had sent off messengers to the chief places
of the canton; these again sent couriers to the districts, and the districts in
like manner informed the villages and hamlets which they contained. It was
through this ramification, arising from the establishment of clubs, that the
afflicting intelligence of the misfortune of my sovereigns reached me in the
wildest part of France, and in the midst of the snows by which we were
environed.
fifteen thousand francs a year. Still young, tolerably handsome, with
comfortable apartments in the entresols of the Tuileries, she saw a great
deal of company, and in the evening had assemblies, consisting of deputies
of the revolutionary party. M. de Gouvion, major-general of the National
Guard, passed almost every day with her; and it is to be presumed that she
had long worked for the party in opposition to the Court. The Queen asked
her for the key of a door which led to the principal vestibule of the
Tuileries, telling her she wished to have a similar one, that she might not be
under the necessity of going out through the pavilion of Flora. M. de
Gouvion and M. de La Fayette would, of course, be apprised of this
circumstance, and well-informed persons have assured me that on the very
night of the Queen’s departure this wretched woman had a spy with her,
who saw the royal family set off.
As soon as I had executed all the Queen’s orders, on the 30th of May,
1791, I set out for Auvergne, and was settled in the gloomy narrow valley of
Mont d’Or, when, about four in the afternoon of the 25th of June, I heard
the beat of a drum to call the inhabitants of the hamlet together. When it had
ceased I heard a hairdresser from Bresse proclaim in the provincial dialect
of Auvergne: “The King and Queen were taking flight in order to ruin
France, but I come to tell you that they are stopped, and are well guarded by
a hundred thousand men under arms.” I still ventured to hope that he was
repeating only a false report, but he went on: “The Queen,” with her well-
known haughtiness, lifted up the veil which covered her face, and said to
the citizens who were upbraiding the King, “Well, since you recognise your
sovereign, respect him.” Upon hearing these expressions, which the Jacobin
club of Clermont could not have invented, I exclaimed, “The news is true!”
I immediately learnt that, a courier being come from Paris to Clermont,
the ‘procureur’ of the commune had sent off messengers to the chief places
of the canton; these again sent couriers to the districts, and the districts in
like manner informed the villages and hamlets which they contained. It was
through this ramification, arising from the establishment of clubs, that the
afflicting intelligence of the misfortune of my sovereigns reached me in the
wildest part of France, and in the midst of the snows by which we were
environed.
Page 286
On the 28th I received a note written in a hand which I recognised as that
of M. Diet,—[This officer was slain in the Queen’s chamber on the 10th of
August]—usher of the Queen’s chamber, but dictated by her Majesty. It
contained these words: “I am this moment arrived; I have just got into my
bath; I and my family exist, that is all. I have suffered much. Do not return
to Paris until I desire you. Take good care of my poor Campan, soothe his
sorrow. Look for happier times.” This note was for greater safety addressed
to my father-in-law’s valet-de-chambre. What were my feelings on
perceiving that after the most distressing crisis we were among the first
objects of the kindness of that unfortunate Princess!
M. Campan having been unable to benefit by the waters of Mont d’Or,
and the first popular effervescence having subsided, I thought I might return
to Clermont. The committee of surveillance, or that of general safety, had
resolved to arrest me there; but the Abbe Louis, formerly a parliamentary
counsellor, and then a member of the Constituent Assembly, was kind
enough to affirm that I was in Auvergne solely for the purpose of attending
my father-in-law, who was extremely ill. The precautions relative to my
absence from Paris were limited to placing us under the surveillance of the
‘procureur’ of the commune, who was at the same time president of the
Jacobin club; but he was also a physician of repute, and without having any
doubt that he had received secret orders relative to me, I thought it would
favour the chances of our safety if I selected him to attend my patient. I
paid him according to the rate given to the best Paris physicians, and I
requested him to visit us every morning and every evening. I took the
precaution to subscribe to no other newspaper than the Moniteur. Doctor
Monestier (for that was the physician’s name) frequently took upon himself
to read it to us. Whenever he thought proper to speak of the King and
Queen in the insulting and brutal terms at that time unfortunately adopted
throughout France, I used to stop him and say, coolly, “Monsieur, you are
here in company with the servants of Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette.
Whatever may be the wrongs with which the nation believes it has to
reproach them, our principles forbid our losing sight of the respect due to
them from us.” Notwithstanding that he was an inveterate patriot, he felt the
force of this remark, and even procured the revocation of a second order for
our arrest, becoming responsible for us to the committee of the Assembly,
and to the Jacobin society.
of M. Diet,—[This officer was slain in the Queen’s chamber on the 10th of
August]—usher of the Queen’s chamber, but dictated by her Majesty. It
contained these words: “I am this moment arrived; I have just got into my
bath; I and my family exist, that is all. I have suffered much. Do not return
to Paris until I desire you. Take good care of my poor Campan, soothe his
sorrow. Look for happier times.” This note was for greater safety addressed
to my father-in-law’s valet-de-chambre. What were my feelings on
perceiving that after the most distressing crisis we were among the first
objects of the kindness of that unfortunate Princess!
M. Campan having been unable to benefit by the waters of Mont d’Or,
and the first popular effervescence having subsided, I thought I might return
to Clermont. The committee of surveillance, or that of general safety, had
resolved to arrest me there; but the Abbe Louis, formerly a parliamentary
counsellor, and then a member of the Constituent Assembly, was kind
enough to affirm that I was in Auvergne solely for the purpose of attending
my father-in-law, who was extremely ill. The precautions relative to my
absence from Paris were limited to placing us under the surveillance of the
‘procureur’ of the commune, who was at the same time president of the
Jacobin club; but he was also a physician of repute, and without having any
doubt that he had received secret orders relative to me, I thought it would
favour the chances of our safety if I selected him to attend my patient. I
paid him according to the rate given to the best Paris physicians, and I
requested him to visit us every morning and every evening. I took the
precaution to subscribe to no other newspaper than the Moniteur. Doctor
Monestier (for that was the physician’s name) frequently took upon himself
to read it to us. Whenever he thought proper to speak of the King and
Queen in the insulting and brutal terms at that time unfortunately adopted
throughout France, I used to stop him and say, coolly, “Monsieur, you are
here in company with the servants of Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette.
Whatever may be the wrongs with which the nation believes it has to
reproach them, our principles forbid our losing sight of the respect due to
them from us.” Notwithstanding that he was an inveterate patriot, he felt the
force of this remark, and even procured the revocation of a second order for
our arrest, becoming responsible for us to the committee of the Assembly,
and to the Jacobin society.
Page 287
The two chief women about the Dauphin, who had accompanied the
Queen to Varennes, Diet, her usher, and Camot, her garcon de toilette,—the
women on account of the journey, and the men in consequence of the
denunciation of the woman belonging to the wardrobe,—were sent to the
prisons of the Abbaye. After my departure the garcon de toilette whom I
had taken to Madame Vallayer Coster’s was sent there with the portfolio she
had agreed to receive. This commission could not escape the detestable spy
upon the Queen. She gave information that a portfolio had been carried out
on the evening of the departure, adding that the King had placed it upon the
Queen’s easy-chair, that the garcon de toilette wrapped it up in a napkin and
took it under his arm, and that she did not know where he had carried it.
The man, who was remarkable for his fidelity, underwent three
examinations without making the slightest disclosure. M. Diet, a man of
good family, a servant on whom the Queen placed particular reliance,
likewise experienced the severest treatment. At length, after a lapse of three
weeks, the Queen succeeded in obtaining the release of her servants.
The Queen, about the 15th of August, had me informed by letter that I
might come back to Paris without being under any apprehension of arrest
there, and that she greatly desired my return. I brought my father-in-law
back in a dying state, and on the day preceding that of the acceptation of the
constitutional act, I informed the Queen that he was no more. “The loss of
Lassonne and Campan,” said she, as she applied her handkerchief to her
streaming eyes, “has taught me how valuable such subjects are to their
masters. I shall never find their equals.”
I resumed my functions about the Queen on the 1st of September, 1791.
She was unable then to converse with me on all the lamentable events
which had occurred since the time of my leaving her, having on guard near
her an officer whom she dreaded more than all the others. She merely told
me that I should have some secret services to perform for her, and that she
would not create uneasiness by long conversations with me, my return
being a subject of suspicion. But next day the Queen, well knowing the
discretion of the officer who was to be on guard that night, had my bed
placed very near hers, and having obtained the favour of having the door
shut, when I was in bed she began the narrative of the journey, and the
unfortunate arrest at Varennes. I asked her permission to put on my gown,
and kneeling by her bedside I remained until three o’clock in the morning,
listening with the liveliest and most sorrowful interest to the account I am
Queen to Varennes, Diet, her usher, and Camot, her garcon de toilette,—the
women on account of the journey, and the men in consequence of the
denunciation of the woman belonging to the wardrobe,—were sent to the
prisons of the Abbaye. After my departure the garcon de toilette whom I
had taken to Madame Vallayer Coster’s was sent there with the portfolio she
had agreed to receive. This commission could not escape the detestable spy
upon the Queen. She gave information that a portfolio had been carried out
on the evening of the departure, adding that the King had placed it upon the
Queen’s easy-chair, that the garcon de toilette wrapped it up in a napkin and
took it under his arm, and that she did not know where he had carried it.
The man, who was remarkable for his fidelity, underwent three
examinations without making the slightest disclosure. M. Diet, a man of
good family, a servant on whom the Queen placed particular reliance,
likewise experienced the severest treatment. At length, after a lapse of three
weeks, the Queen succeeded in obtaining the release of her servants.
The Queen, about the 15th of August, had me informed by letter that I
might come back to Paris without being under any apprehension of arrest
there, and that she greatly desired my return. I brought my father-in-law
back in a dying state, and on the day preceding that of the acceptation of the
constitutional act, I informed the Queen that he was no more. “The loss of
Lassonne and Campan,” said she, as she applied her handkerchief to her
streaming eyes, “has taught me how valuable such subjects are to their
masters. I shall never find their equals.”
I resumed my functions about the Queen on the 1st of September, 1791.
She was unable then to converse with me on all the lamentable events
which had occurred since the time of my leaving her, having on guard near
her an officer whom she dreaded more than all the others. She merely told
me that I should have some secret services to perform for her, and that she
would not create uneasiness by long conversations with me, my return
being a subject of suspicion. But next day the Queen, well knowing the
discretion of the officer who was to be on guard that night, had my bed
placed very near hers, and having obtained the favour of having the door
shut, when I was in bed she began the narrative of the journey, and the
unfortunate arrest at Varennes. I asked her permission to put on my gown,
and kneeling by her bedside I remained until three o’clock in the morning,
listening with the liveliest and most sorrowful interest to the account I am
Page 288
about to repeat, and of which I have seen various details, of tolerable
exactness, in papers of the time.
The King entrusted Count Fersen with all the preparations for departure.
The carriage was ordered by him; the passport, in the name of Madame de
Korf, was procured through his connection with that lady, who was a
foreigner. And lastly, he himself drove the royal family, as their coachman,
as far as Bondy, where the travellers got into their berlin. Madame Brunier
and Madame Neuville, the first women of Madame and the Dauphin, there
joined the principal carriage. They were in a cabriolet. Monsieur and
Madame set out from the Luxembourg and took another road. They as well
as the King were recognised by the master of the last post in France, but
this man, devoting himself to the fortunes of the Prince, left the French
territory, and drove them himself as postilion. Madame Thibaut, the
Queen’s first woman, reached Brussels without the slightest difficulty.
Madame Cardon, from Arras, met with no hindrance; and Leonard, the
Queen’s hairdresser, passed through Varennes a few hours before the royal
family. Fate had reserved all its obstacles for the unfortunate monarch.
Nothing worthy of notice occurred in the beginning of the journey. The
travellers were detained a short time, about twelve leagues from Paris, by
some repairs which the carriage required. The King chose to walk up one of
the hills, and these two circumstances caused a delay of three hours,
precisely at the time when it was intended that the berlin should have been
met, just before reaching Varennes, by the detachment commanded by M.
de Goguelat. This detachment was punctually stationed upon the spot fixed
on, with orders to wait there for the arrival of certain treasure, which it was
to escort; but the peasantry of the neighbourhood, alarmed at the sight of
this body of troops, came armed with staves, and asked several questions,
which manifested their anxiety. M. de Goguelat, fearful of causing a riot,
and not finding the carriage arrive as he expected, divided his men into two
companies, and unfortunately made them leave the highway in order to
return to Varennes by two cross roads. The King looked out of the carriage
at Ste. Menehould, and asked several questions concerning the road.
Drouet, the post-master, struck by the resemblance of Louis to the
impression of his head upon the assignats, drew near the carriage, felt
convinced that he recognised the Queen also, and that the remainder of the
travellers consisted of the royal family and their suite, mounted his horse,
reached Varennes by cross roads before the royal fugitives, and gave the
exactness, in papers of the time.
The King entrusted Count Fersen with all the preparations for departure.
The carriage was ordered by him; the passport, in the name of Madame de
Korf, was procured through his connection with that lady, who was a
foreigner. And lastly, he himself drove the royal family, as their coachman,
as far as Bondy, where the travellers got into their berlin. Madame Brunier
and Madame Neuville, the first women of Madame and the Dauphin, there
joined the principal carriage. They were in a cabriolet. Monsieur and
Madame set out from the Luxembourg and took another road. They as well
as the King were recognised by the master of the last post in France, but
this man, devoting himself to the fortunes of the Prince, left the French
territory, and drove them himself as postilion. Madame Thibaut, the
Queen’s first woman, reached Brussels without the slightest difficulty.
Madame Cardon, from Arras, met with no hindrance; and Leonard, the
Queen’s hairdresser, passed through Varennes a few hours before the royal
family. Fate had reserved all its obstacles for the unfortunate monarch.
Nothing worthy of notice occurred in the beginning of the journey. The
travellers were detained a short time, about twelve leagues from Paris, by
some repairs which the carriage required. The King chose to walk up one of
the hills, and these two circumstances caused a delay of three hours,
precisely at the time when it was intended that the berlin should have been
met, just before reaching Varennes, by the detachment commanded by M.
de Goguelat. This detachment was punctually stationed upon the spot fixed
on, with orders to wait there for the arrival of certain treasure, which it was
to escort; but the peasantry of the neighbourhood, alarmed at the sight of
this body of troops, came armed with staves, and asked several questions,
which manifested their anxiety. M. de Goguelat, fearful of causing a riot,
and not finding the carriage arrive as he expected, divided his men into two
companies, and unfortunately made them leave the highway in order to
return to Varennes by two cross roads. The King looked out of the carriage
at Ste. Menehould, and asked several questions concerning the road.
Drouet, the post-master, struck by the resemblance of Louis to the
impression of his head upon the assignats, drew near the carriage, felt
convinced that he recognised the Queen also, and that the remainder of the
travellers consisted of the royal family and their suite, mounted his horse,
reached Varennes by cross roads before the royal fugitives, and gave the
Page 289
alarm.—[Varennes lies between Verdun and Montmedy, and not far from
the French frontier.]
The Queen began to feel all the agonies of terror; they were augmented
by the voice of a person unknown, who, passing close to the carriage in full
gallop, cried out, bending towards the window without slackening his
speed, “You are recognised!” They arrived with beating hearts at the gates
of Varennes without meeting one of the horsemen by whom they were to
have been escorted into the place. They were ignorant where to find their
relays, and some minutes were lost in waiting, to no purpose. The cabriolet
had preceded them, and the two ladies in attendance found the bridge
already blocked up with old carts and lumber. The town guards were all
under arms. The King at last entered Varennes. M. de Goguelat had arrived
there with his detachment. He came up to the King and asked him if he
chose to effect a passage by force! What an unlucky question to put to
Louis XVI., who from the very beginning of the Revolution had shown in
every crisis the fear he entertained of giving the least order which might
cause an effusion of blood! “Would it be a brisk action?” said the King. “It
is impossible that it should be otherwise, Sire,” replied the aide-decamp.
Louis XVI. was unwilling to expose his family. They therefore went to the
house of a grocer, Mayor of Varennes. The King began to speak, and gave a
summary of his intentions in departing, analogous to the declaration he had
made at Paris. He spoke with warmth and affability, and endeavoured to
demonstrate to the people around him that he had only put himself, by the
step he had taken, into a fit situation to treat with the Assembly, and to
sanction with freedom the constitution which he would maintain, though
many of its articles were incompatible with the dignity of the throne, and
the force by which it was necessary that the sovereign should be
surrounded. Nothing could be more affecting, added the Queen, than this
moment, in which the King felt bound to communicate to the very humblest
class of his subjects his principles, his wishes for the happiness of his
people, and the motives which had determined him to depart.
Whilst the King was speaking to this mayor, whose name was Sauce, the
Queen, seated at the farther end of the shop, among parcels of soap and
candles, endeavoured to make Madame Sauce understand that if she would
prevail upon her husband to make use of his municipal authority to cover
the flight of the King and his family, she would have the glory of having
contributed to restore tranquillity to France. This woman was moved; she
the French frontier.]
The Queen began to feel all the agonies of terror; they were augmented
by the voice of a person unknown, who, passing close to the carriage in full
gallop, cried out, bending towards the window without slackening his
speed, “You are recognised!” They arrived with beating hearts at the gates
of Varennes without meeting one of the horsemen by whom they were to
have been escorted into the place. They were ignorant where to find their
relays, and some minutes were lost in waiting, to no purpose. The cabriolet
had preceded them, and the two ladies in attendance found the bridge
already blocked up with old carts and lumber. The town guards were all
under arms. The King at last entered Varennes. M. de Goguelat had arrived
there with his detachment. He came up to the King and asked him if he
chose to effect a passage by force! What an unlucky question to put to
Louis XVI., who from the very beginning of the Revolution had shown in
every crisis the fear he entertained of giving the least order which might
cause an effusion of blood! “Would it be a brisk action?” said the King. “It
is impossible that it should be otherwise, Sire,” replied the aide-decamp.
Louis XVI. was unwilling to expose his family. They therefore went to the
house of a grocer, Mayor of Varennes. The King began to speak, and gave a
summary of his intentions in departing, analogous to the declaration he had
made at Paris. He spoke with warmth and affability, and endeavoured to
demonstrate to the people around him that he had only put himself, by the
step he had taken, into a fit situation to treat with the Assembly, and to
sanction with freedom the constitution which he would maintain, though
many of its articles were incompatible with the dignity of the throne, and
the force by which it was necessary that the sovereign should be
surrounded. Nothing could be more affecting, added the Queen, than this
moment, in which the King felt bound to communicate to the very humblest
class of his subjects his principles, his wishes for the happiness of his
people, and the motives which had determined him to depart.
Whilst the King was speaking to this mayor, whose name was Sauce, the
Queen, seated at the farther end of the shop, among parcels of soap and
candles, endeavoured to make Madame Sauce understand that if she would
prevail upon her husband to make use of his municipal authority to cover
the flight of the King and his family, she would have the glory of having
contributed to restore tranquillity to France. This woman was moved; she
Page 290
could not, without streaming eyes, see herself thus solicited by her Queen;
but she could not be got to say anything more than, “Bon Dieu, Madame, it
would be the destruction of M. Sauce; I love my King, but I love my
husband too, you must know, and he would be answerable, you see.” Whilst
this strange scene was passing in the shop, the people, hearing that the King
was arrested, kept pouring in from all parts. M. de Goguelat, making a last
effort, demanded of the dragoons whether they would protect the departure
of the King; they replied only by murmurs, dropping the points of their
swords. Some person unknown fired a pistol at M. de Goguelat; he was
slightly wounded by the ball. M. Romeuf, aide-de-camp to M. de La
Fayette, arrived at that moment. He had been chosen, after the 6th of
October, 1789, by the commander of the Parisian guard to be in constant
attendance about the Queen. She reproached him bitterly with the object of
his mission. “If you wish to make your name remarkable, monsieur,” said
the Queen to him, “you have chosen strange and odious means, which will
produce the most fatal consequences.” This officer wished to hasten their
departure. The Queen, still cherishing the hope of seeing M. de Bouille
arrive with a sufficient force to extricate the King from his critical situation,
prolonged her stay at Varennes by every means in her power.
The Dauphin’s first woman pretended to be taken ill with a violent colic,
and threw herself upon a bed, in the hope of aiding the designs of her
superiors; she went and implored for assistance. The Queen understood her
perfectly well, and refused to leave one who had devoted herself to follow
them in such a state of suffering. But no delay in departing was allowed.
The three Body Guards (Valory, Du Moustier, and Malden) were gagged
and fastened upon the seat of the carriage. A horde of National Guards,
animated with fury and the barbarous joy with which their fatal triumph
inspired them, surrounded the carriage of the royal family.
The three commissioners sent by the Assembly to meet the King, MM. de
Latour-Maubourg, Barnave, and Potion, joined them in the environs of
Epernay. The two last mentioned got into the King’s carriage. The Queen
astonished me by the favourable opinion she had formed of Barnave. When
I quitted Paris a great many persons spoke of him only with horror. She told
me he was much altered, that he was full of talent and noble feeling. “A
feeling of pride which I cannot much blame in a young man belonging to
the Tiers Etat,” she said, “made him applaud everything which smoothed
the road to rank and fame for that class in which he was born. And if we get
but she could not be got to say anything more than, “Bon Dieu, Madame, it
would be the destruction of M. Sauce; I love my King, but I love my
husband too, you must know, and he would be answerable, you see.” Whilst
this strange scene was passing in the shop, the people, hearing that the King
was arrested, kept pouring in from all parts. M. de Goguelat, making a last
effort, demanded of the dragoons whether they would protect the departure
of the King; they replied only by murmurs, dropping the points of their
swords. Some person unknown fired a pistol at M. de Goguelat; he was
slightly wounded by the ball. M. Romeuf, aide-de-camp to M. de La
Fayette, arrived at that moment. He had been chosen, after the 6th of
October, 1789, by the commander of the Parisian guard to be in constant
attendance about the Queen. She reproached him bitterly with the object of
his mission. “If you wish to make your name remarkable, monsieur,” said
the Queen to him, “you have chosen strange and odious means, which will
produce the most fatal consequences.” This officer wished to hasten their
departure. The Queen, still cherishing the hope of seeing M. de Bouille
arrive with a sufficient force to extricate the King from his critical situation,
prolonged her stay at Varennes by every means in her power.
The Dauphin’s first woman pretended to be taken ill with a violent colic,
and threw herself upon a bed, in the hope of aiding the designs of her
superiors; she went and implored for assistance. The Queen understood her
perfectly well, and refused to leave one who had devoted herself to follow
them in such a state of suffering. But no delay in departing was allowed.
The three Body Guards (Valory, Du Moustier, and Malden) were gagged
and fastened upon the seat of the carriage. A horde of National Guards,
animated with fury and the barbarous joy with which their fatal triumph
inspired them, surrounded the carriage of the royal family.
The three commissioners sent by the Assembly to meet the King, MM. de
Latour-Maubourg, Barnave, and Potion, joined them in the environs of
Epernay. The two last mentioned got into the King’s carriage. The Queen
astonished me by the favourable opinion she had formed of Barnave. When
I quitted Paris a great many persons spoke of him only with horror. She told
me he was much altered, that he was full of talent and noble feeling. “A
feeling of pride which I cannot much blame in a young man belonging to
the Tiers Etat,” she said, “made him applaud everything which smoothed
the road to rank and fame for that class in which he was born. And if we get
Page 291
the power in our own hands again, Barnave’s pardon is already written on
our hearts.” The Queen added, that she had not the same feeling towards
those nobles who had joined the revolutionary party, who had always
received marks of favour, often to the injury of those beneath them in rank,
and who, born to be the safeguard of the monarchy, could never be
pardoned for having deserted it. She then told me that Barnave’s conduct
upon the road was perfectly correct, while Potion’s republican rudeness was
disgusting; that the latter ate and drank in the King’s berlin in a slovenly
manner, throwing the bones of the fowls out through the window at the risk
of sending them even into the King’s face; lifting up his glass, when
Madame Elisabeth poured him out wine, to show her that there was enough,
without saying a word; that this offensive behaviour must have been
intentional, because the man was not without education; and that Barnave
was hurt at it. On being pressed by the Queen to take something,
“Madame,” replied Barnave, “on so solemn an occasion the deputies of the
National Assembly ought to occupy your Majesties solely about their
mission, and by no means about their wants.” In short, his respectful
delicacy, his considerate attentions, and all that he said, gained the esteem
not only of the Queen, but of Madame Elisabeth also.
The King began to talk to Petion about the situation of France, and the
motives of his conduct, which were founded upon the necessity of giving to
the executive power a strength necessary for its action, for the good even of
the constitutional act, since France could not be a republic. “Not yet, ‘tis
true,” replied Petion, “because the French are not ripe enough for that.”
This audacious and cruel answer silenced the King, who said no more until
his arrival at Paris. Potion held the little Dauphin upon his knees, and
amused himself with curling the beautiful light hair of the interesting child
round his fingers; and, as he spoke with much gesticulation, he pulled his
locks hard enough to make the Dauphin cry out. “Give me my son,” said
the Queen to him; “he is accustomed to tenderness and delicacy, which
render him little fit for such familiarity.”
The Chevalier de Dampierre was killed near the King’s carriage upon
leaving Varennes. A poor village cure, some leagues from the place where
the crime was committed, was imprudent enough to draw near to speak to
the King; the cannibals who surrounded the carriage rushed upon him.
“Tigers,” exclaimed Barnave, “have you ceased to be Frenchmen? Nation
of brave men, are you become a set of assassins?” These words alone saved
our hearts.” The Queen added, that she had not the same feeling towards
those nobles who had joined the revolutionary party, who had always
received marks of favour, often to the injury of those beneath them in rank,
and who, born to be the safeguard of the monarchy, could never be
pardoned for having deserted it. She then told me that Barnave’s conduct
upon the road was perfectly correct, while Potion’s republican rudeness was
disgusting; that the latter ate and drank in the King’s berlin in a slovenly
manner, throwing the bones of the fowls out through the window at the risk
of sending them even into the King’s face; lifting up his glass, when
Madame Elisabeth poured him out wine, to show her that there was enough,
without saying a word; that this offensive behaviour must have been
intentional, because the man was not without education; and that Barnave
was hurt at it. On being pressed by the Queen to take something,
“Madame,” replied Barnave, “on so solemn an occasion the deputies of the
National Assembly ought to occupy your Majesties solely about their
mission, and by no means about their wants.” In short, his respectful
delicacy, his considerate attentions, and all that he said, gained the esteem
not only of the Queen, but of Madame Elisabeth also.
The King began to talk to Petion about the situation of France, and the
motives of his conduct, which were founded upon the necessity of giving to
the executive power a strength necessary for its action, for the good even of
the constitutional act, since France could not be a republic. “Not yet, ‘tis
true,” replied Petion, “because the French are not ripe enough for that.”
This audacious and cruel answer silenced the King, who said no more until
his arrival at Paris. Potion held the little Dauphin upon his knees, and
amused himself with curling the beautiful light hair of the interesting child
round his fingers; and, as he spoke with much gesticulation, he pulled his
locks hard enough to make the Dauphin cry out. “Give me my son,” said
the Queen to him; “he is accustomed to tenderness and delicacy, which
render him little fit for such familiarity.”
The Chevalier de Dampierre was killed near the King’s carriage upon
leaving Varennes. A poor village cure, some leagues from the place where
the crime was committed, was imprudent enough to draw near to speak to
the King; the cannibals who surrounded the carriage rushed upon him.
“Tigers,” exclaimed Barnave, “have you ceased to be Frenchmen? Nation
of brave men, are you become a set of assassins?” These words alone saved
Page 292
the cure, who was already upon the ground, from certain death. Barnave, as
he spoke to them, threw himself almost out of the coach window, and
Madame Elisabeth, affected by this noble burst of feeling, held him by the
skirt of his coat. The Queen, while speaking of this event, said that on the
most momentous occasions whimsical contrasts always struck her, and that
even at such a moment the pious Elisabeth holding Barnave by the flap of
his coat was a ludicrous sight.
The deputy was astonished in another way. Madame Elisabeth’s
comments upon the state of France, her mild and persuasive eloquence, and
the, ease and simplicity with which she talked to him, yet without
sacrificing her dignity in the slightest degree, appeared to him unique, and
his heart, which was doubtless inclined to right principles though he had
followed the wrong path, was overcome by admiration. The conduct of the
two deputies convinced the Queen of the total separation between the
republican and constitutional parties. At the inns where she alighted she had
some private conversation with Barnave. The latter said a great deal about
the errors committed by the royalists during the Revolution, adding that he
had found the interest of the Court so feebly and so badly defended that he
had been frequently tempted to go and offer it, in himself, an aspiring
champion, who knew the spirit of the age and nation. The Queen asked him
what was the weapon he would have recommended her to use.
“Popularity, Madame.”
“And how could I use that,” replied her Majesty, “of which I have been
deprived?”
“Ah! Madame, it was much more easy for you to regain it, than for me to
acquire it.”
The Queen mainly attributed the arrest at Varennes to M. de Goguelat;
she said he calculated the time that would be spent in the journey
erroneously. He performed that from Montmedy to Paris before taking the
King’s last orders, alone in a post-chaise, and he founded all his
calculations upon the time he spent thus. The trial has been made since, and
it was found that a light carriage without any courier was nearly three hours
less in running the distance than a heavy carriage preceded by a courier.
The Queen also blamed him for having quitted the high-road at Pont-de-
Sommevelle, where the carriage was to meet the forty hussars commanded
by him. She thought that he ought to have dispersed the very small number
he spoke to them, threw himself almost out of the coach window, and
Madame Elisabeth, affected by this noble burst of feeling, held him by the
skirt of his coat. The Queen, while speaking of this event, said that on the
most momentous occasions whimsical contrasts always struck her, and that
even at such a moment the pious Elisabeth holding Barnave by the flap of
his coat was a ludicrous sight.
The deputy was astonished in another way. Madame Elisabeth’s
comments upon the state of France, her mild and persuasive eloquence, and
the, ease and simplicity with which she talked to him, yet without
sacrificing her dignity in the slightest degree, appeared to him unique, and
his heart, which was doubtless inclined to right principles though he had
followed the wrong path, was overcome by admiration. The conduct of the
two deputies convinced the Queen of the total separation between the
republican and constitutional parties. At the inns where she alighted she had
some private conversation with Barnave. The latter said a great deal about
the errors committed by the royalists during the Revolution, adding that he
had found the interest of the Court so feebly and so badly defended that he
had been frequently tempted to go and offer it, in himself, an aspiring
champion, who knew the spirit of the age and nation. The Queen asked him
what was the weapon he would have recommended her to use.
“Popularity, Madame.”
“And how could I use that,” replied her Majesty, “of which I have been
deprived?”
“Ah! Madame, it was much more easy for you to regain it, than for me to
acquire it.”
The Queen mainly attributed the arrest at Varennes to M. de Goguelat;
she said he calculated the time that would be spent in the journey
erroneously. He performed that from Montmedy to Paris before taking the
King’s last orders, alone in a post-chaise, and he founded all his
calculations upon the time he spent thus. The trial has been made since, and
it was found that a light carriage without any courier was nearly three hours
less in running the distance than a heavy carriage preceded by a courier.
The Queen also blamed him for having quitted the high-road at Pont-de-
Sommevelle, where the carriage was to meet the forty hussars commanded
by him. She thought that he ought to have dispersed the very small number
Page 293
of people at Varennes, and not have asked the hussars whether they were for
the King or the nation; that, particularly, he ought to have avoided taking
the King’s orders, as he was previously aware of the reply M. d’Inisdal had
received when it was proposed to carry off the King.
After all that the Queen had said to me respecting the mistakes made by
M. de Goguelat, I thought him of course disgraced. What was my surprise
when, having been set at liberty after the amnesty which followed the
acceptance of the constitution, he presented himself to the Queen, and was
received with the greatest kindness! She said he had done what he could,
and that his zeal ought to form an excuse for all the rest.
[Full details of the preparations for the flight to Varennes
will be found in “Le Comte de Fersen et La Cour de
France,” Paris, Didot et Cie, 1878 (a review of which was
given in the Quarterly Review for July, 1880), and in the
“Memoirs of the Marquis de Bouille”, London, Cadell and
Davis, 1797; Count Fersen being the person who planned
the actual escape, and De Bouille being in command of the
army which was to receive the King. The plan was excellent,
and would certainly have succeeded, if it had not been for
the royal family themselves. Marie Antoinette, it will have
been seen by Madame Campan’s account, nearly wrecked
the plan from inability to do without a large dressing or
travelling case. The King did a more fatal thing. De Bouille
had pointed out the necessity for having in the King’s
carriage an officer knowing the route, and able to show
himself to give all directions, and a proper person had been
provided. The King, however, objected, as “he could not
have the Marquis d’Agoult in the same carriage with
himself; the governess of the royal children, who was to
accompany them, having refused to abandon her privilege of
constantly remaining with her charge.” See “De Bouille,”
pp. 307 and 334. Thus, when Louis was recognised at the
window of the carriage by Drouet, he was lost by the very
danger that had been foreseen, and this wretched piece of
etiquette led to his death.]
the King or the nation; that, particularly, he ought to have avoided taking
the King’s orders, as he was previously aware of the reply M. d’Inisdal had
received when it was proposed to carry off the King.
After all that the Queen had said to me respecting the mistakes made by
M. de Goguelat, I thought him of course disgraced. What was my surprise
when, having been set at liberty after the amnesty which followed the
acceptance of the constitution, he presented himself to the Queen, and was
received with the greatest kindness! She said he had done what he could,
and that his zeal ought to form an excuse for all the rest.
[Full details of the preparations for the flight to Varennes
will be found in “Le Comte de Fersen et La Cour de
France,” Paris, Didot et Cie, 1878 (a review of which was
given in the Quarterly Review for July, 1880), and in the
“Memoirs of the Marquis de Bouille”, London, Cadell and
Davis, 1797; Count Fersen being the person who planned
the actual escape, and De Bouille being in command of the
army which was to receive the King. The plan was excellent,
and would certainly have succeeded, if it had not been for
the royal family themselves. Marie Antoinette, it will have
been seen by Madame Campan’s account, nearly wrecked
the plan from inability to do without a large dressing or
travelling case. The King did a more fatal thing. De Bouille
had pointed out the necessity for having in the King’s
carriage an officer knowing the route, and able to show
himself to give all directions, and a proper person had been
provided. The King, however, objected, as “he could not
have the Marquis d’Agoult in the same carriage with
himself; the governess of the royal children, who was to
accompany them, having refused to abandon her privilege of
constantly remaining with her charge.” See “De Bouille,”
pp. 307 and 334. Thus, when Louis was recognised at the
window of the carriage by Drouet, he was lost by the very
danger that had been foreseen, and this wretched piece of
etiquette led to his death.]
Page 294
When the royal family was brought back from Varennes to the Tuileries,
the Queen’s attendants found the greatest difficulty in making their way to
her apartments; everything had been arranged so that the wardrobe woman,
who had acted as spy, should have the service; and she was to be assisted in
it only by her sister and her sister’s daughter.
M. de Gouvion, M. de La Fayette’s aide-de-camp, had this woman’s
portrait placed at the foot of the staircase which led to the Queen’s
apartments, in order that the sentinel should not permit any other women to
make their way in. As soon as the Queen was informed of this contemptible
precaution, she told the King of it, who sent to ascertain the fact. His
Majesty then called for M. de La Fayette, claimed freedom in his
household, and particularly in that of the Queen, and ordered him to send a
woman in, whom no one but himself could confide out of the palace. M. de
La Fayette was obliged to comply.
On the day when the return of the royal family was expected, there were
no carriages in motion in the streets of Paris. Five or six of the Queen’s
women, after being refused admittance at all the other gates, went with one
of my sisters to that of the Feuillans, insisting that the sentinel should admit
them. The poissardes attacked them for their boldness in resisting the order
excluding them. One of them seized my sister by the arm, calling her the
slave of the Austrian. “Hear me,” said my sister to her, “I have been
attached to the Queen ever since I was fifteen years of age; she gave me my
marriage portion; I served her when she was powerful and happy. She is
now unfortunate. Ought I to abandon her?”—“She is right,” cried the
poissardes; “she ought not to abandon her mistress; let us make an entry for
them.” They instantly surrounded the sentinel, forced the passage, and
introduced the Queen’s women, accompanying them to the terrace of the
Feuillans. One of these furies, whom the slightest impulse would have
driven to tear my sister to pieces, taking her under her protection, gave her
advice by which she might reach the palace in safety. “But of all things, my
dear friend,” said she to her, “pull off that green ribbon sash; it is the color
of that D’Artois, whom we will never forgive.”
The measures adopted for guarding the King were rigorous with respect
to the entrance into the palace, and insulting as to his private apartments.
The commandants of battalion, stationed in the salon called the grand
cabinet, and which led to the Queen’s bedchamber, were ordered to keep the
the Queen’s attendants found the greatest difficulty in making their way to
her apartments; everything had been arranged so that the wardrobe woman,
who had acted as spy, should have the service; and she was to be assisted in
it only by her sister and her sister’s daughter.
M. de Gouvion, M. de La Fayette’s aide-de-camp, had this woman’s
portrait placed at the foot of the staircase which led to the Queen’s
apartments, in order that the sentinel should not permit any other women to
make their way in. As soon as the Queen was informed of this contemptible
precaution, she told the King of it, who sent to ascertain the fact. His
Majesty then called for M. de La Fayette, claimed freedom in his
household, and particularly in that of the Queen, and ordered him to send a
woman in, whom no one but himself could confide out of the palace. M. de
La Fayette was obliged to comply.
On the day when the return of the royal family was expected, there were
no carriages in motion in the streets of Paris. Five or six of the Queen’s
women, after being refused admittance at all the other gates, went with one
of my sisters to that of the Feuillans, insisting that the sentinel should admit
them. The poissardes attacked them for their boldness in resisting the order
excluding them. One of them seized my sister by the arm, calling her the
slave of the Austrian. “Hear me,” said my sister to her, “I have been
attached to the Queen ever since I was fifteen years of age; she gave me my
marriage portion; I served her when she was powerful and happy. She is
now unfortunate. Ought I to abandon her?”—“She is right,” cried the
poissardes; “she ought not to abandon her mistress; let us make an entry for
them.” They instantly surrounded the sentinel, forced the passage, and
introduced the Queen’s women, accompanying them to the terrace of the
Feuillans. One of these furies, whom the slightest impulse would have
driven to tear my sister to pieces, taking her under her protection, gave her
advice by which she might reach the palace in safety. “But of all things, my
dear friend,” said she to her, “pull off that green ribbon sash; it is the color
of that D’Artois, whom we will never forgive.”
The measures adopted for guarding the King were rigorous with respect
to the entrance into the palace, and insulting as to his private apartments.
The commandants of battalion, stationed in the salon called the grand
cabinet, and which led to the Queen’s bedchamber, were ordered to keep the
Page 295
door of it always open, in order that they might have their eyes upon the
royal family. The King shut this door one day; the officer of the guard
opened it, and told him such were his orders, and that he would always
open it; so that his Majesty in shutting it gave himself useless trouble. It
remained open even during the night, when the Queen was in bed; and the
officer placed himself in an armchair between the two doors, with his head
turned towards her Majesty. They only obtained permission to have the
inner door shut when the Queen was rising. The Queen had the bed of her
first femme de chambre placed very near her own; this bed, which ran on
casters, and was furnished with curtains, hid her from the officer’s sight.
Madame de Jarjaye, my companion, who continued her functions during
the whole period of my absence, told me that one night the commandant of
battalion, who slept between the two doors, seeing that she was sleeping
soundly, and that the Queen was awake, quitted his post and went close to
her Majesty, to advise her as to the line of conduct she should pursue.
Although she had the kindness to desire him to speak lower in order that he
might not disturb Madame de Jarjaye’s rest, the latter awoke, and nearly
died with fright at seeing a man in the uniform of the Parisian guard so near
the Queen’s bed. Her Majesty comforted her, and told her not to rise; that
the person she saw was a good Frenchman, who was deceived respecting
the intentions and situation of his sovereign and herself, but whose
conversation showed sincere attachment to the King.
There was a sentinel in the corridor which runs behind the apartments in
question, where there is a staircase, which was at that time an inner one, and
enabled the King and Queen to communicate freely. This post, which was
very onerous, because it was to be kept four and twenty hours, was often
claimed by Saint Prig, an actor belonging to the Theatre Francais. He took it
upon himself sometimes to contrive brief interviews between the King and
Queen in this corridor. He left them at a distance, and gave them warning if
he heard the slightest noise. M. Collot, commandant of battalion of the
National Guard, who was charged with the military duty of the Queen’s
household, in like manner softened down, so far as he could with prudence,
all, the revolting orders he received; for instance, one to follow the Queen
to the very door of her wardrobe was never executed. An officer of the
Parisian guard dared to speak insolently of the Queen in her own apartment.
M. Collot wished to make a complaint to M. de La Fayette against him, and
have him dismissed. The Queen opposed it, and condescended to say a few
royal family. The King shut this door one day; the officer of the guard
opened it, and told him such were his orders, and that he would always
open it; so that his Majesty in shutting it gave himself useless trouble. It
remained open even during the night, when the Queen was in bed; and the
officer placed himself in an armchair between the two doors, with his head
turned towards her Majesty. They only obtained permission to have the
inner door shut when the Queen was rising. The Queen had the bed of her
first femme de chambre placed very near her own; this bed, which ran on
casters, and was furnished with curtains, hid her from the officer’s sight.
Madame de Jarjaye, my companion, who continued her functions during
the whole period of my absence, told me that one night the commandant of
battalion, who slept between the two doors, seeing that she was sleeping
soundly, and that the Queen was awake, quitted his post and went close to
her Majesty, to advise her as to the line of conduct she should pursue.
Although she had the kindness to desire him to speak lower in order that he
might not disturb Madame de Jarjaye’s rest, the latter awoke, and nearly
died with fright at seeing a man in the uniform of the Parisian guard so near
the Queen’s bed. Her Majesty comforted her, and told her not to rise; that
the person she saw was a good Frenchman, who was deceived respecting
the intentions and situation of his sovereign and herself, but whose
conversation showed sincere attachment to the King.
There was a sentinel in the corridor which runs behind the apartments in
question, where there is a staircase, which was at that time an inner one, and
enabled the King and Queen to communicate freely. This post, which was
very onerous, because it was to be kept four and twenty hours, was often
claimed by Saint Prig, an actor belonging to the Theatre Francais. He took it
upon himself sometimes to contrive brief interviews between the King and
Queen in this corridor. He left them at a distance, and gave them warning if
he heard the slightest noise. M. Collot, commandant of battalion of the
National Guard, who was charged with the military duty of the Queen’s
household, in like manner softened down, so far as he could with prudence,
all, the revolting orders he received; for instance, one to follow the Queen
to the very door of her wardrobe was never executed. An officer of the
Parisian guard dared to speak insolently of the Queen in her own apartment.
M. Collot wished to make a complaint to M. de La Fayette against him, and
have him dismissed. The Queen opposed it, and condescended to say a few
Page 296
words of explanation and kindness to the man; he instantly became one of
her most devoted partisans.
The first time I saw her Majesty after the unfortunate catastrophe of the
Varennes journey, I found her getting out of bed; her features were not very
much altered; but after the first kind words she uttered to me she took off
her cap and desired me to observe the effect which grief had produced upon
her hair. It had become, in one single night, as white as that of a woman of
seventy. Her Majesty showed me a ring she had just had mounted for the
Princesse de Lamballe; it contained a lock of her whitened hair, with the
inscription, “Blanched by sorrow.” At the period of the acceptance of the
constitution the Princess wished to return to France. The Queen, who had
no expectation that tranquillity would be restored, opposed this; but the
attachment of Madame de Lamballe to the royal family impelled her to
come and seek death.
When I returned to Paris most of the harsh precautions were abandoned;
the doors were not kept open; greater respect was paid to the sovereign; it
was known that the constitution soon to be completed would be accepted,
and a better order of things was hoped for.
her most devoted partisans.
The first time I saw her Majesty after the unfortunate catastrophe of the
Varennes journey, I found her getting out of bed; her features were not very
much altered; but after the first kind words she uttered to me she took off
her cap and desired me to observe the effect which grief had produced upon
her hair. It had become, in one single night, as white as that of a woman of
seventy. Her Majesty showed me a ring she had just had mounted for the
Princesse de Lamballe; it contained a lock of her whitened hair, with the
inscription, “Blanched by sorrow.” At the period of the acceptance of the
constitution the Princess wished to return to France. The Queen, who had
no expectation that tranquillity would be restored, opposed this; but the
attachment of Madame de Lamballe to the royal family impelled her to
come and seek death.
When I returned to Paris most of the harsh precautions were abandoned;
the doors were not kept open; greater respect was paid to the sovereign; it
was known that the constitution soon to be completed would be accepted,
and a better order of things was hoped for.
Page 297
CHAPTER VI.
On my arrival at Paris on the 25th of August I found the state of feeling
there much more temperate than I had dared to hope. The conversation
generally ran upon the acceptance of the constitution, and the fetes which
would be given in consequence. The struggle between the Jacobins and the
constitutionals on the 17th of July, 1791, nevertheless had thrown the
Queen into great terror for some moments; and the firing of the cannon
from the Champ de Mars upon a party which called for a trial of the King,
and the leaders of which were in the very bosom of the Assembly, left the
most gloomy impressions upon her mind.
The constitutionals, the Queen’s connection with whom was not
slackened by the intervention of the three members already mentioned, had
faithfully served the royal family during their detention.
“We still hold the wire by which this popular mass is moved,” said
Barnave to M. de J——- one day, at the same time showing him a large
volume, in which the names of all those who were influenced with the
power of gold alone were registered. It was at that time proposed to hire a
considerable number of persons in order to secure loud acclamations when
the King and his family should make their appearance at the play upon the
acceptance of the constitution. That day, which afforded a glimmering hope
of tranquillity, was the 14th of September; the fetes were brilliant; but
already fresh anxieties forbade the royal family to encourage much hope.
The Legislative Assembly, which had just succeeded the Constituent
Assembly (October, 1791), founded its conduct upon the wildest republican
principles; created from the midst of popular assemblies, it was wholly
inspired by the spirit which animated them. The constitution, as I have said,
was presented to the King on the 3d of September, 1791. The ministers,
with the exception of M. de Montmorin, insisted upon the necessity of
accepting the constitutional act in its entirety. The Prince de Kaunitz—
[Minister of Austria]—was of the same opinion. Malouet wished the King
On my arrival at Paris on the 25th of August I found the state of feeling
there much more temperate than I had dared to hope. The conversation
generally ran upon the acceptance of the constitution, and the fetes which
would be given in consequence. The struggle between the Jacobins and the
constitutionals on the 17th of July, 1791, nevertheless had thrown the
Queen into great terror for some moments; and the firing of the cannon
from the Champ de Mars upon a party which called for a trial of the King,
and the leaders of which were in the very bosom of the Assembly, left the
most gloomy impressions upon her mind.
The constitutionals, the Queen’s connection with whom was not
slackened by the intervention of the three members already mentioned, had
faithfully served the royal family during their detention.
“We still hold the wire by which this popular mass is moved,” said
Barnave to M. de J——- one day, at the same time showing him a large
volume, in which the names of all those who were influenced with the
power of gold alone were registered. It was at that time proposed to hire a
considerable number of persons in order to secure loud acclamations when
the King and his family should make their appearance at the play upon the
acceptance of the constitution. That day, which afforded a glimmering hope
of tranquillity, was the 14th of September; the fetes were brilliant; but
already fresh anxieties forbade the royal family to encourage much hope.
The Legislative Assembly, which had just succeeded the Constituent
Assembly (October, 1791), founded its conduct upon the wildest republican
principles; created from the midst of popular assemblies, it was wholly
inspired by the spirit which animated them. The constitution, as I have said,
was presented to the King on the 3d of September, 1791. The ministers,
with the exception of M. de Montmorin, insisted upon the necessity of
accepting the constitutional act in its entirety. The Prince de Kaunitz—
[Minister of Austria]—was of the same opinion. Malouet wished the King
Page 298
to express himself candidly respecting any errors or dangers that he might
observe in the constitution. But Duport and Barnave, alarmed at the spirit
prevailing in the Jacobin Club, and even in the Assembly, where
Robespierre had already denounced them as traitors to the country, and
dreading still greater evils, added their opinions to those of the majority of
the ministers and M. de Kaunitz; those who really desired that the
constitution should be maintained advised that it should not be accepted
thus literally. The King seemed inclined to this advice; and this is one of the
strongest proofs of his sincerity.
[The extreme revolutionary party, so called from the club,
originally “Breton,” then “Amis de la Constitution,” sitting
at the convent of the Dominicans (called in France
Jacobins) of the Rue Saint Honore.]
Alexandre Lameth, Duport, and Barnave, still relying on the resources of
their party, hoped to have credit for directing the King through the influence
they believed they had acquired over the mind of the Queen. They also
consulted people of acknowledged talent, but belonging to no council nor to
any assembly. Among these was M. Dubucq, formerly intendant of the
marine and of the colonies. He answered laconically in one phrase:
“Prevent disorder from organising itself.”
The letter written by the King to the Assembly, claiming to accept the
constitution in the very place where it had been created, and where he
announced he would be on the 14th September at mid-day, was received
with transport, and the reading was repeatedly interrupted by plaudits. The
sitting terminated amidst the greatest enthusiasm, and M. de La Fayette
obtained the release of all those who were detained on account of the King’s
journey [to Varennes], the abandonment of all proceedings relative to the
events of the Revolution, and the discontinuance of the use of passports and
of temporary restraints upon free travelling, as well in the interior as
without. The whole was conceded by acclamation. Sixty members were
deputed to go to the King and express to him fully the satisfaction his
Majesty’s letter had given. The Keeper of the Seals quitted the chamber, in
the midst of applause, to precede the deputation to the King.
The King answered the speech addressed to him, and concluded by
saying to the Assembly that a decree of that morning, which had abolished
observe in the constitution. But Duport and Barnave, alarmed at the spirit
prevailing in the Jacobin Club, and even in the Assembly, where
Robespierre had already denounced them as traitors to the country, and
dreading still greater evils, added their opinions to those of the majority of
the ministers and M. de Kaunitz; those who really desired that the
constitution should be maintained advised that it should not be accepted
thus literally. The King seemed inclined to this advice; and this is one of the
strongest proofs of his sincerity.
[The extreme revolutionary party, so called from the club,
originally “Breton,” then “Amis de la Constitution,” sitting
at the convent of the Dominicans (called in France
Jacobins) of the Rue Saint Honore.]
Alexandre Lameth, Duport, and Barnave, still relying on the resources of
their party, hoped to have credit for directing the King through the influence
they believed they had acquired over the mind of the Queen. They also
consulted people of acknowledged talent, but belonging to no council nor to
any assembly. Among these was M. Dubucq, formerly intendant of the
marine and of the colonies. He answered laconically in one phrase:
“Prevent disorder from organising itself.”
The letter written by the King to the Assembly, claiming to accept the
constitution in the very place where it had been created, and where he
announced he would be on the 14th September at mid-day, was received
with transport, and the reading was repeatedly interrupted by plaudits. The
sitting terminated amidst the greatest enthusiasm, and M. de La Fayette
obtained the release of all those who were detained on account of the King’s
journey [to Varennes], the abandonment of all proceedings relative to the
events of the Revolution, and the discontinuance of the use of passports and
of temporary restraints upon free travelling, as well in the interior as
without. The whole was conceded by acclamation. Sixty members were
deputed to go to the King and express to him fully the satisfaction his
Majesty’s letter had given. The Keeper of the Seals quitted the chamber, in
the midst of applause, to precede the deputation to the King.
The King answered the speech addressed to him, and concluded by
saying to the Assembly that a decree of that morning, which had abolished
Page 299
the order of the Holy Ghost, had left him and his son alone permission to be
decorated with it; but that an order having no value in his eyes, save for the
power of conferring it, he would not use it.
The Queen, her son, and Madame, were at the door of the chamber into
which the deputation was admitted. The King said to the deputies, “You see
there my wife and children, who participate in my sentiments;” and the
Queen herself confirmed the King’s assurance. These apparent marks of
confidence were very inconsistent with the agitated state of her mind.
“These people want no sovereigns,” said she. “We shall fall before their
treacherous though well-planned tactics; they are demolishing the
monarchy stone by stone.”
Next day the particulars of the reception of the deputies by the King were
reported to the Assembly, and excited warm approbation. But the President
having put the question whether the Assembly ought not to remain seated
while the King took the oath “Certainly,” was repeated by many voices;
“and the King, standing, uncovered.” M. Malouet observed that there was
no occasion on which the nation, assembled in the presence of the King, did
not acknowledge him as its head; that the omission to treat the head of the
State with the respect due to him would be an offence to the nation, as well
as to the monarch. He moved that the King should take the oath standing,
and that the Assembly should also stand while he was doing so. M.
Malouet’s observations would have carried the decree, but a deputy from
Brittany exclaimed, with a shrill voice, that he had an amendment to
propose which would render all unanimous. “Let us decree,” said he, “that
M. Malouet, and whoever else shall so please, may have leave to receive
the King upon their knees; but let us stick to the decree.”
The King repaired to the chamber at mid-day. His speech was followed
by plaudits which lasted several minutes. After the signing of the
constitutional act all sat down. The President rose to deliver his speech; but
after he had begun, perceiving that the King did not rise to hear him, he sat
down again. His speech made a powerful impression; the sentence with
which it concluded excited fresh acclamations, cries of “Bravo!” and “Vive
le Roi!”—“Sire,” said he, “how important in our eyes, and how dear to our
hearts—how sublime a feature in our history—must be the epoch of that
regeneration which gives citizens to France, and a country to Frenchmen,—
to you, as a king, a new title of greatness and glory, and, as a man, a source
decorated with it; but that an order having no value in his eyes, save for the
power of conferring it, he would not use it.
The Queen, her son, and Madame, were at the door of the chamber into
which the deputation was admitted. The King said to the deputies, “You see
there my wife and children, who participate in my sentiments;” and the
Queen herself confirmed the King’s assurance. These apparent marks of
confidence were very inconsistent with the agitated state of her mind.
“These people want no sovereigns,” said she. “We shall fall before their
treacherous though well-planned tactics; they are demolishing the
monarchy stone by stone.”
Next day the particulars of the reception of the deputies by the King were
reported to the Assembly, and excited warm approbation. But the President
having put the question whether the Assembly ought not to remain seated
while the King took the oath “Certainly,” was repeated by many voices;
“and the King, standing, uncovered.” M. Malouet observed that there was
no occasion on which the nation, assembled in the presence of the King, did
not acknowledge him as its head; that the omission to treat the head of the
State with the respect due to him would be an offence to the nation, as well
as to the monarch. He moved that the King should take the oath standing,
and that the Assembly should also stand while he was doing so. M.
Malouet’s observations would have carried the decree, but a deputy from
Brittany exclaimed, with a shrill voice, that he had an amendment to
propose which would render all unanimous. “Let us decree,” said he, “that
M. Malouet, and whoever else shall so please, may have leave to receive
the King upon their knees; but let us stick to the decree.”
The King repaired to the chamber at mid-day. His speech was followed
by plaudits which lasted several minutes. After the signing of the
constitutional act all sat down. The President rose to deliver his speech; but
after he had begun, perceiving that the King did not rise to hear him, he sat
down again. His speech made a powerful impression; the sentence with
which it concluded excited fresh acclamations, cries of “Bravo!” and “Vive
le Roi!”—“Sire,” said he, “how important in our eyes, and how dear to our
hearts—how sublime a feature in our history—must be the epoch of that
regeneration which gives citizens to France, and a country to Frenchmen,—
to you, as a king, a new title of greatness and glory, and, as a man, a source
Page 300
of new enjoyment.” The whole Assembly accompanied the King on his
return, amidst the people’s cries of happiness, military music, and salvoes
of artillery.
At length I hoped to see a return of that tranquillity which had so long
vanished from the countenances of my august master and mistress. Their
suite left them in the salon; the Queen hastily saluted the ladies, and
returned much affected; the King followed her, and, throwing himself into
an armchair, put his handkerchief to his eyes. “Ah! Madame,” cried he, his
voice choked by tears, “why were you present at this sitting? to witness—”
these words were interrupted by sobs. The Queen threw herself upon her
knees before him, and pressed him in her arms. I remained with them, not
from any blamable curiosity, but from a stupefaction which rendered me
incapable of determining what I ought to do. The Queen said to me, “Oh!
go, go!” with an accent which expressed, “Do not remain to see the
dejection and despair of your sovereign!” I withdrew, struck with the
contrast between the shouts of joy without the palace and the profound grief
which oppressed the sovereigns within. Half an hour afterwards the Queen
sent for me. She desired to see M. de Goguelat, to announce to him his
departure on that very night for Vienna. The renewed attacks upon the
dignity of the throne which had been made during the sitting; the spirit of
an Assembly worse than the former; the monarch put upon a level with the
President, without any deference to the throne,—all this proclaimed but too
loudly that the sovereignty itself was aimed at. The Queen no longer saw
any ground for hope from the Provinces. The King wrote to the Emperor;
she told me that she would herself, at midnight, bring the letter which M. de
Goguelat was to bear to the Emperor, to my room.
During all the remainder of the day the Chateau and the Tuileries were
crowded; the illuminations were magnificent. The King and Queen were
requested to take an airing in their carriage in the Champs-Elysees, escorted
by the aides-decamp, and leaders of the Parisian army, the Constitutional
Guard not being at the time organised. Many shouts of “Vive le Roi!” were
heard; but as often as they ceased, one of the mob, who never quitted the
door of the King’s carriage for a single instant, exclaimed with a stentorian
voice, “No, don’t believe them! Vive la Nation!” This ill-omened cry struck
terror into the Queen.
return, amidst the people’s cries of happiness, military music, and salvoes
of artillery.
At length I hoped to see a return of that tranquillity which had so long
vanished from the countenances of my august master and mistress. Their
suite left them in the salon; the Queen hastily saluted the ladies, and
returned much affected; the King followed her, and, throwing himself into
an armchair, put his handkerchief to his eyes. “Ah! Madame,” cried he, his
voice choked by tears, “why were you present at this sitting? to witness—”
these words were interrupted by sobs. The Queen threw herself upon her
knees before him, and pressed him in her arms. I remained with them, not
from any blamable curiosity, but from a stupefaction which rendered me
incapable of determining what I ought to do. The Queen said to me, “Oh!
go, go!” with an accent which expressed, “Do not remain to see the
dejection and despair of your sovereign!” I withdrew, struck with the
contrast between the shouts of joy without the palace and the profound grief
which oppressed the sovereigns within. Half an hour afterwards the Queen
sent for me. She desired to see M. de Goguelat, to announce to him his
departure on that very night for Vienna. The renewed attacks upon the
dignity of the throne which had been made during the sitting; the spirit of
an Assembly worse than the former; the monarch put upon a level with the
President, without any deference to the throne,—all this proclaimed but too
loudly that the sovereignty itself was aimed at. The Queen no longer saw
any ground for hope from the Provinces. The King wrote to the Emperor;
she told me that she would herself, at midnight, bring the letter which M. de
Goguelat was to bear to the Emperor, to my room.
During all the remainder of the day the Chateau and the Tuileries were
crowded; the illuminations were magnificent. The King and Queen were
requested to take an airing in their carriage in the Champs-Elysees, escorted
by the aides-decamp, and leaders of the Parisian army, the Constitutional
Guard not being at the time organised. Many shouts of “Vive le Roi!” were
heard; but as often as they ceased, one of the mob, who never quitted the
door of the King’s carriage for a single instant, exclaimed with a stentorian
voice, “No, don’t believe them! Vive la Nation!” This ill-omened cry struck
terror into the Queen.
Page 301
A few days afterwards M. de Montmorin sent to say he wanted to speak
to me; that he would come to me, if he were not apprehensive his doing so
would attract observation; and that he thought it would appear less
conspicuous if he should see me in the Queen’s great closet at a time which
he specified, and when nobody would be there. I went. After having made
some polite observations upon the services I had already performed, and
those I might yet perform, for my master and mistress, he spoke to me of
the King’s imminent danger, of the plots which were hatching, and of the
lamentable composition of the Legislative Assembly; and he particularly
dwelt upon the necessity of appearing, by prudent remarks, determined as
much as possible to abide by the act the King had just recognised. I told
him that could not be done without committing ourselves in the eyes of the
royalist party, with which moderation was a crime; that it was painful to
hear ourselves taxed with being constitutionalists, at the same time that it
was our opinion that the only constitution which was consistent with the
King’s honour, and the happiness and tranquillity of his people, was the
absolute power of the sovereign; that this was my creed, and it would pain
me to give any room for suspicion that I was wavering in it.
“Could you ever believe,” said he, “that I should desire any other order of
things? Have you any doubt of my attachment to the King’s person, and the
maintenance of his rights?”
“I know it, Count,” replied I; “but you are not ignorant that you lie under
the imputation of having adopted revolutionary ideas.”
“Well, madame, have resolution enough to dissemble and to conceal your
real sentiments; dissimulation was never more necessary. Endeavours are
being made to paralyse the evil intentions of the factious as much as
possible; but we must not be counteracted here by certain dangerous
expressions which are circulated in Paris as coming from the King and
Queen.”
I told him that I had been already struck with apprehension of the evil
which might be done by the intemperate observations of persons who had
no power to act; and that I had felt ill consequences from having repeatedly
enjoined silence on those in the Queen’s service.
“I know that,” said the Count; “the Queen informed me of it, and that
determined me to come and request you to increase and keep alive, as much
as you can, that spirit of discretion which is so necessary.”
to me; that he would come to me, if he were not apprehensive his doing so
would attract observation; and that he thought it would appear less
conspicuous if he should see me in the Queen’s great closet at a time which
he specified, and when nobody would be there. I went. After having made
some polite observations upon the services I had already performed, and
those I might yet perform, for my master and mistress, he spoke to me of
the King’s imminent danger, of the plots which were hatching, and of the
lamentable composition of the Legislative Assembly; and he particularly
dwelt upon the necessity of appearing, by prudent remarks, determined as
much as possible to abide by the act the King had just recognised. I told
him that could not be done without committing ourselves in the eyes of the
royalist party, with which moderation was a crime; that it was painful to
hear ourselves taxed with being constitutionalists, at the same time that it
was our opinion that the only constitution which was consistent with the
King’s honour, and the happiness and tranquillity of his people, was the
absolute power of the sovereign; that this was my creed, and it would pain
me to give any room for suspicion that I was wavering in it.
“Could you ever believe,” said he, “that I should desire any other order of
things? Have you any doubt of my attachment to the King’s person, and the
maintenance of his rights?”
“I know it, Count,” replied I; “but you are not ignorant that you lie under
the imputation of having adopted revolutionary ideas.”
“Well, madame, have resolution enough to dissemble and to conceal your
real sentiments; dissimulation was never more necessary. Endeavours are
being made to paralyse the evil intentions of the factious as much as
possible; but we must not be counteracted here by certain dangerous
expressions which are circulated in Paris as coming from the King and
Queen.”
I told him that I had been already struck with apprehension of the evil
which might be done by the intemperate observations of persons who had
no power to act; and that I had felt ill consequences from having repeatedly
enjoined silence on those in the Queen’s service.
“I know that,” said the Count; “the Queen informed me of it, and that
determined me to come and request you to increase and keep alive, as much
as you can, that spirit of discretion which is so necessary.”
Page 302
While the household of the King and Queen were a prey to all these
fears, the festivities in celebration of the acceptance of the constitution
proceeded. Their Majesties went to the Opera; the audience consisted
entirely of persons who sided with the King, and on that day the happiness
of seeing him for a short time surrounded by faithful subjects might be
enjoyed. The acclamations were then sincere.
“La Coquette Corrigee” had been selected for representation at the
Theatre Francais solely because it was the piece in which Mademoiselle
Contat shone most. Yet the notions propagated by the Queen’s enemies
coinciding in my mind with the name of the play, I thought the choice very
ill-judged. I was at a loss, however, how to tell her Majesty so; but sincere
attachment gives courage. I explained myself; she was obliged to me, and
desired that another play might be performed. They accordingly selected
“La Gouvernante,” almost equally unfortunate in title.
The Queen, Madame the King’s daughter, and Madame Elisabeth were
all well received on this occasion. It is true that the opinions and feelings of
the spectators in the boxes could not be otherwise than favourable, and
great pains had been taken, previously to these two performances, to fill the
pit with proper persons. But, on the other hand, the Jacobins took the same
precautions on their side at the Theatre Italien, and the tumult was excessive
there. The play was Gretry’s “Les Evenements Imprevus.” Unfortunately,
Madame Dugazon thought proper to bow to the Queen as she sang the
words, “Ah, how I love my mistress!” in a duet. Above twenty voices
immediately exclaimed from the pit, “No mistress! no master! liberty!” A
few replied from the boxes and slips, “Vive le Roi! vive la Reine!” Those in
the pit answered, “No master! no Queen!” The quarrel increased; the pit
formed into parties; they began fighting, and the Jacobins were beaten; tufts
of their black hair flew about the theatre.—[At this time none but the
Jacobins had discontinued the use of hairpowder.—MADAME CAMPAN.]
—A military guard arrived. The Faubourg St. Antoine, hearing of what was
going on at the Theatre Italien, flocked together, and began to talk of
marching towards the scene of action. The Queen preserved the calmest
demeanour; the commandants of the guard surrounded and encouraged her;
they conducted themselves promptly and discreetly. No accident happened.
The Queen was highly applauded as she quitted the theatre; it was the last
time she was ever in one!
fears, the festivities in celebration of the acceptance of the constitution
proceeded. Their Majesties went to the Opera; the audience consisted
entirely of persons who sided with the King, and on that day the happiness
of seeing him for a short time surrounded by faithful subjects might be
enjoyed. The acclamations were then sincere.
“La Coquette Corrigee” had been selected for representation at the
Theatre Francais solely because it was the piece in which Mademoiselle
Contat shone most. Yet the notions propagated by the Queen’s enemies
coinciding in my mind with the name of the play, I thought the choice very
ill-judged. I was at a loss, however, how to tell her Majesty so; but sincere
attachment gives courage. I explained myself; she was obliged to me, and
desired that another play might be performed. They accordingly selected
“La Gouvernante,” almost equally unfortunate in title.
The Queen, Madame the King’s daughter, and Madame Elisabeth were
all well received on this occasion. It is true that the opinions and feelings of
the spectators in the boxes could not be otherwise than favourable, and
great pains had been taken, previously to these two performances, to fill the
pit with proper persons. But, on the other hand, the Jacobins took the same
precautions on their side at the Theatre Italien, and the tumult was excessive
there. The play was Gretry’s “Les Evenements Imprevus.” Unfortunately,
Madame Dugazon thought proper to bow to the Queen as she sang the
words, “Ah, how I love my mistress!” in a duet. Above twenty voices
immediately exclaimed from the pit, “No mistress! no master! liberty!” A
few replied from the boxes and slips, “Vive le Roi! vive la Reine!” Those in
the pit answered, “No master! no Queen!” The quarrel increased; the pit
formed into parties; they began fighting, and the Jacobins were beaten; tufts
of their black hair flew about the theatre.—[At this time none but the
Jacobins had discontinued the use of hairpowder.—MADAME CAMPAN.]
—A military guard arrived. The Faubourg St. Antoine, hearing of what was
going on at the Theatre Italien, flocked together, and began to talk of
marching towards the scene of action. The Queen preserved the calmest
demeanour; the commandants of the guard surrounded and encouraged her;
they conducted themselves promptly and discreetly. No accident happened.
The Queen was highly applauded as she quitted the theatre; it was the last
time she was ever in one!
Page 303
While couriers were bearing confidential letters from the King to the
Princes, his brothers, and to the foreign sovereigns, the Assembly invited
him to write to the Princes in order to induce them to return to France. The
King desired the Abbe de Montesquiou to write the letter he was to send;
this letter, which was admirably composed in a simple and affecting style,
suited to the character of Louis XVI., and filled with very powerful
arguments in favour of the advantages to be derived from adopting the
principles of the constitution, was confided to me by the King, who desired
me to make him a copy of it.
At this period M. M——-, one of the intendants of Monsieur’s
household, obtained a passport from the Assembly to join that Prince on
business relative to his domestic concerns. The Queen selected him to be
the bearer of this letter. She determined to give it to him herself, and to
inform him of its object. I was astonished at her choice of this courier. The
Queen assured me he was exactly the man for her purpose, that she relied
even upon his indiscretion, and that it was merely necessary that the letter
from the King to his brothers should be known to exist. The Princes were
doubtless informed beforehand on the subject by the private
correspondence. Monsieur nevertheless manifested some degree of surprise,
and the messenger returned more grieved than pleased at this mark of
confidence, which nearly cost him his life during the Reign of Terror.
Among the causes of uneasiness to the Queen there was one which was
but too well founded, the thoughtlessness of the French whom she sent to
foreign Courts. She used to say that they had no sooner passed the frontiers
than they disclosed the most secret matters relative to the King’s private
sentiments, and that the leaders of the Revolution were informed of them
through their agents, many of whom were Frenchmen who passed
themselves off as emigrants in the cause of their King.
After the acceptance of the constitution, the formation of the King’s
household, as well military as civil, formed a subject of attention. The Duc
de Brissac had the command of the Constitutional Guard, which was
composed of officers and men selected from the regiments, and of several
officers drawn from the National Guard of Paris. The King was satisfied
with the feelings and conduct of this band, which, as is well known, existed
but a very short time.
Princes, his brothers, and to the foreign sovereigns, the Assembly invited
him to write to the Princes in order to induce them to return to France. The
King desired the Abbe de Montesquiou to write the letter he was to send;
this letter, which was admirably composed in a simple and affecting style,
suited to the character of Louis XVI., and filled with very powerful
arguments in favour of the advantages to be derived from adopting the
principles of the constitution, was confided to me by the King, who desired
me to make him a copy of it.
At this period M. M——-, one of the intendants of Monsieur’s
household, obtained a passport from the Assembly to join that Prince on
business relative to his domestic concerns. The Queen selected him to be
the bearer of this letter. She determined to give it to him herself, and to
inform him of its object. I was astonished at her choice of this courier. The
Queen assured me he was exactly the man for her purpose, that she relied
even upon his indiscretion, and that it was merely necessary that the letter
from the King to his brothers should be known to exist. The Princes were
doubtless informed beforehand on the subject by the private
correspondence. Monsieur nevertheless manifested some degree of surprise,
and the messenger returned more grieved than pleased at this mark of
confidence, which nearly cost him his life during the Reign of Terror.
Among the causes of uneasiness to the Queen there was one which was
but too well founded, the thoughtlessness of the French whom she sent to
foreign Courts. She used to say that they had no sooner passed the frontiers
than they disclosed the most secret matters relative to the King’s private
sentiments, and that the leaders of the Revolution were informed of them
through their agents, many of whom were Frenchmen who passed
themselves off as emigrants in the cause of their King.
After the acceptance of the constitution, the formation of the King’s
household, as well military as civil, formed a subject of attention. The Duc
de Brissac had the command of the Constitutional Guard, which was
composed of officers and men selected from the regiments, and of several
officers drawn from the National Guard of Paris. The King was satisfied
with the feelings and conduct of this band, which, as is well known, existed
but a very short time.
Page 304
The new constitution abolished what were called honours, and the
prerogatives belonging to them. The Duchesse de Duras resigned her place
of lady of the bedchamber, not choosing to lose her right to the tabouret at
Court. This step hurt the Queen, who saw herself forsaken through the loss
of a petty privilege at a time when her own rights and even life were so
hotly attacked. Many ladies of rank left the Court for the same reason.
However, the King and Queen did not dare to form the civil part of their
household, lest by giving the new names of the posts they should
acknowledge the abolition of the old ones, and also lest they should admit
into the highest positions persons not calculated to fill them well. Some
time was spent in discussing the question, whether the household should be
formed without chevaliers and without ladies of honour. The Queen’s
constitutional advisers were of opinion that the Assembly, having decreed a
civil list adequate to uphold the splendour of the throne, would be
dissatisfied at seeing the King adopting only a military household, and not
forming his civil household upon the new constitutional plan. “How is it,
Madame,” wrote Barnave to the Queen, “that you will persist in giving
these people even the smallest doubt as to your sentiments? When they
decree you a civil and a military household, you, like young Achilles among
the daughters of Lycomedes, eagerly seize the sword and scorn the mere
ornaments.” The Queen persisted in her determination to have no civil
household. “If,” said she, “this constitutional household be formed, not a
single person of rank will remain with us, and upon a change of affairs we
should be obliged to discharge the persons received into their place.”
“Perhaps,” added she, “perhaps I might find one day that I had saved the
nobility, if I now had resolution enough to afflict them for a time; I have it
not. When any measure which injures them is wrested from us they sulk
with me; nobody comes to my card party; the King goes unattended to bed.
No allowance is made for political necessity; we are punished for our very
misfortunes.”
The Queen wrote almost all day, and spent part of the night in reading:
her courage supported her physical strength; her disposition was not at all
soured by misfortunes, and she was never seen in an ill-humour for a
moment. She was, however, held up to the people as a woman absolutely
furious and mad whenever the rights of the Crown were in any way
attacked.
prerogatives belonging to them. The Duchesse de Duras resigned her place
of lady of the bedchamber, not choosing to lose her right to the tabouret at
Court. This step hurt the Queen, who saw herself forsaken through the loss
of a petty privilege at a time when her own rights and even life were so
hotly attacked. Many ladies of rank left the Court for the same reason.
However, the King and Queen did not dare to form the civil part of their
household, lest by giving the new names of the posts they should
acknowledge the abolition of the old ones, and also lest they should admit
into the highest positions persons not calculated to fill them well. Some
time was spent in discussing the question, whether the household should be
formed without chevaliers and without ladies of honour. The Queen’s
constitutional advisers were of opinion that the Assembly, having decreed a
civil list adequate to uphold the splendour of the throne, would be
dissatisfied at seeing the King adopting only a military household, and not
forming his civil household upon the new constitutional plan. “How is it,
Madame,” wrote Barnave to the Queen, “that you will persist in giving
these people even the smallest doubt as to your sentiments? When they
decree you a civil and a military household, you, like young Achilles among
the daughters of Lycomedes, eagerly seize the sword and scorn the mere
ornaments.” The Queen persisted in her determination to have no civil
household. “If,” said she, “this constitutional household be formed, not a
single person of rank will remain with us, and upon a change of affairs we
should be obliged to discharge the persons received into their place.”
“Perhaps,” added she, “perhaps I might find one day that I had saved the
nobility, if I now had resolution enough to afflict them for a time; I have it
not. When any measure which injures them is wrested from us they sulk
with me; nobody comes to my card party; the King goes unattended to bed.
No allowance is made for political necessity; we are punished for our very
misfortunes.”
The Queen wrote almost all day, and spent part of the night in reading:
her courage supported her physical strength; her disposition was not at all
soured by misfortunes, and she was never seen in an ill-humour for a
moment. She was, however, held up to the people as a woman absolutely
furious and mad whenever the rights of the Crown were in any way
attacked.
Page 305
I was with her one day at one of her windows. We saw a man plainly
dressed, like an ecclesiastic, surrounded by an immense crowd. The Queen
imagined it was some abbe whom they were about to throw into the basin
of the Tuileries; she hastily opened her window and sent a valet de chambre
to know what was going forward in the garden. It was Abbe Gregoire,
whom the men and women of the tribunes were bringing back in triumph,
on account of a motion he had just made in the National Assembly against
the royal authority. On the following day the democratic journalists
described the Queen as witnessing this triumph, and showing, by expressive
gestures at her window, how highly she was exasperated by the honours
conferred upon the patriot.
The correspondence between the Queen and the foreign powers was
carried on in cipher. That to which she gave the preference can never be
detected; but the greatest patience is requisite for its use. Each
correspondent must have a copy of the same edition of some work. She
selected “Paul and Virginia.” The page and line in which the letters
required, and occasionally a monosyllable, are to be found are pointed out
in ciphers agreed upon. I assisted her in finding the letters, and frequently I
made an exact copy for her of all that she had ciphered, without knowing a
single word of its meaning.
There were always several secret committees in Paris occupied in
collecting information for the King respecting the measures of the factions,
and in influencing some of the committees of the Assembly. M. Bertrand de
Molleville was in close correspondence with the Queen. The King
employed M. Talon and others; much money was expended through the
latter channel for the secret measures. The Queen had no confidence in
them. M. de Laporte, minister of the civil list and of the household, also
attempted to give a bias to public opinion by means of hireling publications;
but these papers influenced none but the royalist party, which did not need
influencing. M. de Laporte had a private police which gave him some
useful information.
I determined to sacrifice myself to my duty, but by no means to any
intrigue, and I thought that, circumstanced as I was, I ought to confine
myself to obeying the Queen’s orders. I frequently sent off couriers to
foreign countries, and they were never discovered, so many precautions did
I take. I am indebted for the preservation of my own existence to the care I
dressed, like an ecclesiastic, surrounded by an immense crowd. The Queen
imagined it was some abbe whom they were about to throw into the basin
of the Tuileries; she hastily opened her window and sent a valet de chambre
to know what was going forward in the garden. It was Abbe Gregoire,
whom the men and women of the tribunes were bringing back in triumph,
on account of a motion he had just made in the National Assembly against
the royal authority. On the following day the democratic journalists
described the Queen as witnessing this triumph, and showing, by expressive
gestures at her window, how highly she was exasperated by the honours
conferred upon the patriot.
The correspondence between the Queen and the foreign powers was
carried on in cipher. That to which she gave the preference can never be
detected; but the greatest patience is requisite for its use. Each
correspondent must have a copy of the same edition of some work. She
selected “Paul and Virginia.” The page and line in which the letters
required, and occasionally a monosyllable, are to be found are pointed out
in ciphers agreed upon. I assisted her in finding the letters, and frequently I
made an exact copy for her of all that she had ciphered, without knowing a
single word of its meaning.
There were always several secret committees in Paris occupied in
collecting information for the King respecting the measures of the factions,
and in influencing some of the committees of the Assembly. M. Bertrand de
Molleville was in close correspondence with the Queen. The King
employed M. Talon and others; much money was expended through the
latter channel for the secret measures. The Queen had no confidence in
them. M. de Laporte, minister of the civil list and of the household, also
attempted to give a bias to public opinion by means of hireling publications;
but these papers influenced none but the royalist party, which did not need
influencing. M. de Laporte had a private police which gave him some
useful information.
I determined to sacrifice myself to my duty, but by no means to any
intrigue, and I thought that, circumstanced as I was, I ought to confine
myself to obeying the Queen’s orders. I frequently sent off couriers to
foreign countries, and they were never discovered, so many precautions did
I take. I am indebted for the preservation of my own existence to the care I
Page 306
took never to admit any deputy to my abode, and to refuse all interviews
which even people of the highest importance often requested of me; but this
line of conduct exposed me to every species of ill-will, and on the same day
I saw myself denounced by Prud’homme, in his ‘Gazette Revolutionnaire’,
as capable of making an aristocrat of the mother of the Gracchi, if a person
so dangerous as myself could have got into her household; and by
Gauthier’s Gazette Royaliste, as a monarchist, a constitutionalist, more
dangerous to the Queen’s interests than a Jacobin.
At this period an event with which I had nothing to do placed me in a still
more critical situation. My brother, M. Genet, began his diplomatic career
successfully. At eighteen he was attached to the embassy to Vienna; at
twenty he was appointed chief secretary of Legation in England, on
occasion of the peace of 1783. A memorial which he presented to M. de
Vergennes upon the dangers of the treaty of commerce then entered into
with England gave offence to M. de Calonne, a patron of that treaty, and
particularly to M. Gerard de Rayneval, chief clerk for foreign affairs. So
long as M. de Vergennes lived, having upon my father’s death declared
himself the protector of my brother, he supported him against the enemies
his views had created. But on his death M. de Montmorin, being much in
need of the long experience in business which he found in M. de Rayneval,
was guided solely by the latter. The office of which my brother was the
head was suppressed. He then went to St. Petersburg, strongly
recommended to the Comte de Segur, minister from France to that Court,
who appointed him secretary of Legation. Some time afterwards the Comte
de Segur left him at St. Petersburg, charged with the affairs of France. After
his return from Russia, M. Genet was appointed ambassador to the United
States by the party called Girondists, the deputies who headed it being from
the department of the Gironde. He was recalled by the Robespierre party,
which overthrew the former faction, on the 31st of May, 1793, and
condemned to appear before the Convention. Vice-President Clinton, at that
time Governor of New York, offered him an asylum in his house and the
hand of his daughter, and M. Genet established himself prosperously in
America.
When my brother quitted Versailles he was much hurt at being deprived
of a considerable income for having penned a memorial which his zeal
alone had dictated, and the importance of which was afterwards but too well
understood. I perceived from his correspondence that he inclined to some of
which even people of the highest importance often requested of me; but this
line of conduct exposed me to every species of ill-will, and on the same day
I saw myself denounced by Prud’homme, in his ‘Gazette Revolutionnaire’,
as capable of making an aristocrat of the mother of the Gracchi, if a person
so dangerous as myself could have got into her household; and by
Gauthier’s Gazette Royaliste, as a monarchist, a constitutionalist, more
dangerous to the Queen’s interests than a Jacobin.
At this period an event with which I had nothing to do placed me in a still
more critical situation. My brother, M. Genet, began his diplomatic career
successfully. At eighteen he was attached to the embassy to Vienna; at
twenty he was appointed chief secretary of Legation in England, on
occasion of the peace of 1783. A memorial which he presented to M. de
Vergennes upon the dangers of the treaty of commerce then entered into
with England gave offence to M. de Calonne, a patron of that treaty, and
particularly to M. Gerard de Rayneval, chief clerk for foreign affairs. So
long as M. de Vergennes lived, having upon my father’s death declared
himself the protector of my brother, he supported him against the enemies
his views had created. But on his death M. de Montmorin, being much in
need of the long experience in business which he found in M. de Rayneval,
was guided solely by the latter. The office of which my brother was the
head was suppressed. He then went to St. Petersburg, strongly
recommended to the Comte de Segur, minister from France to that Court,
who appointed him secretary of Legation. Some time afterwards the Comte
de Segur left him at St. Petersburg, charged with the affairs of France. After
his return from Russia, M. Genet was appointed ambassador to the United
States by the party called Girondists, the deputies who headed it being from
the department of the Gironde. He was recalled by the Robespierre party,
which overthrew the former faction, on the 31st of May, 1793, and
condemned to appear before the Convention. Vice-President Clinton, at that
time Governor of New York, offered him an asylum in his house and the
hand of his daughter, and M. Genet established himself prosperously in
America.
When my brother quitted Versailles he was much hurt at being deprived
of a considerable income for having penned a memorial which his zeal
alone had dictated, and the importance of which was afterwards but too well
understood. I perceived from his correspondence that he inclined to some of
Page 307
the new notions. He told me it was right he should no longer conceal from
me that he sided with the constitutional party; that the King had in fact
commanded it, having himself accepted the constitution; that he would
proceed firmly in that course, because in this case disingenuousness would
be fatal, and that he took that side of the question because he had had it
proved to him that the foreign powers would not serve the King’s cause
without advancing pretensions prompted by long-standing interests, which
always would influence their councils; that he saw no salvation for the King
and Queen but from within France, and that he would serve the
constitutional King as he served him before the Revolution. And lastly, he
requested me to impart to the Queen the real sentiments of one of his
Majesty’s agents at a foreign Court. I immediately went to the Queen and
gave her my brother’s letter; she read it attentively, and said, “This is the
letter of a young man led astray by discontent and ambition; I know you do
not think as he does; do not fear that you will lose the confidence of the
King and myself.” I offered to discontinue all correspondence with my
brother; she opposed that, saying it would be dangerous. I then entreated
she would permit me in future to show her my own and my brother’s letters,
to which she consented. I wrote warmly to my brother against the course he
had adopted. I sent my letters by sure channels; he answered me by the
post, and no longer touched upon anything but family affairs. Once only he
informed me that if I should write to him respecting the affairs of the day he
would give me no answer. “Serve your august mistress with the unbounded
devotion which is due from you,” said he, “and let us each do our duty. I
will only observe to you that at Paris the fogs of the Seine often prevent
people from seeing that immense capital, even from the Pavilion of Flora,
and I see it more clearly from St. Petersburg.” The Queen said, as she read
this letter, “Perhaps he speaks but too truly; who can decide upon so
disastrous a position as ours has become?” The day on which I gave the
Queen my brother’s first letter to read she had several audiences to give to
ladies and other persons belonging to the Court, who came on purpose to
inform her that my brother was an avowed constitutionalist and
revolutionist. The Queen replied, “I know it; Madame Campan has told me
so.” Persons jealous of my situation having subjected me to mortifications,
and these unpleasant circumstances recurring daily, I requested the Queen’s
permission to withdraw from Court. She exclaimed against the very idea,
represented it to me as extremely dangerous for my own reputation, and had
me that he sided with the constitutional party; that the King had in fact
commanded it, having himself accepted the constitution; that he would
proceed firmly in that course, because in this case disingenuousness would
be fatal, and that he took that side of the question because he had had it
proved to him that the foreign powers would not serve the King’s cause
without advancing pretensions prompted by long-standing interests, which
always would influence their councils; that he saw no salvation for the King
and Queen but from within France, and that he would serve the
constitutional King as he served him before the Revolution. And lastly, he
requested me to impart to the Queen the real sentiments of one of his
Majesty’s agents at a foreign Court. I immediately went to the Queen and
gave her my brother’s letter; she read it attentively, and said, “This is the
letter of a young man led astray by discontent and ambition; I know you do
not think as he does; do not fear that you will lose the confidence of the
King and myself.” I offered to discontinue all correspondence with my
brother; she opposed that, saying it would be dangerous. I then entreated
she would permit me in future to show her my own and my brother’s letters,
to which she consented. I wrote warmly to my brother against the course he
had adopted. I sent my letters by sure channels; he answered me by the
post, and no longer touched upon anything but family affairs. Once only he
informed me that if I should write to him respecting the affairs of the day he
would give me no answer. “Serve your august mistress with the unbounded
devotion which is due from you,” said he, “and let us each do our duty. I
will only observe to you that at Paris the fogs of the Seine often prevent
people from seeing that immense capital, even from the Pavilion of Flora,
and I see it more clearly from St. Petersburg.” The Queen said, as she read
this letter, “Perhaps he speaks but too truly; who can decide upon so
disastrous a position as ours has become?” The day on which I gave the
Queen my brother’s first letter to read she had several audiences to give to
ladies and other persons belonging to the Court, who came on purpose to
inform her that my brother was an avowed constitutionalist and
revolutionist. The Queen replied, “I know it; Madame Campan has told me
so.” Persons jealous of my situation having subjected me to mortifications,
and these unpleasant circumstances recurring daily, I requested the Queen’s
permission to withdraw from Court. She exclaimed against the very idea,
represented it to me as extremely dangerous for my own reputation, and had
Page 308
the kindness to add that, for my sake as well as for her own, she never
would consent to it. After this conversation I retired to my apartment. A few
minutes later a footman brought me this note from the Queen: “I have never
ceased to give you and yours proofs of my attachment; I wish to tell you in
writing that I have full faith in your honour and fidelity, as well as in your
other good qualities; and that I ever rely on the zeal and address you exert
to serve me.”
[I had just received this letter from the Queen when M. de
la Chapelle, commissary-general of the King’s household,
and head of the offices of M. de Laporte, minister of the civil
list, came to see me. The palace having been already sacked
by the brigands on the 20th of June, 1792, he proposed that I
should entrust the paper to him, that he might place it in a
safer situation than the apartments of the Queen. When he
returned into his offices he placed the letter she had
condescended to write to me behind a large picture in his
closet; but on the loth of August M. de la Chapelle was
thrown into the prisons of the Abbaye, and the committee of
public safety established themselves in his offices, whence
they issued all their decrees of death. There it was that a
villainous servant belonging to M. de Laporte went to
declare that in the minister’s apartments, under a board in
the floor, a number of papers would be found. They were
brought forth, and M. de Laporte was sent to the scaffold,
where he suffered for having betrayed the State by serving
his master and sovereign. M. de la Chapelle was saved, as if
by a miracle, from the massacres of the 2d of September. The
committee of public safety having removed to the King’s
apartments at the Tuileries, M. de la Chapelle had
permission to return to his closet to take away some property
belonging to him. Turning round the picture, behind which
he had hidden the Queen’s letter, he found it in the place into
which he had slipped it, and, delighted to see that I was safe
from the ill consequences the discovery of this paper might
have brought upon me, he burnt it instantly. In times of
would consent to it. After this conversation I retired to my apartment. A few
minutes later a footman brought me this note from the Queen: “I have never
ceased to give you and yours proofs of my attachment; I wish to tell you in
writing that I have full faith in your honour and fidelity, as well as in your
other good qualities; and that I ever rely on the zeal and address you exert
to serve me.”
[I had just received this letter from the Queen when M. de
la Chapelle, commissary-general of the King’s household,
and head of the offices of M. de Laporte, minister of the civil
list, came to see me. The palace having been already sacked
by the brigands on the 20th of June, 1792, he proposed that I
should entrust the paper to him, that he might place it in a
safer situation than the apartments of the Queen. When he
returned into his offices he placed the letter she had
condescended to write to me behind a large picture in his
closet; but on the loth of August M. de la Chapelle was
thrown into the prisons of the Abbaye, and the committee of
public safety established themselves in his offices, whence
they issued all their decrees of death. There it was that a
villainous servant belonging to M. de Laporte went to
declare that in the minister’s apartments, under a board in
the floor, a number of papers would be found. They were
brought forth, and M. de Laporte was sent to the scaffold,
where he suffered for having betrayed the State by serving
his master and sovereign. M. de la Chapelle was saved, as if
by a miracle, from the massacres of the 2d of September. The
committee of public safety having removed to the King’s
apartments at the Tuileries, M. de la Chapelle had
permission to return to his closet to take away some property
belonging to him. Turning round the picture, behind which
he had hidden the Queen’s letter, he found it in the place into
which he had slipped it, and, delighted to see that I was safe
from the ill consequences the discovery of this paper might
have brought upon me, he burnt it instantly. In times of
Page 309
danger a mere nothing may save life or destroy it.—
MADAME CAMPAN]
At the moment that I was going to express my gratitude to the Queen I
heard a tapping at the door of my room, which opened upon the Queen’s
inner corridor. I opened it; it was the King. I was confused; he perceived it,
and said to me, kindly: “I alarm you, Madame Campan; I come, however, to
comfort you; the Queen has told me how much she is hurt at the injustice of
several persons towards you. But how is it that you complain of injustice
and calumny when you see that we are victims of them? In some of your
companions it is jealousy; in the people belonging to the Court it is anxiety.
Our situation is so disastrous, and we have met with so much ingratitude
and treachery, that the apprehensions of those who love us are excusable! I
could quiet them by telling them all the secret services you perform for us
daily; but I will not do it. Out of good-will to you they would repeat all I
should say, and you would be lost with the Assembly. It is much better, both
for you and for us, that you should be thought a constitutionalist. It has been
mentioned to me a hundred times already; I have never contradicted it; but I
come to give you my word that if we are fortunate enough to see an end of
all this, I will, at the Queen’s residence, and in the presence of my brothers,
relate the important services you have rendered us, and I will recompense
you and your son for them.” I threw myself at the King’s feet and kissed his
hand. He raised me up, saying, “Come, come, do not grieve; the Queen,
who loves you, confides in you as I do.”
Down to the day of the acceptance it was impossible to introduce
Barnave into the interior of the palace; but when the Queen was free from
the inner guard she said she would see him. The very great precautions
which it was necessary for the deputy to take in order to conceal his
connection with the King and Queen compelled them to spend two hours
waiting for him in one of the corridors of the Tuileries, and all in vain. The
first day that he was to be admitted, a man whom Barnave knew to be
dangerous having met him in the courtyard of the palace, he determined to
cross it without stopping, and walked in the gardens in order to lull
suspicion. I was desired to wait for Barnave at a little door belonging to the
entresols of the palace, with my hand upon the open lock. I was in that
position for an hour. The King came to me frequently, and always to speak
to me of the uneasiness which a servant belonging to the Chateau, who was
MADAME CAMPAN]
At the moment that I was going to express my gratitude to the Queen I
heard a tapping at the door of my room, which opened upon the Queen’s
inner corridor. I opened it; it was the King. I was confused; he perceived it,
and said to me, kindly: “I alarm you, Madame Campan; I come, however, to
comfort you; the Queen has told me how much she is hurt at the injustice of
several persons towards you. But how is it that you complain of injustice
and calumny when you see that we are victims of them? In some of your
companions it is jealousy; in the people belonging to the Court it is anxiety.
Our situation is so disastrous, and we have met with so much ingratitude
and treachery, that the apprehensions of those who love us are excusable! I
could quiet them by telling them all the secret services you perform for us
daily; but I will not do it. Out of good-will to you they would repeat all I
should say, and you would be lost with the Assembly. It is much better, both
for you and for us, that you should be thought a constitutionalist. It has been
mentioned to me a hundred times already; I have never contradicted it; but I
come to give you my word that if we are fortunate enough to see an end of
all this, I will, at the Queen’s residence, and in the presence of my brothers,
relate the important services you have rendered us, and I will recompense
you and your son for them.” I threw myself at the King’s feet and kissed his
hand. He raised me up, saying, “Come, come, do not grieve; the Queen,
who loves you, confides in you as I do.”
Down to the day of the acceptance it was impossible to introduce
Barnave into the interior of the palace; but when the Queen was free from
the inner guard she said she would see him. The very great precautions
which it was necessary for the deputy to take in order to conceal his
connection with the King and Queen compelled them to spend two hours
waiting for him in one of the corridors of the Tuileries, and all in vain. The
first day that he was to be admitted, a man whom Barnave knew to be
dangerous having met him in the courtyard of the palace, he determined to
cross it without stopping, and walked in the gardens in order to lull
suspicion. I was desired to wait for Barnave at a little door belonging to the
entresols of the palace, with my hand upon the open lock. I was in that
position for an hour. The King came to me frequently, and always to speak
to me of the uneasiness which a servant belonging to the Chateau, who was
Page 310
a patriot, gave him. He came again to ask me whether I had heard the door
called de Decret opened. I assured him nobody had been in the corridor, and
he became easy. He was dreadfully apprehensive that his connection with
Barnave would be discovered. “It would,” said the King, “be a ground for
grave accusations, and the unfortunate man would be lost.” I then ventured
to remind his Majesty that as Barnave was not the only one in the secret of
the business which brought him in contact with their Majesties, one of his
colleagues might be induced to speak of the association with which they
were honoured, and that in letting them know by my presence that I also
was informed of it, a risk was incurred of removing from those gentlemen
part of the responsibility of the secret. Upon this observation the King
quitted me hastily and returned a moment afterwards with the Queen. “Give
me your place,” said she; “I will wait for him in my turn. You have
convinced the King. We must not increase in their eyes the number of
persons informed of their communications with us.”
The police of M. de Laporte, intendant of the civil list, apprised him, as
early as the latter end of 1791, that a man belonging to the King’s offices
who had set up as a pastrycook at the Palais Royal was about to resume the
duties of his situation, which had devolved upon him again on the death of
one who held it for life; that he was so furious a Jacobin that he had dared
to say it would be a good thing for France if the King’s days were
shortened. His duty was confined to making the pastry; he was closely
watched by the head officers of the kitchen, who were devoted to his
Majesty; but it is so easy to introduce a subtle poison into made dishes that
it was determined the King and Queen should eat only plain roast meat in
future; that their bread should be brought to them by M. Thierry de Ville-
d’Avray, intendant of the smaller apartments, and that he should likewise
take upon himself to supply the wine. The King was fond of pastry; I was
directed to order some, as if for myself, sometimes of one pastry-cook, and
sometimes of another. The pounded sugar, too, was kept in my room. The
King, the Queen, and Madame Elisabeth ate together, and nobody remained
to wait on them. Each had a dumb waiter and a little bell to call the servants
when they were wanted. M. Thierry used himself to bring me their
Majesties’ bread and wine, and I locked them up in a private cupboard in
the King’s closet on the ground floor. As soon as the King sat down to table
I took in the pastry and bread. All was hidden under the table lest it might
be necessary to have the servants in. The King thought it dangerous as well
called de Decret opened. I assured him nobody had been in the corridor, and
he became easy. He was dreadfully apprehensive that his connection with
Barnave would be discovered. “It would,” said the King, “be a ground for
grave accusations, and the unfortunate man would be lost.” I then ventured
to remind his Majesty that as Barnave was not the only one in the secret of
the business which brought him in contact with their Majesties, one of his
colleagues might be induced to speak of the association with which they
were honoured, and that in letting them know by my presence that I also
was informed of it, a risk was incurred of removing from those gentlemen
part of the responsibility of the secret. Upon this observation the King
quitted me hastily and returned a moment afterwards with the Queen. “Give
me your place,” said she; “I will wait for him in my turn. You have
convinced the King. We must not increase in their eyes the number of
persons informed of their communications with us.”
The police of M. de Laporte, intendant of the civil list, apprised him, as
early as the latter end of 1791, that a man belonging to the King’s offices
who had set up as a pastrycook at the Palais Royal was about to resume the
duties of his situation, which had devolved upon him again on the death of
one who held it for life; that he was so furious a Jacobin that he had dared
to say it would be a good thing for France if the King’s days were
shortened. His duty was confined to making the pastry; he was closely
watched by the head officers of the kitchen, who were devoted to his
Majesty; but it is so easy to introduce a subtle poison into made dishes that
it was determined the King and Queen should eat only plain roast meat in
future; that their bread should be brought to them by M. Thierry de Ville-
d’Avray, intendant of the smaller apartments, and that he should likewise
take upon himself to supply the wine. The King was fond of pastry; I was
directed to order some, as if for myself, sometimes of one pastry-cook, and
sometimes of another. The pounded sugar, too, was kept in my room. The
King, the Queen, and Madame Elisabeth ate together, and nobody remained
to wait on them. Each had a dumb waiter and a little bell to call the servants
when they were wanted. M. Thierry used himself to bring me their
Majesties’ bread and wine, and I locked them up in a private cupboard in
the King’s closet on the ground floor. As soon as the King sat down to table
I took in the pastry and bread. All was hidden under the table lest it might
be necessary to have the servants in. The King thought it dangerous as well
Page 311
as distressing to show any apprehension of attempts against his person, or
any mistrust of his officers of the kitchen. As he never drank a whole bottle
of wine at his meals (the Princesses drank nothing but water), he filled up
that out of which he had drunk about half from the bottle served up by the
officers of his butlery. I took it away after dinner. Although he never ate any
other pastry than that which I brought, he took care in the same manner that
it should seem that he had eaten of that served at table. The lady who
succeeded me found this duty all regulated, and she executed it in the same
manner; the public never was in possession of these particulars, nor of the
apprehensions which gave rise to them. At the end of three or four months
the police of M. de Laporte gave notice that nothing more was to be
dreaded from that sort of plot against the King’s life; that the plan was
entirely changed; and that all the blows now to be struck would be directed
as much against the throne as against the person of the sovereign.
There are others besides myself who know that at this time one of the
things about which the Queen most desired to be satisfied was the opinion
of the famous Pitt. She would sometimes say to me, “I never pronounce the
name of Pitt without feeling a chill like that of death.” (I repeat here her
very expressions.) “That man is the mortal enemy of France; and he takes a
dreadful revenge for the impolitic support given by the Cabinet of Versailles
to the American insurgents. He wishes by our destruction to guarantee the
maritime power of his country forever against the efforts made by the King
to improve his marine power and their happy results during the last war. He
knows that it is not only the King’s policy but his private inclination to be
solicitous about his fleets, and that the most active step he has taken during
his whole reign was to visit the port of Cherbourg. Pitt had served the cause
of the French Revolution from the first disturbances; he will perhaps serve
it until its annihilation. I will endeavour to learn to what point he intends to
lead us, and I am sending M.——- to London for that purpose. He has been
intimately connected with Pitt, and they have often had political
conversations respecting the French Government. I will get him to make
him speak out, at least so far as such a man can speak out.” Some time
afterwards the Queen told me that her secret envoy was returned from
London, and that all he had been able to wring from Pitt, whom he found
alarmingly reserved, was that he would not suffer the French monarchy to
perish; that to suffer the revolutionary spirit to erect an organised republic
in France would be a great error, affecting the tranquillity of Europe.
any mistrust of his officers of the kitchen. As he never drank a whole bottle
of wine at his meals (the Princesses drank nothing but water), he filled up
that out of which he had drunk about half from the bottle served up by the
officers of his butlery. I took it away after dinner. Although he never ate any
other pastry than that which I brought, he took care in the same manner that
it should seem that he had eaten of that served at table. The lady who
succeeded me found this duty all regulated, and she executed it in the same
manner; the public never was in possession of these particulars, nor of the
apprehensions which gave rise to them. At the end of three or four months
the police of M. de Laporte gave notice that nothing more was to be
dreaded from that sort of plot against the King’s life; that the plan was
entirely changed; and that all the blows now to be struck would be directed
as much against the throne as against the person of the sovereign.
There are others besides myself who know that at this time one of the
things about which the Queen most desired to be satisfied was the opinion
of the famous Pitt. She would sometimes say to me, “I never pronounce the
name of Pitt without feeling a chill like that of death.” (I repeat here her
very expressions.) “That man is the mortal enemy of France; and he takes a
dreadful revenge for the impolitic support given by the Cabinet of Versailles
to the American insurgents. He wishes by our destruction to guarantee the
maritime power of his country forever against the efforts made by the King
to improve his marine power and their happy results during the last war. He
knows that it is not only the King’s policy but his private inclination to be
solicitous about his fleets, and that the most active step he has taken during
his whole reign was to visit the port of Cherbourg. Pitt had served the cause
of the French Revolution from the first disturbances; he will perhaps serve
it until its annihilation. I will endeavour to learn to what point he intends to
lead us, and I am sending M.——- to London for that purpose. He has been
intimately connected with Pitt, and they have often had political
conversations respecting the French Government. I will get him to make
him speak out, at least so far as such a man can speak out.” Some time
afterwards the Queen told me that her secret envoy was returned from
London, and that all he had been able to wring from Pitt, whom he found
alarmingly reserved, was that he would not suffer the French monarchy to
perish; that to suffer the revolutionary spirit to erect an organised republic
in France would be a great error, affecting the tranquillity of Europe.
Page 312
“Whenever,” said she, “Pitt expressed himself upon the necessity of
supporting monarchy in France, he maintained the most profound silence
upon what concerns the monarch. The result of these conversations is
anything but encouraging; but, even as to that monarchy which he wishes to
save, will he have means and strength to save it if he suffers us to fall?”
The death of the Emperor Leopold took place on the 1st of March, 1792.
When the news of this event reached the Tuileries, the Queen was gone out.
Upon her return I put the letter containing it into her hands. She exclaimed
that the Emperor had been poisoned; that she had remarked and preserved a
newspaper, in which, in an article upon the sitting of the Jacobins, at the
time when the Emperor Leopold declared for the coalition, it was said,
speaking of him, that a pie-crust would settle that matter. At this period
Barnave obtained the Queen’s consent that he should read all the letters she
should write. He was fearful of private correspondences that might hamper
the plan marked out for her; he mistrusted her Majesty’s sincerity on this
point; and the diversity of counsels, and the necessity of yielding, on the
one hand, to some of the views of the constitutionalists, and on the other, to
those of the French Princes, and even of foreign Courts, were unfortunately
the circumstances which most rapidly impelled the Court towards its ruin.
However, the emigrants showed great apprehensions of the consequences
which might follow in the interior from a connection with the
constitutionalists, whom they described as a party existing only in idea, and
totally without means of repairing their errors. The Jacobins were preferred
to them, because, said they, there would be no treaty to be made with any
one at the moment of extricating the King and his family from the abyss in
which they were plunged.
supporting monarchy in France, he maintained the most profound silence
upon what concerns the monarch. The result of these conversations is
anything but encouraging; but, even as to that monarchy which he wishes to
save, will he have means and strength to save it if he suffers us to fall?”
The death of the Emperor Leopold took place on the 1st of March, 1792.
When the news of this event reached the Tuileries, the Queen was gone out.
Upon her return I put the letter containing it into her hands. She exclaimed
that the Emperor had been poisoned; that she had remarked and preserved a
newspaper, in which, in an article upon the sitting of the Jacobins, at the
time when the Emperor Leopold declared for the coalition, it was said,
speaking of him, that a pie-crust would settle that matter. At this period
Barnave obtained the Queen’s consent that he should read all the letters she
should write. He was fearful of private correspondences that might hamper
the plan marked out for her; he mistrusted her Majesty’s sincerity on this
point; and the diversity of counsels, and the necessity of yielding, on the
one hand, to some of the views of the constitutionalists, and on the other, to
those of the French Princes, and even of foreign Courts, were unfortunately
the circumstances which most rapidly impelled the Court towards its ruin.
However, the emigrants showed great apprehensions of the consequences
which might follow in the interior from a connection with the
constitutionalists, whom they described as a party existing only in idea, and
totally without means of repairing their errors. The Jacobins were preferred
to them, because, said they, there would be no treaty to be made with any
one at the moment of extricating the King and his family from the abyss in
which they were plunged.
Page 313
CHAPTER VII.
In the beginning of the year 1792, a worthy priest requested a private
interview with me. He had learned the existence of a new libel by Madame
de Lamotte. He told me that the people who came from London to get it
printed in Paris only desired gain, and that they were ready to deliver the
manuscript to him for a thousand louis, if he could find any friend of the
Queen disposed to make that sacrifice for her peace; that he had thought of
me, and if her Majesty would give him the twenty-four thousand francs, he
would hand the manuscript to me.
I communicated this proposal to the Queen, who rejected it, and desired
me to answer that at the time when she had power to punish the hawkers of
these libels she deemed them so atrocious and incredible that she despised
them too much to stop them; that if she were imprudent and weak enough to
buy a single one of them, the Jacobins might possibly discover the
circumstance through their espionage; that were this libel brought up, it
would be printed nevertheless, and would be much more dangerous when
they apprised the public of the means she had used to suppress it.
Baron d’Aubier, gentleman-in-ordinary to the King, and my particular
friend, had a good memory and a clear way of communicating the substance
of the debates and decrees of the National Assembly. I went daily to the
Queen’s apartments to repeat all this to the King, who used to say, on seeing
me, “Ah! here’s the Postillon par Calais,”—a newspaper of the time.
M. d’Aubier one day said to me: “The Assembly has been much occupied
with an information laid by the workmen of the Sevres manufactory. They
brought to the President’s office a bundle of pamphlets which they said
were the life of Marie Antoinette. The director of the manufactory was
ordered up to the bar, and declared he had received orders to burn the
printed sheets in question in the furnaces used for baking his china.”
While I was relating this business to the Queen the King coloured and
held his head down over his plate. The Queen said to him, “Do you know
In the beginning of the year 1792, a worthy priest requested a private
interview with me. He had learned the existence of a new libel by Madame
de Lamotte. He told me that the people who came from London to get it
printed in Paris only desired gain, and that they were ready to deliver the
manuscript to him for a thousand louis, if he could find any friend of the
Queen disposed to make that sacrifice for her peace; that he had thought of
me, and if her Majesty would give him the twenty-four thousand francs, he
would hand the manuscript to me.
I communicated this proposal to the Queen, who rejected it, and desired
me to answer that at the time when she had power to punish the hawkers of
these libels she deemed them so atrocious and incredible that she despised
them too much to stop them; that if she were imprudent and weak enough to
buy a single one of them, the Jacobins might possibly discover the
circumstance through their espionage; that were this libel brought up, it
would be printed nevertheless, and would be much more dangerous when
they apprised the public of the means she had used to suppress it.
Baron d’Aubier, gentleman-in-ordinary to the King, and my particular
friend, had a good memory and a clear way of communicating the substance
of the debates and decrees of the National Assembly. I went daily to the
Queen’s apartments to repeat all this to the King, who used to say, on seeing
me, “Ah! here’s the Postillon par Calais,”—a newspaper of the time.
M. d’Aubier one day said to me: “The Assembly has been much occupied
with an information laid by the workmen of the Sevres manufactory. They
brought to the President’s office a bundle of pamphlets which they said
were the life of Marie Antoinette. The director of the manufactory was
ordered up to the bar, and declared he had received orders to burn the
printed sheets in question in the furnaces used for baking his china.”
While I was relating this business to the Queen the King coloured and
held his head down over his plate. The Queen said to him, “Do you know
Page 314
anything about this, Sire?” The King made no answer. Madame Elisabeth
requested him to explain what it meant. Louis was still silent. I withdrew
hastily. A few minutes afterwards the Queen came to my room and
informed me that the King, out of regard for her, had purchased the whole
edition struck off from the manuscript which I had mentioned to her, and
that M. de Laporte had not been able to devise any more secret way of
destroying the work than that of having it burnt at Sevres, among two
hundred workmen, one hundred and eighty of whom must, in all
probability, be Jacobins! She told me she had concealed her vexation from
the King; that he was in consternation, and that she could say nothing, since
his good intentions and his affection for her had been the cause of the
mistake.
[M. de Laporte had by order of the King bought up the
whole edition of the “Memoirs” of the notorious Madame de
Lamotte against the Queen. Instead of destroying them
immediately, he shut them up in one of the closets in his
house, The alarming and rapid growth of the rebellion, the
arrogance of the crowd of brigands, who in great measure
composed the populace of Paris, and the fresh excesses daily
resulting from it, rendered the intendant of the civil list
apprehensive that some mob might break into his house,
carry off these “Memoirs,” and spread them among the
public. In order to prevent this he gave orders to have the
“Memoirs” burnt with every necessary precaution; and the
clerk who received the order entrusted the execution of it to
a man named Riston, a dangerous Intriguer, formerly an
advocate of Nancy, who had a twelve-month before escaped
the gallows by favour of the new principles and the
patriotism of the new tribunals, although convicted of
forging the great seal, and fabricating decrees of the
council. This Riston, finding himself entrusted with a
commission which concerned her Majesty, and the mystery
attending which bespoke something of importance, was less
anxious to execute it faithfully than to make a parade of this
mark of confidence. On the 30th of May, at ten in the
morning, he had the sheets carried to the porcelain
requested him to explain what it meant. Louis was still silent. I withdrew
hastily. A few minutes afterwards the Queen came to my room and
informed me that the King, out of regard for her, had purchased the whole
edition struck off from the manuscript which I had mentioned to her, and
that M. de Laporte had not been able to devise any more secret way of
destroying the work than that of having it burnt at Sevres, among two
hundred workmen, one hundred and eighty of whom must, in all
probability, be Jacobins! She told me she had concealed her vexation from
the King; that he was in consternation, and that she could say nothing, since
his good intentions and his affection for her had been the cause of the
mistake.
[M. de Laporte had by order of the King bought up the
whole edition of the “Memoirs” of the notorious Madame de
Lamotte against the Queen. Instead of destroying them
immediately, he shut them up in one of the closets in his
house, The alarming and rapid growth of the rebellion, the
arrogance of the crowd of brigands, who in great measure
composed the populace of Paris, and the fresh excesses daily
resulting from it, rendered the intendant of the civil list
apprehensive that some mob might break into his house,
carry off these “Memoirs,” and spread them among the
public. In order to prevent this he gave orders to have the
“Memoirs” burnt with every necessary precaution; and the
clerk who received the order entrusted the execution of it to
a man named Riston, a dangerous Intriguer, formerly an
advocate of Nancy, who had a twelve-month before escaped
the gallows by favour of the new principles and the
patriotism of the new tribunals, although convicted of
forging the great seal, and fabricating decrees of the
council. This Riston, finding himself entrusted with a
commission which concerned her Majesty, and the mystery
attending which bespoke something of importance, was less
anxious to execute it faithfully than to make a parade of this
mark of confidence. On the 30th of May, at ten in the
morning, he had the sheets carried to the porcelain
Page 315
manufactory at Sevres, in a cart which he himself
accompanied, and made a large fire of them before all the
workmen, who were expressly forbidden to approach it. All
these precautions, and the suspicions to which they gave
rise, under such critical circumstances, gave so much
publicity to this affair that it was denounced to the Assembly
that very night. Brissot, and the whole Jacobin party, with
equal effrontery and vehemence, insisted that the papers
thus secretly burnt could be no other than the registers and
documents of the correspondence of the Austrian committee.
M. de Laporte was ordered to the bar, and there gave the
most precise account of the circumstances. Riston was also
called up, and confirmed M. de Laporte’s deposition. But
these explanations, however satisfactory, did not calm the
violent ferment raised in the Assembly by this affair.
—“Memoirs of Bertrand de Molleville.”]
Some time afterwards the Assembly received a denunciation against M.
de Montmorin. The ex-minister was accused of having neglected forty
despatches from M. Genet, the charge d’affaires from France in Russia, not
having even unsealed them, because M. Genet acted on constitutional
principles. M. de Montmorin appeared at the bar to answer this accusation.
Whatever distress I might feel in obeying the order I had received from the
King to go and give him an account of the sitting, I thought I ought not to
fail in doing so. But instead of giving my brother his family name, I merely
said “your Majesty’s charge d’affaires at St. Petersburg.”
The King did me the favour to say that he noticed a reserve in my
account, of which he approved. The Queen condescended to add a few
obliging remarks to those of the King. However, my office of journalist
gave me in this instance so much pain that I took an opportunity, when the
King was expressing his satisfaction to me at the manner in which I gave
him this daily account, to tell him that its merits belonged wholly to M.
d’Aubier; and I ventured to request the King to suffer that excellent man to
give him an account of the sittings himself. I assured the King that if he
would permit it, that gentleman might proceed to the Queen’s apartments
through mine unseen; the King consented to the arrangement.
accompanied, and made a large fire of them before all the
workmen, who were expressly forbidden to approach it. All
these precautions, and the suspicions to which they gave
rise, under such critical circumstances, gave so much
publicity to this affair that it was denounced to the Assembly
that very night. Brissot, and the whole Jacobin party, with
equal effrontery and vehemence, insisted that the papers
thus secretly burnt could be no other than the registers and
documents of the correspondence of the Austrian committee.
M. de Laporte was ordered to the bar, and there gave the
most precise account of the circumstances. Riston was also
called up, and confirmed M. de Laporte’s deposition. But
these explanations, however satisfactory, did not calm the
violent ferment raised in the Assembly by this affair.
—“Memoirs of Bertrand de Molleville.”]
Some time afterwards the Assembly received a denunciation against M.
de Montmorin. The ex-minister was accused of having neglected forty
despatches from M. Genet, the charge d’affaires from France in Russia, not
having even unsealed them, because M. Genet acted on constitutional
principles. M. de Montmorin appeared at the bar to answer this accusation.
Whatever distress I might feel in obeying the order I had received from the
King to go and give him an account of the sitting, I thought I ought not to
fail in doing so. But instead of giving my brother his family name, I merely
said “your Majesty’s charge d’affaires at St. Petersburg.”
The King did me the favour to say that he noticed a reserve in my
account, of which he approved. The Queen condescended to add a few
obliging remarks to those of the King. However, my office of journalist
gave me in this instance so much pain that I took an opportunity, when the
King was expressing his satisfaction to me at the manner in which I gave
him this daily account, to tell him that its merits belonged wholly to M.
d’Aubier; and I ventured to request the King to suffer that excellent man to
give him an account of the sittings himself. I assured the King that if he
would permit it, that gentleman might proceed to the Queen’s apartments
through mine unseen; the King consented to the arrangement.
Page 316
Thenceforward M. d’Aubier gave the King repeated proofs of zeal and
attachment.
The Cure of St. Eustache ceased to be the Queen’s confessor when he
took the constitutional oath. I do not remember the name of the ecclesiastic
who succeeded him; I only know that he was conducted into her apartments
with the greatest mystery. Their Majesties did not perform their Easter
devotions in public, because they could neither declare for the constitutional
clergy, nor act so as to show that they were against them.
The Queen did perform her Easter devotions in 1792; but she went to the
chapel attended only by myself. She desired me beforehand to request one
of my relations, who was her chaplain, to celebrate a mass for her at five
o’clock in the morning. It was still dark; she gave me her arm, and I lighted
her with a taper. I left her alone at the chapel door. She did not return to her
room until the dawn of day.
Dangers increased daily. The Assembly were strengthened in the eyes of
the people by the hostilities of the foreign armies and the army of the
Princes. The communication with the latter party became more active; the
Queen wrote almost every day. M. de Goguelat possessed her confidence
for all correspondence with the foreign parties, and I was obliged to have
him in my apartments; the Queen asked for him very frequently, and at
times which she could not previously appoint.
All parties were exerting themselves either to ruin or to save the King.
One day I found the Queen extremely agitated; she told me she no longer
knew where she was; that the leaders of the Jacobins offered themselves to
her through the medium of Dumouriez; or that Dumouriez, abandoning the
Jacobins, had come and offered himself to her; that she had granted him an
audience; that when alone with her, he had thrown himself at her feet, and
told her that he had drawn the ‘bonnet rouge’ over his head to the very ears;
but that he neither was nor could be a Jacobin; that the Revolution had been
suffered to extend even to that rabble of destroyers who, thinking of nothing
but pillage, were ripe for anything, and might furnish the Assembly with a
formidable army, ready to undermine the remains of a throne already but
too much shaken. Whilst speaking with the utmost ardour he seized the
Queen’s hand and kissed it with transport, exclaiming, “Suffer yourself to
be saved!” The Queen told me that the protestations of a traitor were not to
be relied on; that the whole of his conduct was so well known that
attachment.
The Cure of St. Eustache ceased to be the Queen’s confessor when he
took the constitutional oath. I do not remember the name of the ecclesiastic
who succeeded him; I only know that he was conducted into her apartments
with the greatest mystery. Their Majesties did not perform their Easter
devotions in public, because they could neither declare for the constitutional
clergy, nor act so as to show that they were against them.
The Queen did perform her Easter devotions in 1792; but she went to the
chapel attended only by myself. She desired me beforehand to request one
of my relations, who was her chaplain, to celebrate a mass for her at five
o’clock in the morning. It was still dark; she gave me her arm, and I lighted
her with a taper. I left her alone at the chapel door. She did not return to her
room until the dawn of day.
Dangers increased daily. The Assembly were strengthened in the eyes of
the people by the hostilities of the foreign armies and the army of the
Princes. The communication with the latter party became more active; the
Queen wrote almost every day. M. de Goguelat possessed her confidence
for all correspondence with the foreign parties, and I was obliged to have
him in my apartments; the Queen asked for him very frequently, and at
times which she could not previously appoint.
All parties were exerting themselves either to ruin or to save the King.
One day I found the Queen extremely agitated; she told me she no longer
knew where she was; that the leaders of the Jacobins offered themselves to
her through the medium of Dumouriez; or that Dumouriez, abandoning the
Jacobins, had come and offered himself to her; that she had granted him an
audience; that when alone with her, he had thrown himself at her feet, and
told her that he had drawn the ‘bonnet rouge’ over his head to the very ears;
but that he neither was nor could be a Jacobin; that the Revolution had been
suffered to extend even to that rabble of destroyers who, thinking of nothing
but pillage, were ripe for anything, and might furnish the Assembly with a
formidable army, ready to undermine the remains of a throne already but
too much shaken. Whilst speaking with the utmost ardour he seized the
Queen’s hand and kissed it with transport, exclaiming, “Suffer yourself to
be saved!” The Queen told me that the protestations of a traitor were not to
be relied on; that the whole of his conduct was so well known that
Page 317
undoubtedly the wisest course was not to trust to it; that, moreover, the
Princes particularly recommended that no confidence should be placed in
any proposition emanating from within the kingdom; that the force without
became imposing; and that it was better to rely upon their success, and upon
the protection due from Heaven to a sovereign so virtuous as Louis XVI.
and to so just a cause.
[The sincerity of General Dumouriez cannot be doubted
in this instance. The second volume of his Memoirs shows
how unjust the mistrust and reproaches of the Queen were.
By rejecting his services, Marie Antoinette deprived herself
of her only remaining support. He who saved France in the
defiles of Argonne would perhaps have saved France before
the 20th of June, had he obtained the full confidence of
Louis XVI. and the Queen.—NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
The constitutionalists, on their part, saw that there had been nothing more
than a pretence of listening to them. Barnave’s last advice was as to the
means of continuing, a few weeks longer, the Constitutional Guard, which
had been denounced to the Assembly, and was to be disbanded. The
denunciation against the Constitutional Guard affected only its staff, and the
Duc de Brissac. Barnave wrote to the Queen that the staff of the guard was
already attacked; that the Assembly was about to pass a decree to reduce it;
and he entreated her to prevail on the King, the very instant the decree
should appear, to form the staff afresh of persons whose names he sent her.
Barnave said that all who were set down in it passed for decided Jacobins,
but were not so in fact; that they, as well as himself, were in despair at
seeing the monarchical government attacked; that they had learnt to
dissemble their sentiments, and that it would be at least a fortnight before
the Assembly could know them well, and certainly before it could succeed
in making them unpopular; that it would be necessary to take advantage of
that short space of time to get away from Paris, immediately after their
nomination. The Queen was of opinion that she ought not to yield to this
advice. The Duc de Brissac was sent to Orleans, and the guard was
disbanded.
Barnave, seeing that the Queen did not follow his counsel in anything,
and convinced that she placed all her reliance on assistance from abroad,
Princes particularly recommended that no confidence should be placed in
any proposition emanating from within the kingdom; that the force without
became imposing; and that it was better to rely upon their success, and upon
the protection due from Heaven to a sovereign so virtuous as Louis XVI.
and to so just a cause.
[The sincerity of General Dumouriez cannot be doubted
in this instance. The second volume of his Memoirs shows
how unjust the mistrust and reproaches of the Queen were.
By rejecting his services, Marie Antoinette deprived herself
of her only remaining support. He who saved France in the
defiles of Argonne would perhaps have saved France before
the 20th of June, had he obtained the full confidence of
Louis XVI. and the Queen.—NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
The constitutionalists, on their part, saw that there had been nothing more
than a pretence of listening to them. Barnave’s last advice was as to the
means of continuing, a few weeks longer, the Constitutional Guard, which
had been denounced to the Assembly, and was to be disbanded. The
denunciation against the Constitutional Guard affected only its staff, and the
Duc de Brissac. Barnave wrote to the Queen that the staff of the guard was
already attacked; that the Assembly was about to pass a decree to reduce it;
and he entreated her to prevail on the King, the very instant the decree
should appear, to form the staff afresh of persons whose names he sent her.
Barnave said that all who were set down in it passed for decided Jacobins,
but were not so in fact; that they, as well as himself, were in despair at
seeing the monarchical government attacked; that they had learnt to
dissemble their sentiments, and that it would be at least a fortnight before
the Assembly could know them well, and certainly before it could succeed
in making them unpopular; that it would be necessary to take advantage of
that short space of time to get away from Paris, immediately after their
nomination. The Queen was of opinion that she ought not to yield to this
advice. The Duc de Brissac was sent to Orleans, and the guard was
disbanded.
Barnave, seeing that the Queen did not follow his counsel in anything,
and convinced that she placed all her reliance on assistance from abroad,
Page 318
determined to quit Paris. He obtained a last audience. “Your misfortunes,
Madame,” said he, “and those which I anticipate for France, determined me
to sacrifice myself to serve you. I see, however, that my advice does not
agree with the views of your Majesties. I augur but little advantage from the
plan you are induced to pursue,—you are too remote from your succours;
you will be lost before they reach you. Most ardently do I wish I may be
mistaken in so lamentable a prediction; but I am sure to pay with my head
for the interest your misfortunes have raised in me, and the services I have
sought to render you. I request, for my sole reward, the honour of kissing
your hand.” The Queen, her eyes suffused with tears, granted him that
favour, and remained impressed with a favourable idea of his sentiments.
Madame Elisabeth participated in this opinion, and the two Princesses
frequently spoke of Barnave. The Queen also received M. Duport several
times, but with less mystery. Her connection with the constitutional
deputies transpired. Alexandre de Lameth was the only one of the three who
survived the vengeance of the Jacobins.
[Barnave was arrested at Grenoble. He remained in
prison in that town fifteen months, and his friends began to
hope that he would be forgotten, when an order arrived that
he should be removed to Paris. At first he was imprisoned in
the Abbaye, but transferred to the Conciergerie, and almost
immediately taken before the revolutionary tribunal. He
appeared there with wonderful firmness, summed up the
services he had rendered to the cause of liberty with his
usual eloquence, and made such an impression upon the
numerous auditors that, although accustomed to behold only
conspirators worthy of death in all those who appeared
before the tribunal, they themselves considered his acquittal
certain. The decree of death was read amidst the deepest
silence; but Barnave’a firmness was immovable. When he
left the court, he cast upon the judges, the jurors, and the
public looks expressive of contempt and indignation. He was
led to his fate with the respected Duport du Tertre, one of the
last ministers of Louis XVI. when he had ascended the
scaffold, Barnave stamped, raised his eyes to heaven, and
said: “This, then, is the reward of all that I have done for
Madame,” said he, “and those which I anticipate for France, determined me
to sacrifice myself to serve you. I see, however, that my advice does not
agree with the views of your Majesties. I augur but little advantage from the
plan you are induced to pursue,—you are too remote from your succours;
you will be lost before they reach you. Most ardently do I wish I may be
mistaken in so lamentable a prediction; but I am sure to pay with my head
for the interest your misfortunes have raised in me, and the services I have
sought to render you. I request, for my sole reward, the honour of kissing
your hand.” The Queen, her eyes suffused with tears, granted him that
favour, and remained impressed with a favourable idea of his sentiments.
Madame Elisabeth participated in this opinion, and the two Princesses
frequently spoke of Barnave. The Queen also received M. Duport several
times, but with less mystery. Her connection with the constitutional
deputies transpired. Alexandre de Lameth was the only one of the three who
survived the vengeance of the Jacobins.
[Barnave was arrested at Grenoble. He remained in
prison in that town fifteen months, and his friends began to
hope that he would be forgotten, when an order arrived that
he should be removed to Paris. At first he was imprisoned in
the Abbaye, but transferred to the Conciergerie, and almost
immediately taken before the revolutionary tribunal. He
appeared there with wonderful firmness, summed up the
services he had rendered to the cause of liberty with his
usual eloquence, and made such an impression upon the
numerous auditors that, although accustomed to behold only
conspirators worthy of death in all those who appeared
before the tribunal, they themselves considered his acquittal
certain. The decree of death was read amidst the deepest
silence; but Barnave’a firmness was immovable. When he
left the court, he cast upon the judges, the jurors, and the
public looks expressive of contempt and indignation. He was
led to his fate with the respected Duport du Tertre, one of the
last ministers of Louis XVI. when he had ascended the
scaffold, Barnave stamped, raised his eyes to heaven, and
said: “This, then, is the reward of all that I have done for
Page 319
liberty!” He fell on the 29th of October, 1793, in the thirty-
second year of his age; his bust was placed in the Grenoble
Museum. The Consular Government placed his statue next
to that of Vergniaud, on the great staircase of the palace of
the Senate.—“Biographie de Bruxelles.”]
The National Guard, which succeeded the King’s Guard, having occupied
the gates of the Tuileries, all who came to see the Queen were insulted with
impunity. Menacing cries were uttered aloud even in the Tuileries; they
called for the destruction of the throne, and the murder of the sovereign; the
grossest insults were offered by the very lowest of the mob.
About this time the King fell into a despondent state, which amounted
almost to physical helplessness. He passed ten successive days without
uttering a single word, even in the bosom of his family; except, indeed,
when playing at backgammon after dinner with Madame Elisabeth. The
Queen roused him from this state, so fatal at a critical period, by throwing
herself at his feet, urging every alarming idea, and employing every
affectionate expression. She represented also what he owed to his family;
and told him that if they were doomed to fall they ought to fall honourably,
and not wait to be smothered upon the floor of their apartment.
About the 15th of June, 1792, the King refused his sanction to the two
decrees ordaining the deportation of priests and the formation of a camp of
twenty thousand men under the walls of Paris. He himself wished to
sanction them, and said that the general insurrection only waited for a
pretence to burst forth. The Queen insisted upon the veto, and reproached
herself bitterly when this last act of the constitutional authority had
occasioned the day of the 20th of June.
A few days previously about twenty thousand men had gone to the
Commune to announce that, on the 20th, they would plant the tree of liberty
at the door of the National Assembly, and present a petition to the King
respecting the veto which he had placed upon the decree for the deportation
of the priests. This dreadful army crossed the garden of the Tuileries, and
marched under the Queen’s windows; it consisted of people who called
themselves the citizens of the Faubourgs St. Antoine and St. Marceau.
Clothed in filthy rags, they bore a most terrifying appearance, and even
infected the air. People asked each other where such an army could come
from; nothing so disgusting had ever before appeared in Paris.
second year of his age; his bust was placed in the Grenoble
Museum. The Consular Government placed his statue next
to that of Vergniaud, on the great staircase of the palace of
the Senate.—“Biographie de Bruxelles.”]
The National Guard, which succeeded the King’s Guard, having occupied
the gates of the Tuileries, all who came to see the Queen were insulted with
impunity. Menacing cries were uttered aloud even in the Tuileries; they
called for the destruction of the throne, and the murder of the sovereign; the
grossest insults were offered by the very lowest of the mob.
About this time the King fell into a despondent state, which amounted
almost to physical helplessness. He passed ten successive days without
uttering a single word, even in the bosom of his family; except, indeed,
when playing at backgammon after dinner with Madame Elisabeth. The
Queen roused him from this state, so fatal at a critical period, by throwing
herself at his feet, urging every alarming idea, and employing every
affectionate expression. She represented also what he owed to his family;
and told him that if they were doomed to fall they ought to fall honourably,
and not wait to be smothered upon the floor of their apartment.
About the 15th of June, 1792, the King refused his sanction to the two
decrees ordaining the deportation of priests and the formation of a camp of
twenty thousand men under the walls of Paris. He himself wished to
sanction them, and said that the general insurrection only waited for a
pretence to burst forth. The Queen insisted upon the veto, and reproached
herself bitterly when this last act of the constitutional authority had
occasioned the day of the 20th of June.
A few days previously about twenty thousand men had gone to the
Commune to announce that, on the 20th, they would plant the tree of liberty
at the door of the National Assembly, and present a petition to the King
respecting the veto which he had placed upon the decree for the deportation
of the priests. This dreadful army crossed the garden of the Tuileries, and
marched under the Queen’s windows; it consisted of people who called
themselves the citizens of the Faubourgs St. Antoine and St. Marceau.
Clothed in filthy rags, they bore a most terrifying appearance, and even
infected the air. People asked each other where such an army could come
from; nothing so disgusting had ever before appeared in Paris.
Page 320
On the 20th of June this mob thronged about the Tuileries in still greater
numbers, armed with pikes, hatchets, and murderous instruments of all
kinds, decorated with ribbons of the national colours, Shouting, “The nation
for ever! Down with the veto!” The King was without guards. Some of
these desperadoes rushed up to his apartment; the door was about to be
forced in, when the King commanded that it should be opened. Messieurs
de Bougainville, d’Hervilly, de Parois, d’Aubier, Acloque, Gentil, and other
courageous men who were in the apartment of M. de Septeuil, the King’s
first valet de chambre, instantly ran to his Majesty’s apartment. M. de
Bougainville, seeing the torrent furiously advancing, cried out, “Put the
King in the recess of the window, and place benches before him.” Six
royalist grenadiers of the battalion of the Filles Saint Thomas made their
way by an inner staircase, and ranged themselves before the benches. The
order given by M. de Bougainville saved the King from the blades of the
assassins, among whom was a Pole named Lazousky, who was to strike the
first blow. The King’s brave defenders said, “Sire, fear nothing.” The King’s
reply is well known: “Put your hand upon my heart, and you will perceive
whether I am afraid.” M. Vanot, commandant of battalion, warded off a
blow aimed by a wretch against the King; a grenadier of the Filles Saint
Thomas parried a sword-thrust made in the same direction. Madame
Elisabeth ran to her brother’s apartments; when she reached the door she
heard loud threats of death against the Queen: they called for the head of
the Austrian. “Ah! let them think I am the Queen,” she said to those around
her, “that she may have time to escape.”
The Queen could not join the King; she was in the council chamber,
where she had been placed behind the great table to protect her, as much as
possible, against the approach of the barbarians. Preserving a noble and
becoming demeanour in this dreadful situation, she held the Dauphin before
her, seated upon the table. Madame was at her side; the Princesse de
Lamballe, the Princesse de Tarente, Madame de la Roche-Aymon, Madame
de Tourzel, and Madame de Mackau surrounded her. She had fixed a
tricoloured cockade, which one of the National Guard had given her, upon
her head. The poor little Dauphin was, like the King, shrouded in an
enormous red cap.
[One of the circumstances of the 20th of June which most
vexed the King’s friends being that of his wearing the bonnet
numbers, armed with pikes, hatchets, and murderous instruments of all
kinds, decorated with ribbons of the national colours, Shouting, “The nation
for ever! Down with the veto!” The King was without guards. Some of
these desperadoes rushed up to his apartment; the door was about to be
forced in, when the King commanded that it should be opened. Messieurs
de Bougainville, d’Hervilly, de Parois, d’Aubier, Acloque, Gentil, and other
courageous men who were in the apartment of M. de Septeuil, the King’s
first valet de chambre, instantly ran to his Majesty’s apartment. M. de
Bougainville, seeing the torrent furiously advancing, cried out, “Put the
King in the recess of the window, and place benches before him.” Six
royalist grenadiers of the battalion of the Filles Saint Thomas made their
way by an inner staircase, and ranged themselves before the benches. The
order given by M. de Bougainville saved the King from the blades of the
assassins, among whom was a Pole named Lazousky, who was to strike the
first blow. The King’s brave defenders said, “Sire, fear nothing.” The King’s
reply is well known: “Put your hand upon my heart, and you will perceive
whether I am afraid.” M. Vanot, commandant of battalion, warded off a
blow aimed by a wretch against the King; a grenadier of the Filles Saint
Thomas parried a sword-thrust made in the same direction. Madame
Elisabeth ran to her brother’s apartments; when she reached the door she
heard loud threats of death against the Queen: they called for the head of
the Austrian. “Ah! let them think I am the Queen,” she said to those around
her, “that she may have time to escape.”
The Queen could not join the King; she was in the council chamber,
where she had been placed behind the great table to protect her, as much as
possible, against the approach of the barbarians. Preserving a noble and
becoming demeanour in this dreadful situation, she held the Dauphin before
her, seated upon the table. Madame was at her side; the Princesse de
Lamballe, the Princesse de Tarente, Madame de la Roche-Aymon, Madame
de Tourzel, and Madame de Mackau surrounded her. She had fixed a
tricoloured cockade, which one of the National Guard had given her, upon
her head. The poor little Dauphin was, like the King, shrouded in an
enormous red cap.
[One of the circumstances of the 20th of June which most
vexed the King’s friends being that of his wearing the bonnet
Page 321
rouge nearly three hours, I ventured to ask him for some
explanation of a fact so strikingly in contrast with the
extraordinary intrepidity shown by his Majesty during that
horrible day. This was his answer: “The cries of ‘The nation
for ever!’ violently increasing around me, and seeming to be
addressed to me, I replied that the nation had not a warmer
friend than myself. Upon this an ill-looking man, making his
way through the crowd, came up to me and said, rather
roughly, ‘Well, if you speak the truth, prove it by putting on
this red cap.’ ‘I consent,’ replied I. One or two of them
immediately came forward and placed the cap upon my hair,
for it was too small for my head. I was convinced, I knew not
why, that his intention was merely to place the cap upon my
head for a moment, and then to take it off again; and I was
so completely taken up with what was passing before me that
I did not feel whether the cap did or did not remain upon my
hair. I was so little aware of it that when I returned to my
room I knew only from being told so that it was still there. I
was very much surprised to find it upon my head, and was
the more vexed at it because I might have taken it off
immediately without the smallest difficulty. But I am satisfied
that if I had hesitated to consent to its being placed upon my
head the drunken fellow who offered it to me would have
thrust his pike into my stomach.”—“Memoirs of Bertrand de
Molleville.”]
The horde passed in files before the table; the sort of standards which
they carried were symbols of the most atrocious barbarity. There was one
representing a gibbet, to which a dirty doll was suspended; the words
“Marie Antoinette a la lanterne” were written beneath it. Another was a
board, to which a bullock’s heart was fastened, with “Heart of Louis XVI.”
written round it. And a third showed the horn of an ox, with an obscene
inscription.
One of the most furious Jacobin women who marched with these
wretches stopped to give vent to a thousand imprecations against the
Queen. Her Majesty asked whether she had ever seen her. She replied that
explanation of a fact so strikingly in contrast with the
extraordinary intrepidity shown by his Majesty during that
horrible day. This was his answer: “The cries of ‘The nation
for ever!’ violently increasing around me, and seeming to be
addressed to me, I replied that the nation had not a warmer
friend than myself. Upon this an ill-looking man, making his
way through the crowd, came up to me and said, rather
roughly, ‘Well, if you speak the truth, prove it by putting on
this red cap.’ ‘I consent,’ replied I. One or two of them
immediately came forward and placed the cap upon my hair,
for it was too small for my head. I was convinced, I knew not
why, that his intention was merely to place the cap upon my
head for a moment, and then to take it off again; and I was
so completely taken up with what was passing before me that
I did not feel whether the cap did or did not remain upon my
hair. I was so little aware of it that when I returned to my
room I knew only from being told so that it was still there. I
was very much surprised to find it upon my head, and was
the more vexed at it because I might have taken it off
immediately without the smallest difficulty. But I am satisfied
that if I had hesitated to consent to its being placed upon my
head the drunken fellow who offered it to me would have
thrust his pike into my stomach.”—“Memoirs of Bertrand de
Molleville.”]
The horde passed in files before the table; the sort of standards which
they carried were symbols of the most atrocious barbarity. There was one
representing a gibbet, to which a dirty doll was suspended; the words
“Marie Antoinette a la lanterne” were written beneath it. Another was a
board, to which a bullock’s heart was fastened, with “Heart of Louis XVI.”
written round it. And a third showed the horn of an ox, with an obscene
inscription.
One of the most furious Jacobin women who marched with these
wretches stopped to give vent to a thousand imprecations against the
Queen. Her Majesty asked whether she had ever seen her. She replied that
Page 322
she had not. Whether she had done her any, personal wrong? Her answer
was the same; but she added:
“It is you who have caused the misery of the nation.”
“You have been told so,” answered the Queen; “you are deceived. As the
wife of the King of France, and mother of the Dauphin, I am a French-
woman; I shall never see my own country again, I can be happy or unhappy
only in France; I was happy when you loved me.”
The fury began to weep, asked her pardon, and said, “It was because I did
not know you; I see that you are good.”
Santerre, the monarch of the faubourgs, made his subjects file off as
quickly as he could; and it was thought at the time that he was ignorant of
the object of this insurrection, which was the murder of the royal family.
However, it was eight o’clock in the evening before the palace was
completely cleared. Twelve deputies, impelled by attachment to the King’s
person, ranged themselves near him at the commencement of the
insurrection; but the deputation from the Assembly did not reach the
Tuileries until six in the evening; all the doors of the apartments were
broken. The Queen pointed out to the deputies the state of the King’s
palace, and the disgraceful manner in which his asylum had been violated
under the very eyes of the Assembly; she saw that Merlin de Thionville was
so much affected as to shed tears while she spoke.
“You weep, M. Merlin,” said she to him, “at seeing the King and his
family so cruelly treated by a people whom he always wished to make
happy.”
“True, Madame,” replied Merlin; “I weep for the misfortunes of a
beautiful and feeling woman, the mother of a family; but do not mistake,
not one of my tears falls for either King or Queen; I hate kings and queens,
—it is my religion.”
The Queen could not appreciate this madness, and saw all that was to be
apprehended by persons who evinced it.
All hope was gone, and nothing was thought of but succour from abroad.
The Queen appealed to her family and the King’s brothers; her letters
probably became more pressing, and expressed apprehensions upon the
tardiness of relief. Her Majesty read me one to herself from the
Archduchess Christina, Gouvernante of the Low Countries: she reproached
was the same; but she added:
“It is you who have caused the misery of the nation.”
“You have been told so,” answered the Queen; “you are deceived. As the
wife of the King of France, and mother of the Dauphin, I am a French-
woman; I shall never see my own country again, I can be happy or unhappy
only in France; I was happy when you loved me.”
The fury began to weep, asked her pardon, and said, “It was because I did
not know you; I see that you are good.”
Santerre, the monarch of the faubourgs, made his subjects file off as
quickly as he could; and it was thought at the time that he was ignorant of
the object of this insurrection, which was the murder of the royal family.
However, it was eight o’clock in the evening before the palace was
completely cleared. Twelve deputies, impelled by attachment to the King’s
person, ranged themselves near him at the commencement of the
insurrection; but the deputation from the Assembly did not reach the
Tuileries until six in the evening; all the doors of the apartments were
broken. The Queen pointed out to the deputies the state of the King’s
palace, and the disgraceful manner in which his asylum had been violated
under the very eyes of the Assembly; she saw that Merlin de Thionville was
so much affected as to shed tears while she spoke.
“You weep, M. Merlin,” said she to him, “at seeing the King and his
family so cruelly treated by a people whom he always wished to make
happy.”
“True, Madame,” replied Merlin; “I weep for the misfortunes of a
beautiful and feeling woman, the mother of a family; but do not mistake,
not one of my tears falls for either King or Queen; I hate kings and queens,
—it is my religion.”
The Queen could not appreciate this madness, and saw all that was to be
apprehended by persons who evinced it.
All hope was gone, and nothing was thought of but succour from abroad.
The Queen appealed to her family and the King’s brothers; her letters
probably became more pressing, and expressed apprehensions upon the
tardiness of relief. Her Majesty read me one to herself from the
Archduchess Christina, Gouvernante of the Low Countries: she reproached
Page 323
the Queen for some of her expressions, and told her that those out of France
were at least as much alarmed as herself at the King’s situation and her
own; but that the manner of attempting to assist her might either save her or
endanger her safety; and that the members of the coalition were bound to
act prudently, entrusted as they were with interests so dear to them.
The 14th of July, 1792, fixed by the constitution as the anniversary of the
independence of the nation drew near. The King and Queen were compelled
to make their appearance on the occasion; aware that the plot of the 20th of
June had their assassination for its object, they had no doubt but that their
death was determined on for the day of this national festival. The Queen
was recommended, in order to give the King’s friends time to defend him if
the attack should be made, to guard him against the first stroke of a dagger
by making him wear a breastplate. I was directed to get one made in my
apartments: it was composed of fifteen folds of Italian taffety, and formed
into an under-waistcoat and a wide belt. This breastplate was tried; it
resisted all thrusts of the dagger, and several balls were turned aside by it.
When it was completed the difficulty was to let the King try it on without
running the risk of being surprised. I wore the immense heavy waistcoat as
an under-petticoat for three days without being able to find a favourable
moment. At length the King found an opportunity one morning to pull off
his coat in the Queen’s chamber and try on the breastplate.
The Queen was in bed; the King pulled me gently by the gown, and drew
me as far as he could from the Queen’s bed, and said to me, in a very low
tone of voice: “It is to satisfy her that I submit to this inconvenience: they
will not assassinate me; their scheme is changed; they will put me to death
another way.” The Queen heard the King whispering to me, and when he
was gone out she asked me what he had said. I hesitated to answer; she
insisted that I should, saying that nothing must be concealed from her, and
that she was resigned upon every point.
When she was informed of the King’s remark she told me she had
guessed it, that he had long since observed to her that all which was going
forward in France was an imitation of the revolution in England in the time
of Charles I., and that he was incessantly reading the history of that
unfortunate monarch in order that he might act better than Charles had done
at a similar crisis. “I begin to be fearful of the King’s being brought to
were at least as much alarmed as herself at the King’s situation and her
own; but that the manner of attempting to assist her might either save her or
endanger her safety; and that the members of the coalition were bound to
act prudently, entrusted as they were with interests so dear to them.
The 14th of July, 1792, fixed by the constitution as the anniversary of the
independence of the nation drew near. The King and Queen were compelled
to make their appearance on the occasion; aware that the plot of the 20th of
June had their assassination for its object, they had no doubt but that their
death was determined on for the day of this national festival. The Queen
was recommended, in order to give the King’s friends time to defend him if
the attack should be made, to guard him against the first stroke of a dagger
by making him wear a breastplate. I was directed to get one made in my
apartments: it was composed of fifteen folds of Italian taffety, and formed
into an under-waistcoat and a wide belt. This breastplate was tried; it
resisted all thrusts of the dagger, and several balls were turned aside by it.
When it was completed the difficulty was to let the King try it on without
running the risk of being surprised. I wore the immense heavy waistcoat as
an under-petticoat for three days without being able to find a favourable
moment. At length the King found an opportunity one morning to pull off
his coat in the Queen’s chamber and try on the breastplate.
The Queen was in bed; the King pulled me gently by the gown, and drew
me as far as he could from the Queen’s bed, and said to me, in a very low
tone of voice: “It is to satisfy her that I submit to this inconvenience: they
will not assassinate me; their scheme is changed; they will put me to death
another way.” The Queen heard the King whispering to me, and when he
was gone out she asked me what he had said. I hesitated to answer; she
insisted that I should, saying that nothing must be concealed from her, and
that she was resigned upon every point.
When she was informed of the King’s remark she told me she had
guessed it, that he had long since observed to her that all which was going
forward in France was an imitation of the revolution in England in the time
of Charles I., and that he was incessantly reading the history of that
unfortunate monarch in order that he might act better than Charles had done
at a similar crisis. “I begin to be fearful of the King’s being brought to
Page 324
trial,” continued the Queen; “as to me, I am a foreigner; they will
assassinate me. What will become of my poor children?”
These sad ejaculations were followed by a torrent of tears. I wished to
give her an antispasmodic; she refused it, saying that only happy women
could feel nervous; that the cruel situation to which she was reduced
rendered these remedies useless. In fact, the Queen, who during her happier
days was frequently attacked by hysterical disorders, enjoyed more uniform
health when all the faculties of her soul were called forth to support her
physical strength.
I had prepared a corset for her, for the same purpose as the King’s under-
waistcoat, without her knowledge; but she would not make use of it; all my
entreaties, all my tears, were in vain. “If the factions assassinate me,” she
replied, “it will be a fortunate event for me; they will deliver me from a
most painful existence.” A few days after the King had tried on his
breastplate I met him on a back staircase. I drew back to let him pass. He
stopped and took my hand; I wished to kiss his; he would not suffer it, but
drew me towards him by the hand, and kissed both my cheeks without
saying a single word.
The fear of another attack upon the Tuileries occasioned scrupulous
search among the King’s papers.
I burnt almost all those belonging to the Queen. She put her family
letters, a great deal of correspondence which she thought it necessary to
preserve for the history of the era of the Revolution, and particularly
Barnave’s letters and her answers, of which she had copies, into a portfolio,
which she entrusted to M. de J——. That gentleman was unable to save this
deposit, and it was burnt. The Queen left a few papers in her secretaire.
Among them were instructions to Madame de Tourzel, respecting the
dispositions of her children and the characters and abilities of the sub-
governesses under that lady’s orders. This paper, which the Queen drew up
at the time of Madame de Tourzel’s appointment, with several letters from
Maria Theresa, filled with the best advice and instructions, was printed after
the 10th of August by order of the Assembly in the collection of papers
found in the secretaires of the King and Queen.
Her Majesty had still, without reckoning the income of the month, one
hundred and forty thousand francs in gold. She was desirous of depositing
the whole of it with me; but I advised her to retain fifteen hundred louis, as
assassinate me. What will become of my poor children?”
These sad ejaculations were followed by a torrent of tears. I wished to
give her an antispasmodic; she refused it, saying that only happy women
could feel nervous; that the cruel situation to which she was reduced
rendered these remedies useless. In fact, the Queen, who during her happier
days was frequently attacked by hysterical disorders, enjoyed more uniform
health when all the faculties of her soul were called forth to support her
physical strength.
I had prepared a corset for her, for the same purpose as the King’s under-
waistcoat, without her knowledge; but she would not make use of it; all my
entreaties, all my tears, were in vain. “If the factions assassinate me,” she
replied, “it will be a fortunate event for me; they will deliver me from a
most painful existence.” A few days after the King had tried on his
breastplate I met him on a back staircase. I drew back to let him pass. He
stopped and took my hand; I wished to kiss his; he would not suffer it, but
drew me towards him by the hand, and kissed both my cheeks without
saying a single word.
The fear of another attack upon the Tuileries occasioned scrupulous
search among the King’s papers.
I burnt almost all those belonging to the Queen. She put her family
letters, a great deal of correspondence which she thought it necessary to
preserve for the history of the era of the Revolution, and particularly
Barnave’s letters and her answers, of which she had copies, into a portfolio,
which she entrusted to M. de J——. That gentleman was unable to save this
deposit, and it was burnt. The Queen left a few papers in her secretaire.
Among them were instructions to Madame de Tourzel, respecting the
dispositions of her children and the characters and abilities of the sub-
governesses under that lady’s orders. This paper, which the Queen drew up
at the time of Madame de Tourzel’s appointment, with several letters from
Maria Theresa, filled with the best advice and instructions, was printed after
the 10th of August by order of the Assembly in the collection of papers
found in the secretaires of the King and Queen.
Her Majesty had still, without reckoning the income of the month, one
hundred and forty thousand francs in gold. She was desirous of depositing
the whole of it with me; but I advised her to retain fifteen hundred louis, as
Page 325
a sum of rather considerable amount might be suddenly necessary for her.
The King had an immense quantity of papers, and unfortunately conceived
the idea of privately making, with the assistance of a locksmith who had
worked with him above ten years, a place of concealment in an inner
corridor of his apartments. The place of concealment, but for the man’s
information, would have been long undiscovered? The wall in which it was
made was painted to imitate large stones, and the opening was entirely
concealed among the brown grooves which formed the shaded part of these
painted stones. But even before this locksmith had denounced what was
afterwards called the iron closet to the Assembly, the Queen was aware that
he had talked of it to some of his friends; and that this man, in whom the
King from long habit placed too much confidence, was a Jacobin. She
warned the King of it, and prevailed on him to fill a very large portfolio
with all the papers he was most interested in preserving, and entrust it to
me. She entreated him in my presence to leave nothing in this closet; and
the King, in order to quiet her, told her that he had left nothing there. I
would have taken the portfolio and carried it to my apartment, but it was too
heavy for me to lift. The King said he would carry it himself; I went before
to open the doors for him. When he placed the portfolio in my inner closet
he merely said, “The Queen will tell you what it contains.” Upon my return
to the Queen I put the question to her, deeming, from what the King had
said, that it was necessary I should know. “They are,” the Queen answered
me, “such documents as would be most dangerous to the King should they
go so far as to proceed to a trial against him. But what he wishes me to tell
you is, that the portfolio contains a ‘proces-verbal’ of a cabinet council, in
which the King gave his opinion against the war. He had it signed by all the
ministers, and, in case of a trial, he trusts that this document will be very
useful to him.” I asked the Queen to whom she thought I ought to commit
the portfolio. “To whom you please,” answered she; “you alone are
answerable for it. Do not quit the palace even during your vacation months:
there may be circumstances under which it would be very desirable that we
should be able to have it instantly.”
At this period M. de La Fayette, who had probably given up the idea of
establishing a republic in France similar to that of the United States, and
was desirous to support the first constitution which he had sworn to defend,
quitted his army and came to the Assembly for the purpose of supporting by
his presence and by an energetic speech a petition signed by twenty
The King had an immense quantity of papers, and unfortunately conceived
the idea of privately making, with the assistance of a locksmith who had
worked with him above ten years, a place of concealment in an inner
corridor of his apartments. The place of concealment, but for the man’s
information, would have been long undiscovered? The wall in which it was
made was painted to imitate large stones, and the opening was entirely
concealed among the brown grooves which formed the shaded part of these
painted stones. But even before this locksmith had denounced what was
afterwards called the iron closet to the Assembly, the Queen was aware that
he had talked of it to some of his friends; and that this man, in whom the
King from long habit placed too much confidence, was a Jacobin. She
warned the King of it, and prevailed on him to fill a very large portfolio
with all the papers he was most interested in preserving, and entrust it to
me. She entreated him in my presence to leave nothing in this closet; and
the King, in order to quiet her, told her that he had left nothing there. I
would have taken the portfolio and carried it to my apartment, but it was too
heavy for me to lift. The King said he would carry it himself; I went before
to open the doors for him. When he placed the portfolio in my inner closet
he merely said, “The Queen will tell you what it contains.” Upon my return
to the Queen I put the question to her, deeming, from what the King had
said, that it was necessary I should know. “They are,” the Queen answered
me, “such documents as would be most dangerous to the King should they
go so far as to proceed to a trial against him. But what he wishes me to tell
you is, that the portfolio contains a ‘proces-verbal’ of a cabinet council, in
which the King gave his opinion against the war. He had it signed by all the
ministers, and, in case of a trial, he trusts that this document will be very
useful to him.” I asked the Queen to whom she thought I ought to commit
the portfolio. “To whom you please,” answered she; “you alone are
answerable for it. Do not quit the palace even during your vacation months:
there may be circumstances under which it would be very desirable that we
should be able to have it instantly.”
At this period M. de La Fayette, who had probably given up the idea of
establishing a republic in France similar to that of the United States, and
was desirous to support the first constitution which he had sworn to defend,
quitted his army and came to the Assembly for the purpose of supporting by
his presence and by an energetic speech a petition signed by twenty
Page 326
thousand citizens against the late violation of the residence of the King and
his family. The General found the constitutional party powerless, and saw
that he himself had lost his popularity. The Assembly disapproved of the
step he had taken; the King, for whom it, was taken, showed no satisfaction
at it, and he saw himself compelled to return to his army as quickly as he
could. He thought he could rely on the National Guard; but on the day of
his arrival those officers who were in the King’s interest inquired of his
Majesty whether they were to forward the views of Gendral de La Fayette
by joining him in such measures as he should pursue during his stay at
Paris. The King enjoined them not to do so. From this answer M. de La
Fayette perceived that he was abandoned by the remainder of his party in
the Paris guard.
On his arrival a plan was presented to the Queen, in which it was
proposed by a junction between La Fayette’s army and the King’s party to
rescue the royal family and convey them to Rouen. I did not learn the
particulars of this plan; the Queen only said to me upon the subject that M.
de La Fayette was offered to them as a resource; but that it would be better
for them to perish than to owe their safety to the man who had done them
the most mischief, or to place themselves under the necessity of treating
with him.
I passed the whole month of July without going to bed; I was fearful of
some attack by night. There was one plot against the Queen’s life which has
never been made known. I was alone by her bedside at one o’clock in the
morning; we heard somebody walking softly down the corridor, which
passes along the whole line of her apartments, and which was then locked at
each end. I went out to fetch the valet de chambre; he entered the corridor,
and the Queen and myself soon heard the noise of two men fighting. The
unfortunate Princess held me locked in her arms, and said to me, “What a
situation! insults by day and assassins by night!” The valet de chambre
cried out to her from the corridor, “Madame, it is a wretch that I know; I
have him!”—“Let him go,” said the Queen; “open the door to him; he came
to murder me; the Jacobins would carry him about in triumph to-morrow.”
The man was a servant of the King’s toilet, who had taken the key of the
corridor out of his Majesty’s pocket after he was in bed, no doubt with the
intention of committing the crime suspected. The valet de chambre, who
was a very strong man, held him by the wrists, and thrust him out at the
door. The wretch did not speak a word. The valet de chambre said, in
his family. The General found the constitutional party powerless, and saw
that he himself had lost his popularity. The Assembly disapproved of the
step he had taken; the King, for whom it, was taken, showed no satisfaction
at it, and he saw himself compelled to return to his army as quickly as he
could. He thought he could rely on the National Guard; but on the day of
his arrival those officers who were in the King’s interest inquired of his
Majesty whether they were to forward the views of Gendral de La Fayette
by joining him in such measures as he should pursue during his stay at
Paris. The King enjoined them not to do so. From this answer M. de La
Fayette perceived that he was abandoned by the remainder of his party in
the Paris guard.
On his arrival a plan was presented to the Queen, in which it was
proposed by a junction between La Fayette’s army and the King’s party to
rescue the royal family and convey them to Rouen. I did not learn the
particulars of this plan; the Queen only said to me upon the subject that M.
de La Fayette was offered to them as a resource; but that it would be better
for them to perish than to owe their safety to the man who had done them
the most mischief, or to place themselves under the necessity of treating
with him.
I passed the whole month of July without going to bed; I was fearful of
some attack by night. There was one plot against the Queen’s life which has
never been made known. I was alone by her bedside at one o’clock in the
morning; we heard somebody walking softly down the corridor, which
passes along the whole line of her apartments, and which was then locked at
each end. I went out to fetch the valet de chambre; he entered the corridor,
and the Queen and myself soon heard the noise of two men fighting. The
unfortunate Princess held me locked in her arms, and said to me, “What a
situation! insults by day and assassins by night!” The valet de chambre
cried out to her from the corridor, “Madame, it is a wretch that I know; I
have him!”—“Let him go,” said the Queen; “open the door to him; he came
to murder me; the Jacobins would carry him about in triumph to-morrow.”
The man was a servant of the King’s toilet, who had taken the key of the
corridor out of his Majesty’s pocket after he was in bed, no doubt with the
intention of committing the crime suspected. The valet de chambre, who
was a very strong man, held him by the wrists, and thrust him out at the
door. The wretch did not speak a word. The valet de chambre said, in
Page 327
answer to the Queen, who spoke to him gratefully of the danger to which he
had exposed himself, that he feared nothing, and that he had always a pair
of excellent pistols about him for no other purpose than to defend her
Majesty. The next day M. de Septeuil had all the locks of the King’s inner
apartments changed. I did the same by those of the Queen.
We were every moment told that the Faubourg St. Antoine was preparing
to march against the palace. At four o’clock one morning towards the latter
end of July a person came to give me information to that effect. I instantly
sent off two men, on whom I could rely, with orders to proceed to the usual
places for assembling, and to come back speedily and give me an account
of the state of the city. We knew that at least an hour must elapse before the
populace or the faubourgs assembled on the site of the Bastille could reach
the Tuileries. It seemed to me sufficient for the Queen’s safety that all about
her should be awakened. I went softly into her room; she was asleep; I did
not awaken her. I found General de W—— in the great closet; he told me
the meeting was, for this once, dispersing. The General had endeavoured to
please the populace by the same means as M. de La Fayette had employed.
He saluted the lowest poissarde, and lowered his hat down to his very
stirrup. But the populace, who had been flattered for three years, required
far different homage to its power, and the poor man was unnoticed. The
King had been awakened, and so had Madame Elisabeth, who had gone to
him. The Queen, yielding to the weight of her griefs, slept till nine o’clock
on that day, which was very unusual with her. The King had already been to
know whether she was awake; I told him what I had done, and the care I
had taken not to disturb her. He thanked me, and said, “I was awake, and so
was the whole palace; she ran no risk. I am very glad to see her take a little
rest. Alas! her griefs double mine!” What was my chagrin when, upon
awaking and learning what had passed, the Queen burst into tears from
regret at not having been called, and began to upbraid me, on whose
friendship she ought to have been able to rely, for having served her so ill
under such circumstances! In vain did I reiterate that it had been only a
false alarm, and that she required to have her strength recruited. “It is not
diminished,” said she; “misfortune gives us additional strength. Elisabeth
was with the King, and I was asleep,—I who am determined to perish by
his side! I am his wife; I will not suffer him to incur the smallest risk
without my sharing it.”
had exposed himself, that he feared nothing, and that he had always a pair
of excellent pistols about him for no other purpose than to defend her
Majesty. The next day M. de Septeuil had all the locks of the King’s inner
apartments changed. I did the same by those of the Queen.
We were every moment told that the Faubourg St. Antoine was preparing
to march against the palace. At four o’clock one morning towards the latter
end of July a person came to give me information to that effect. I instantly
sent off two men, on whom I could rely, with orders to proceed to the usual
places for assembling, and to come back speedily and give me an account
of the state of the city. We knew that at least an hour must elapse before the
populace or the faubourgs assembled on the site of the Bastille could reach
the Tuileries. It seemed to me sufficient for the Queen’s safety that all about
her should be awakened. I went softly into her room; she was asleep; I did
not awaken her. I found General de W—— in the great closet; he told me
the meeting was, for this once, dispersing. The General had endeavoured to
please the populace by the same means as M. de La Fayette had employed.
He saluted the lowest poissarde, and lowered his hat down to his very
stirrup. But the populace, who had been flattered for three years, required
far different homage to its power, and the poor man was unnoticed. The
King had been awakened, and so had Madame Elisabeth, who had gone to
him. The Queen, yielding to the weight of her griefs, slept till nine o’clock
on that day, which was very unusual with her. The King had already been to
know whether she was awake; I told him what I had done, and the care I
had taken not to disturb her. He thanked me, and said, “I was awake, and so
was the whole palace; she ran no risk. I am very glad to see her take a little
rest. Alas! her griefs double mine!” What was my chagrin when, upon
awaking and learning what had passed, the Queen burst into tears from
regret at not having been called, and began to upbraid me, on whose
friendship she ought to have been able to rely, for having served her so ill
under such circumstances! In vain did I reiterate that it had been only a
false alarm, and that she required to have her strength recruited. “It is not
diminished,” said she; “misfortune gives us additional strength. Elisabeth
was with the King, and I was asleep,—I who am determined to perish by
his side! I am his wife; I will not suffer him to incur the smallest risk
without my sharing it.”
Page 328
Page 329
CHAPTER VIII.
During July the correspondence of M. Bertrand de Molleville with the
King and Queen was most active. M. de Marsilly, formerly a lieutenant of
the Cent-Suisses of the Guard, was the bearer of the letters.
[I received by night only the King’s answer, written with
his own hand, in the margin of my letter. I always sent him
back with the day’s letter that to which he had replied the
day before, so that my letters and his answers, of which I
contented myself with taking notes only, never remained with
me twenty-four hours. I proposed this arrangement to his
Majesty to remove all uneasiness from his mind; my letters
were generally delivered to the King or the Queen by M. de
Marsilly, captain of the King’s Guard, whose attachment and
fidelity were known to their Majesties. I also sometimes
employed M. Bernard de Marigny, who had left Brest for the
purpose of sharing with his Majesty’s faithful servants the
dangers which threatened the King.—“Memoirs of Bertrand
de Molleville,” vol. ii., p. 12.]
He came to me the first time with a note from the Queen directed to M.
Bertrand himself. In this note the Queen said: “Address yourself with full
confidence to Madame Campan; the conduct of her brother in Russia has
not at all influenced her sentiments; she is wholly devoted to us; and if,
hereafter, you should have anything to say to us verbally, you may rely
entirely upon her devotion and discretion.”
The mobs which gathered almost nightly in the faubourgs alarmed the
Queen’s friends; they entreated her not to sleep in her room on the ground
floor of the Tuileries. She removed to the first floor, to a room which was
between the King’s apartments and those of the Dauphin. Being awake
always from daybreak, she ordered that neither the shutters nor the window-
During July the correspondence of M. Bertrand de Molleville with the
King and Queen was most active. M. de Marsilly, formerly a lieutenant of
the Cent-Suisses of the Guard, was the bearer of the letters.
[I received by night only the King’s answer, written with
his own hand, in the margin of my letter. I always sent him
back with the day’s letter that to which he had replied the
day before, so that my letters and his answers, of which I
contented myself with taking notes only, never remained with
me twenty-four hours. I proposed this arrangement to his
Majesty to remove all uneasiness from his mind; my letters
were generally delivered to the King or the Queen by M. de
Marsilly, captain of the King’s Guard, whose attachment and
fidelity were known to their Majesties. I also sometimes
employed M. Bernard de Marigny, who had left Brest for the
purpose of sharing with his Majesty’s faithful servants the
dangers which threatened the King.—“Memoirs of Bertrand
de Molleville,” vol. ii., p. 12.]
He came to me the first time with a note from the Queen directed to M.
Bertrand himself. In this note the Queen said: “Address yourself with full
confidence to Madame Campan; the conduct of her brother in Russia has
not at all influenced her sentiments; she is wholly devoted to us; and if,
hereafter, you should have anything to say to us verbally, you may rely
entirely upon her devotion and discretion.”
The mobs which gathered almost nightly in the faubourgs alarmed the
Queen’s friends; they entreated her not to sleep in her room on the ground
floor of the Tuileries. She removed to the first floor, to a room which was
between the King’s apartments and those of the Dauphin. Being awake
always from daybreak, she ordered that neither the shutters nor the window-
Page 330
blinds should be closed, that her long sleepless nights might be the less
weary. About the middle of one of these nights, when the moon was shining
into her bedchamber, she gazed at it, and told me that in a month she should
not see that moon unless freed from her chains, and beholding the King at
liberty. She then imparted to me all that was concurring to deliver them; but
said that the opinions of their intimate advisers were alarmingly at variance;
that some vouched for complete success, while others pointed out
insurmountable dangers. She added that she possessed the itinerary of the
march of the Princes and the King of Prussia: that on such a day they would
be at Verdun, on another day at such a place, that Lille was about to be
besieged, but that M. de J——-, whose prudence and intelligence the King,
as well as herself, highly valued, alarmed them much respecting the success
of that siege, and made them apprehensive that, even were the commandant
devoted to them, the civil authority, which by the constitution gave great
power to the mayors of towns, would overrule the military commandant.
She was also very uneasy as to what would take place at Paris during the
interval, and spoke to me of the King’s want of energy, but always in terms
expressive of her veneration for his virtues and her attachment to himself.
—“The King,” said she, “is not a coward; he possesses abundance of
passive courage, but he is overwhelmed by an awkward shyness, a mistrust
of himself, which proceeds from his education as much as from his
disposition. He is afraid to command, and, above all things, dreads speaking
to assembled numbers. He lived like a child, and always ill at ease under the
eyes of Louis XV., until the age of twenty-one. This constraint confirmed
his timidity.
“Circumstanced as we are, a few well-delivered words addressed to the
Parisians, who are devoted to him, would multiply the strength of our party
a hundredfold: he will not utter them. What can we expect from those
addresses to the people which he has been advised to post up? Nothing but
fresh outrages. As for myself, I could do anything, and would appear on
horseback if necessary. But if I were really to begin to act, that would be
furnishing arms to the King’s enemies; the cry against the Austrian, and
against the sway of a woman, would become general in France; and,
moreover, by showing myself, I should render the King a mere nothing. A
queen who is not regent ought, under these circumstances, to remain
passive and prepare to die.”
weary. About the middle of one of these nights, when the moon was shining
into her bedchamber, she gazed at it, and told me that in a month she should
not see that moon unless freed from her chains, and beholding the King at
liberty. She then imparted to me all that was concurring to deliver them; but
said that the opinions of their intimate advisers were alarmingly at variance;
that some vouched for complete success, while others pointed out
insurmountable dangers. She added that she possessed the itinerary of the
march of the Princes and the King of Prussia: that on such a day they would
be at Verdun, on another day at such a place, that Lille was about to be
besieged, but that M. de J——-, whose prudence and intelligence the King,
as well as herself, highly valued, alarmed them much respecting the success
of that siege, and made them apprehensive that, even were the commandant
devoted to them, the civil authority, which by the constitution gave great
power to the mayors of towns, would overrule the military commandant.
She was also very uneasy as to what would take place at Paris during the
interval, and spoke to me of the King’s want of energy, but always in terms
expressive of her veneration for his virtues and her attachment to himself.
—“The King,” said she, “is not a coward; he possesses abundance of
passive courage, but he is overwhelmed by an awkward shyness, a mistrust
of himself, which proceeds from his education as much as from his
disposition. He is afraid to command, and, above all things, dreads speaking
to assembled numbers. He lived like a child, and always ill at ease under the
eyes of Louis XV., until the age of twenty-one. This constraint confirmed
his timidity.
“Circumstanced as we are, a few well-delivered words addressed to the
Parisians, who are devoted to him, would multiply the strength of our party
a hundredfold: he will not utter them. What can we expect from those
addresses to the people which he has been advised to post up? Nothing but
fresh outrages. As for myself, I could do anything, and would appear on
horseback if necessary. But if I were really to begin to act, that would be
furnishing arms to the King’s enemies; the cry against the Austrian, and
against the sway of a woman, would become general in France; and,
moreover, by showing myself, I should render the King a mere nothing. A
queen who is not regent ought, under these circumstances, to remain
passive and prepare to die.”
Page 331
The garden of the Tuileries was full of maddened men, who insulted all
who seemed to side with the Court. “The Life of Marie Antoinette” was
cried under the Queen’s windows, infamous plates were annexed to the
book, the hawkers showed them to the passersby. On all sides were heard
the jubilant outcries of a people in a state of delirium almost as frightful as
the explosion of their rage. The Queen and her children were unable to
breathe the open air any longer. It was determined that the garden of the
Tuileries should be closed: as soon as this step was taken the Assembly
decreed that the whole length of the Terrace des Feuillans belonged to it,
and fixed the boundary between what was called the national ground and
the Coblentz ground by a tricoloured ribbon stretched from one end of the
terrace to the other. All good citizens were ordered, by notices affixed to it,
not to go down into the garden, under pain of being treated in the same
manner as Foulon and Berthier. A young man who did not observe this
written order went down into the garden; furious outcries, threats of la
lanterne, and the crowd of people which collected upon the terrace warned
him of his imprudence, and the danger which he ran. He immediately pulled
off his shoes, took out his handkerchief, and wiped the dust from their soles.
The people cried out, “Bravo! the good citizen for ever!” He was carried off
in triumph. The shutting up of the Tuileries did not enable the Queen and
her children to walk in the garden. The people on the terrace sent forth
dreadful shouts, and she was twice compelled to return to her apartments.
In the early part of August many zealous persons offered the King
money; he refused considerable sums, being unwilling to injure the fortunes
of individuals. M. de la Ferte, intendant of the ‘menus plaisirs’, brought me
a thousand louis, requesting me to lay them at the feet of the Queen. He
thought she could not have too much money at so perilous a time, and that
every good Frenchman should hasten to place all his ready money in her
hands. She refused this sum, and others of much greater amount which were
offered to her.
[M. Auguie, my brother-in-law, receiver-general of the
finances, offered her, through his wife, a portfolio containing
one hundred thousand crowns in paper money. On this
occasion the Queen said the most affecting things to my
sister, expressive of her happiness at having contributed to
who seemed to side with the Court. “The Life of Marie Antoinette” was
cried under the Queen’s windows, infamous plates were annexed to the
book, the hawkers showed them to the passersby. On all sides were heard
the jubilant outcries of a people in a state of delirium almost as frightful as
the explosion of their rage. The Queen and her children were unable to
breathe the open air any longer. It was determined that the garden of the
Tuileries should be closed: as soon as this step was taken the Assembly
decreed that the whole length of the Terrace des Feuillans belonged to it,
and fixed the boundary between what was called the national ground and
the Coblentz ground by a tricoloured ribbon stretched from one end of the
terrace to the other. All good citizens were ordered, by notices affixed to it,
not to go down into the garden, under pain of being treated in the same
manner as Foulon and Berthier. A young man who did not observe this
written order went down into the garden; furious outcries, threats of la
lanterne, and the crowd of people which collected upon the terrace warned
him of his imprudence, and the danger which he ran. He immediately pulled
off his shoes, took out his handkerchief, and wiped the dust from their soles.
The people cried out, “Bravo! the good citizen for ever!” He was carried off
in triumph. The shutting up of the Tuileries did not enable the Queen and
her children to walk in the garden. The people on the terrace sent forth
dreadful shouts, and she was twice compelled to return to her apartments.
In the early part of August many zealous persons offered the King
money; he refused considerable sums, being unwilling to injure the fortunes
of individuals. M. de la Ferte, intendant of the ‘menus plaisirs’, brought me
a thousand louis, requesting me to lay them at the feet of the Queen. He
thought she could not have too much money at so perilous a time, and that
every good Frenchman should hasten to place all his ready money in her
hands. She refused this sum, and others of much greater amount which were
offered to her.
[M. Auguie, my brother-in-law, receiver-general of the
finances, offered her, through his wife, a portfolio containing
one hundred thousand crowns in paper money. On this
occasion the Queen said the most affecting things to my
sister, expressive of her happiness at having contributed to
Page 332
the fortunes of such faithful subjects as herself and her
husband, but declined her offer.—MADAME CAMPAN.]
However, a few days afterwards, she told me she would accept M. de la
Ferte’s twenty-four thousand francs, because they would make up a sum
which the King had to expend. She therefore directed, me to go and receive
those twenty-four thousand francs, to add them to the one hundred thousand
francs she had placed in my hands, and to change the whole into assignats
to increase their amount. Her orders were executed, and the assignats were
delivered to the King. The Queen informed me that Madame Elisabeth had
found a well-meaning man who had engaged to gain over Petion by the
bribe of a large sum of money, and that deputy would, by a preconcerted
signal, inform the King of the success of the project. His Majesty soon had
an opportunity of seeing Petion, and on the Queen asking him before me if
he was satisfied with him, the King replied, “Neither more nor less satisfied
than usual; he did not make the concerted signal, and I believe I have been
cheated.” The Queen then condescended to explain the whole of the enigma
to me. “Petion,” said she, “was, while talking to the King, to have kept his
finger fixed upon his right eye for at least two seconds.”—“He did not even
put his hand up to his chin,” said the King; “after all, it is but so much
money stolen: the thief will not boast of it, and the affair will remain a
secret. Let us talk of something else.” He turned to me and said, “Your
father was an intimate friend of Mandat, who now commands the National
Guard; describe him to me; what ought I to expect from him?” I answered
that he was one of his Majesty’s most faithful subjects, but that with a great
deal of loyalty he possessed very little sense, and that he was involved in
the constitutional vortex. “I understand,” said the King; “he is a man who
would defend my palace and my person, because that is enjoined by the
constitution which he has sworn to support, but who would fight against the
party in favour of sovereign authority; it is well to know this with
certainty.”
On the next day the Princesse de Lamballe sent for me very early in the
morning. I found her on a sofa facing a window that looked upon the Pont
Royal. She then occupied that apartment of the Pavilion of Flora which was
on a level with that of the Queen. She desired me to sit down by her. Her
Highness had a writing-desk upon her knees. “You have had many
enemies,” said she; “attempts have been made to deprive you of the
husband, but declined her offer.—MADAME CAMPAN.]
However, a few days afterwards, she told me she would accept M. de la
Ferte’s twenty-four thousand francs, because they would make up a sum
which the King had to expend. She therefore directed, me to go and receive
those twenty-four thousand francs, to add them to the one hundred thousand
francs she had placed in my hands, and to change the whole into assignats
to increase their amount. Her orders were executed, and the assignats were
delivered to the King. The Queen informed me that Madame Elisabeth had
found a well-meaning man who had engaged to gain over Petion by the
bribe of a large sum of money, and that deputy would, by a preconcerted
signal, inform the King of the success of the project. His Majesty soon had
an opportunity of seeing Petion, and on the Queen asking him before me if
he was satisfied with him, the King replied, “Neither more nor less satisfied
than usual; he did not make the concerted signal, and I believe I have been
cheated.” The Queen then condescended to explain the whole of the enigma
to me. “Petion,” said she, “was, while talking to the King, to have kept his
finger fixed upon his right eye for at least two seconds.”—“He did not even
put his hand up to his chin,” said the King; “after all, it is but so much
money stolen: the thief will not boast of it, and the affair will remain a
secret. Let us talk of something else.” He turned to me and said, “Your
father was an intimate friend of Mandat, who now commands the National
Guard; describe him to me; what ought I to expect from him?” I answered
that he was one of his Majesty’s most faithful subjects, but that with a great
deal of loyalty he possessed very little sense, and that he was involved in
the constitutional vortex. “I understand,” said the King; “he is a man who
would defend my palace and my person, because that is enjoined by the
constitution which he has sworn to support, but who would fight against the
party in favour of sovereign authority; it is well to know this with
certainty.”
On the next day the Princesse de Lamballe sent for me very early in the
morning. I found her on a sofa facing a window that looked upon the Pont
Royal. She then occupied that apartment of the Pavilion of Flora which was
on a level with that of the Queen. She desired me to sit down by her. Her
Highness had a writing-desk upon her knees. “You have had many
enemies,” said she; “attempts have been made to deprive you of the
Page 333
Queen’s favour; they have been far from successful. Do you know that even
I myself, not being so well acquainted with you as the Queen, was rendered
suspicious of you; and that upon the arrival of the Court at the Tuileries I
gave you a companion to be a spy upon you; and that I had another
belonging to the police placed at your door! I was assured that you received
five or six of the most virulent deputies of the Tiers Etat; but it was that
wardrobe woman whose rooms were above you.
“In short,” said the Princess, “persons of integrity have nothing to fear
from the evil-disposed when they belong to so upright a prince as the King.
As to the Queen, she knows you, and has loved you ever since she came
into France. You shall judge of the King’s opinion of you: it was yesterday
evening decided in the family circle that, at a time when the Tuileries is
likely to be attacked, it was necessary to have the most faithful account of
the opinions and conduct of all the individuals composing the Queen’s
service. The King takes the same precaution on his part respecting all who
are about him. He said there was with him a person of great integrity, to
whom he would commit this inquiry; and that, with regard to the Queen’s
household, you must be spoken to, that he had long studied your character,
and that he esteemed your veracity.”
The Princess had a list of the names of all who belonged to the Queen’s
chamber on her desk. She asked me for information respecting each
individual. I was fortunate in having none but the most favourable
information to give. I had to speak of my avowed enemy in the Queen’s
chamber; of her who most wished that I should be responsible for my
brother’s political opinions. The Princess, as the head of the chamber, could
not be ignorant of this circumstance; but as the person in question, who
idolised the King and Queen, would not have hesitated to sacrifice her life
in order to save theirs, and as possibly her attachment to them, united to
considerable narrowness of intellect and a limited education, contributed to
her jealousy of me, I spoke of her in the highest terms.
The Princess wrote as I dictated, and occasionally looked at me with
astonishment. When I had done I entreated her to write in the margin that
the lady alluded to was my declared enemy. She embraced me, saying, “Ah!
do not write it! we should not record an unhappy circumstance which ought
to be forgotten.” We came to a man of genius who was much attached to the
Queen, and I described him as a man born solely to contradict, showing
I myself, not being so well acquainted with you as the Queen, was rendered
suspicious of you; and that upon the arrival of the Court at the Tuileries I
gave you a companion to be a spy upon you; and that I had another
belonging to the police placed at your door! I was assured that you received
five or six of the most virulent deputies of the Tiers Etat; but it was that
wardrobe woman whose rooms were above you.
“In short,” said the Princess, “persons of integrity have nothing to fear
from the evil-disposed when they belong to so upright a prince as the King.
As to the Queen, she knows you, and has loved you ever since she came
into France. You shall judge of the King’s opinion of you: it was yesterday
evening decided in the family circle that, at a time when the Tuileries is
likely to be attacked, it was necessary to have the most faithful account of
the opinions and conduct of all the individuals composing the Queen’s
service. The King takes the same precaution on his part respecting all who
are about him. He said there was with him a person of great integrity, to
whom he would commit this inquiry; and that, with regard to the Queen’s
household, you must be spoken to, that he had long studied your character,
and that he esteemed your veracity.”
The Princess had a list of the names of all who belonged to the Queen’s
chamber on her desk. She asked me for information respecting each
individual. I was fortunate in having none but the most favourable
information to give. I had to speak of my avowed enemy in the Queen’s
chamber; of her who most wished that I should be responsible for my
brother’s political opinions. The Princess, as the head of the chamber, could
not be ignorant of this circumstance; but as the person in question, who
idolised the King and Queen, would not have hesitated to sacrifice her life
in order to save theirs, and as possibly her attachment to them, united to
considerable narrowness of intellect and a limited education, contributed to
her jealousy of me, I spoke of her in the highest terms.
The Princess wrote as I dictated, and occasionally looked at me with
astonishment. When I had done I entreated her to write in the margin that
the lady alluded to was my declared enemy. She embraced me, saying, “Ah!
do not write it! we should not record an unhappy circumstance which ought
to be forgotten.” We came to a man of genius who was much attached to the
Queen, and I described him as a man born solely to contradict, showing
Page 334
himself an aristocrat with democrats, and a democrat among aristocrats; but
still a man of probity, and well disposed to his sovereign. The Princess said
she knew many persons of that disposition, and that she was delighted I had
nothing to say against this man, because she herself had placed him about
the Queen.
The whole of her Majesty’s chamber, which consisted entirely of persons
of fidelity, gave throughout all the dreadful convulsions of the Revolution
proofs of the greatest prudence and self-devotion. The same cannot be said
of the antechambers. With the exception of three or four, all the servants of
that class were outrageous Jacobins; and I saw on those occasions the
necessity of composing the private household of princes of persons
completely separated from the class of the people.
The situation of the royal family was so unbearable during the months
which immediately preceded the 10th of August that the Queen longed for
the crisis, whatever might be its issue. She frequently said that a long
confinement in a tower by the seaside would seem to her less intolerable
than those feuds in which the weakness of her party daily threatened an
inevitable catastrophe.
[A few days before the 10th of August the squabbles
between the royalists and the Jacobins, and between the
Jacobins and the constitutionalists, increased in warmth;
among the latter those men who defended the principles they
professed with the greatest talent, courage, and constancy
were at the same time the most exposed to danger. Montjoie
says: “The question of dethronement was discussed with a
degree of frenzy in the Assembly. Such of the deputies as
voted against it were abused, ill treated, and surrounded by
assassins. They had a battle to fight at every step they took;
and at length they did not dare to sleep in their own houses.
Of this number were Regnault de Beaucaron, Froudiere,
Girardin, and Vaublanc. Girardin complained of having
been struck in one of the lobbies of the Assembly. A voice
cried out to him, ‘Say where were you struck.’ ‘Where?’
replied Girardin, ‘what a question! Behind. Do assassins
ever strike otherwise?”]
still a man of probity, and well disposed to his sovereign. The Princess said
she knew many persons of that disposition, and that she was delighted I had
nothing to say against this man, because she herself had placed him about
the Queen.
The whole of her Majesty’s chamber, which consisted entirely of persons
of fidelity, gave throughout all the dreadful convulsions of the Revolution
proofs of the greatest prudence and self-devotion. The same cannot be said
of the antechambers. With the exception of three or four, all the servants of
that class were outrageous Jacobins; and I saw on those occasions the
necessity of composing the private household of princes of persons
completely separated from the class of the people.
The situation of the royal family was so unbearable during the months
which immediately preceded the 10th of August that the Queen longed for
the crisis, whatever might be its issue. She frequently said that a long
confinement in a tower by the seaside would seem to her less intolerable
than those feuds in which the weakness of her party daily threatened an
inevitable catastrophe.
[A few days before the 10th of August the squabbles
between the royalists and the Jacobins, and between the
Jacobins and the constitutionalists, increased in warmth;
among the latter those men who defended the principles they
professed with the greatest talent, courage, and constancy
were at the same time the most exposed to danger. Montjoie
says: “The question of dethronement was discussed with a
degree of frenzy in the Assembly. Such of the deputies as
voted against it were abused, ill treated, and surrounded by
assassins. They had a battle to fight at every step they took;
and at length they did not dare to sleep in their own houses.
Of this number were Regnault de Beaucaron, Froudiere,
Girardin, and Vaublanc. Girardin complained of having
been struck in one of the lobbies of the Assembly. A voice
cried out to him, ‘Say where were you struck.’ ‘Where?’
replied Girardin, ‘what a question! Behind. Do assassins
ever strike otherwise?”]
Page 335
Not only were their Majesties prevented from breathing the open air, but
they were also insulted at the very foot of the altar. The Sunday before the
last day of the monarchy, while the royal family went through the gallery to
the chapel, half the soldiers of the National Guard exclaimed, “Long live
the King!” and the other half, “No; no King! Down with the veto!” and on
that day at vespers the choristers preconcerted to use loud and threatening
emphasis when chanting the words, “Deposuit potentes de sede,” in the
“Magnificat.” Incensed at such an irreverent proceeding, the royalists in
their turn thrice exclaimed, “Et reginam,” after the “Domine salvum fac
regem.” The tumult during the whole time of divine service was excessive.
At length the terrible night of the 10th of August, 1792, arrived. On the
preceding evening Potion went to the Assembly and informed it that
preparations were making for an insurrection on the following day; that the
tocsin would sound at midnight; and that he feared he had not sufficient
means for resisting the attack which was about to take place. Upon this
information the Assembly passed to the order of the day. Petion, however,
gave an order for repelling force by force.
[Petion was the Mayor of Paris, and Mandat on this day
was commandant of the National Guard. Mandat was
assassinated that night.—“Thiers,” vol. i., p. 260.]
M. Mandat was armed with this order; and, finding his fidelity to the
King’s person supported by what he considered the law of the State, he
conducted himself in all his operations with the greatest energy. On the
evening of the 9th I was present at the King’s supper. While his Majesty
was giving me various orders we heard a great noise at the door of the
apartment. I went to see what was the cause of it, and found the two
sentinels fighting. One said, speaking of the King, that he was hearty in the
cause of the constitution, and would defend it at the peril of his life; the
other maintained that he was an encumbrance to the only constitution
suitable to a free people. They were almost ready to cut one another’s
throats. I returned with a countenance which betrayed my emotion. The
King desired to know what was going forward at his door; I could not
conceal it from him. The Queen said she was not at all surprised at it, and
that more than half the guard belonged to the Jacobin party.
they were also insulted at the very foot of the altar. The Sunday before the
last day of the monarchy, while the royal family went through the gallery to
the chapel, half the soldiers of the National Guard exclaimed, “Long live
the King!” and the other half, “No; no King! Down with the veto!” and on
that day at vespers the choristers preconcerted to use loud and threatening
emphasis when chanting the words, “Deposuit potentes de sede,” in the
“Magnificat.” Incensed at such an irreverent proceeding, the royalists in
their turn thrice exclaimed, “Et reginam,” after the “Domine salvum fac
regem.” The tumult during the whole time of divine service was excessive.
At length the terrible night of the 10th of August, 1792, arrived. On the
preceding evening Potion went to the Assembly and informed it that
preparations were making for an insurrection on the following day; that the
tocsin would sound at midnight; and that he feared he had not sufficient
means for resisting the attack which was about to take place. Upon this
information the Assembly passed to the order of the day. Petion, however,
gave an order for repelling force by force.
[Petion was the Mayor of Paris, and Mandat on this day
was commandant of the National Guard. Mandat was
assassinated that night.—“Thiers,” vol. i., p. 260.]
M. Mandat was armed with this order; and, finding his fidelity to the
King’s person supported by what he considered the law of the State, he
conducted himself in all his operations with the greatest energy. On the
evening of the 9th I was present at the King’s supper. While his Majesty
was giving me various orders we heard a great noise at the door of the
apartment. I went to see what was the cause of it, and found the two
sentinels fighting. One said, speaking of the King, that he was hearty in the
cause of the constitution, and would defend it at the peril of his life; the
other maintained that he was an encumbrance to the only constitution
suitable to a free people. They were almost ready to cut one another’s
throats. I returned with a countenance which betrayed my emotion. The
King desired to know what was going forward at his door; I could not
conceal it from him. The Queen said she was not at all surprised at it, and
that more than half the guard belonged to the Jacobin party.
Page 336
The tocsin sounded at midnight. The Swiss were drawn up like walls; and
in the midst of their soldierlike silence, which formed a striking contrast
with the perpetual din of the town guard, the King informed M. de J——-,
an officer of the staff, of the plan of defence laid down by General
Viomenil. M. de J——- said to me, after this private conference, “Put your
jewels and money into your pockets; our dangers are unavoidable; the
means of defence are nil; safety might be obtained by some degree of
energy in the King, but that is the only virtue in which he is deficient.”
An hour after midnight the Queen and Madame Elisabeth said they
would lie down on a sofa in a room in the entresols, the windows of which
commanded the courtyard of the Tuileries.
The Queen told me the King had just refused to put on his quilted under-
waistcoat; that he had consented to wear it on the 14th of July because he
was merely going to a ceremony where the blade of an assassin was to be
apprehended, but that on a day on which his party might fight against the
revolutionists he thought there was something cowardly in preserving his
life by such means.
During this time Madame Elisabeth disengaged herself from some of her
clothing which encumbered her in order to lie down on the sofa: she took a
cornelian pin out of her cape, and before she laid it down on the table she
showed it to me, and desired me to read a motto engraved upon it round a
stalk of lilies. The words were, “Oblivion of injuries; pardon for
offences.”—“I much fear,” added that virtuous Princess, “this maxim has
but little influence among our enemies; but it ought not to be less dear to us
on that account.”
[The exalted piety of Madame Elisabeth gave to all she
said and did a noble character, descriptive of that of her
soul. On the day on which this worthy descendant of Saint
Louis was sacrificed, the executioner, in tying her hands
behind her, raised up one of the ends of her handkerchief.
Madame Elisabeth, with calmness, and in a voice which
seemed not to belong to earth, said to him, “In the name of
modesty, cover my bosom.” I learned this from Madame de
Serilly, who was condemned the same day as the Princess,
but who obtained a respite at the moment of the execution,
in the midst of their soldierlike silence, which formed a striking contrast
with the perpetual din of the town guard, the King informed M. de J——-,
an officer of the staff, of the plan of defence laid down by General
Viomenil. M. de J——- said to me, after this private conference, “Put your
jewels and money into your pockets; our dangers are unavoidable; the
means of defence are nil; safety might be obtained by some degree of
energy in the King, but that is the only virtue in which he is deficient.”
An hour after midnight the Queen and Madame Elisabeth said they
would lie down on a sofa in a room in the entresols, the windows of which
commanded the courtyard of the Tuileries.
The Queen told me the King had just refused to put on his quilted under-
waistcoat; that he had consented to wear it on the 14th of July because he
was merely going to a ceremony where the blade of an assassin was to be
apprehended, but that on a day on which his party might fight against the
revolutionists he thought there was something cowardly in preserving his
life by such means.
During this time Madame Elisabeth disengaged herself from some of her
clothing which encumbered her in order to lie down on the sofa: she took a
cornelian pin out of her cape, and before she laid it down on the table she
showed it to me, and desired me to read a motto engraved upon it round a
stalk of lilies. The words were, “Oblivion of injuries; pardon for
offences.”—“I much fear,” added that virtuous Princess, “this maxim has
but little influence among our enemies; but it ought not to be less dear to us
on that account.”
[The exalted piety of Madame Elisabeth gave to all she
said and did a noble character, descriptive of that of her
soul. On the day on which this worthy descendant of Saint
Louis was sacrificed, the executioner, in tying her hands
behind her, raised up one of the ends of her handkerchief.
Madame Elisabeth, with calmness, and in a voice which
seemed not to belong to earth, said to him, “In the name of
modesty, cover my bosom.” I learned this from Madame de
Serilly, who was condemned the same day as the Princess,
but who obtained a respite at the moment of the execution,
Page 337
Madame de Montmorin, her relation, declaring that her
cousin was enceinte.-MADAME CAMPAN.]
The Queen desired me to sit down by her; the two Princesses could not
sleep; they were conversing mournfully upon their situation when a musket
was discharged in the courtyard. They both quitted the sofa, saying, “There
is the first shot, unfortunately it will not be the last; let us go up to the
King.” The Queen desired me to follow her; several of her women went
with me.
At four o’clock the Queen came out of the King’s chamber and told us
she had no longer any hope; that M. Mandat, who had gone to the Hotel de
Ville to receive further orders, had just been assassinated, and that the
people were at that time carrying his head about the streets. Day came. The
King, the Queen, Madame Elisabeth, Madame, and the Dauphin went down
to pass through the ranks of the sections of the National Guard; the cry of
“Vive le Roi!” was heard from a few places. I was at a window on the
garden side; I saw some of the gunners quit their posts, go up to the King,
and thrust their fists in his face, insulting him by the most brutal language.
Messieurs de Salvert and de Bridges drove them off in a spirited manner.
The King was as pale as a corpse. The royal family came in again. The
Queen told me that all was lost; that the King had shown no energy; and
that this sort of review had done more harm than good.
I was in the billiard-room with my companions; we placed ourselves
upon some high benches. I then saw M. d’Hervilly with a drawn sword in
his hand, ordering the usher to open the door to the French noblesse. Two
hundred persons entered the room nearest to that in which the family were;
others drew up in two lines in the preceding rooms. I saw a few people
belonging to the Court, many others whose features were unknown to me,
and a few who figured technically without right among what was called the
noblesse, but whose self-devotion ennobled them at once. They were all so
badly armed that even in that situation the indomitable French liveliness
indulged in jests. M. de Saint-Souplet, one of the King’s equerries, and a
page, carried on their shoulders instead of muskets the tongs belonging to
the King’s antechamber, which they had broken and divided between them.
Another page, who had a pocket-pistol in his hand, stuck the end of it
against the back of the person who stood before him, and who begged he
would be good enough to rest it elsewhere. A sword and a pair of pistols
cousin was enceinte.-MADAME CAMPAN.]
The Queen desired me to sit down by her; the two Princesses could not
sleep; they were conversing mournfully upon their situation when a musket
was discharged in the courtyard. They both quitted the sofa, saying, “There
is the first shot, unfortunately it will not be the last; let us go up to the
King.” The Queen desired me to follow her; several of her women went
with me.
At four o’clock the Queen came out of the King’s chamber and told us
she had no longer any hope; that M. Mandat, who had gone to the Hotel de
Ville to receive further orders, had just been assassinated, and that the
people were at that time carrying his head about the streets. Day came. The
King, the Queen, Madame Elisabeth, Madame, and the Dauphin went down
to pass through the ranks of the sections of the National Guard; the cry of
“Vive le Roi!” was heard from a few places. I was at a window on the
garden side; I saw some of the gunners quit their posts, go up to the King,
and thrust their fists in his face, insulting him by the most brutal language.
Messieurs de Salvert and de Bridges drove them off in a spirited manner.
The King was as pale as a corpse. The royal family came in again. The
Queen told me that all was lost; that the King had shown no energy; and
that this sort of review had done more harm than good.
I was in the billiard-room with my companions; we placed ourselves
upon some high benches. I then saw M. d’Hervilly with a drawn sword in
his hand, ordering the usher to open the door to the French noblesse. Two
hundred persons entered the room nearest to that in which the family were;
others drew up in two lines in the preceding rooms. I saw a few people
belonging to the Court, many others whose features were unknown to me,
and a few who figured technically without right among what was called the
noblesse, but whose self-devotion ennobled them at once. They were all so
badly armed that even in that situation the indomitable French liveliness
indulged in jests. M. de Saint-Souplet, one of the King’s equerries, and a
page, carried on their shoulders instead of muskets the tongs belonging to
the King’s antechamber, which they had broken and divided between them.
Another page, who had a pocket-pistol in his hand, stuck the end of it
against the back of the person who stood before him, and who begged he
would be good enough to rest it elsewhere. A sword and a pair of pistols
Page 338
were the only arms of those who had had the precaution to provide
themselves with arms at all. Meanwhile, the numerous bands from the
faubourgs, armed with pikes and cutlasses, filled the Carrousel and the
streets adjacent to the Tuileries. The sanguinary Marseillais were at their
head, with cannon pointed against the Chateau. In this emergency the
King’s Council sent M. Dejoly, the Minister of Justice, to the Assembly to
request they would send the King a deputation which might serve as a
safeguard to the executive power. His ruin was resolved on; they passed to
the order of the day. At eight o’clock the department repaired to the
Chateau. The procureur-syndic, seeing that the guard within was ready to
join the assailants, went into the King’s closet and requested to speak to him
in private. The King received him in his chamber; the Queen was with him.
There M. Roederer told him that the King, all his family, and the people
about them would inevitably perish unless his Majesty immediately
determined to go to the National Assembly. The Queen at first opposed this
advice, but the procureur-syndic told her that she rendered herself
responsible for the deaths of the King, her children, and all who were in the
palace. She no longer objected. The King then consented to go to the
Assembly. As he set out, he said to the minister and persons who
surrounded him, “Come, gentlemen, there is nothing more to be done here.”
[“The King hesitated, the Queen manifested the highest
dissatisfaction. ‘What!’ said she,’ are we alone; is there
nobody who can act?’—‘Yes, Madame, alone; action is
useless—resistance is impossible.’ One of the members of
the department, M. Gerdrot, insisted on the prompt
execution of the proposed measure. ‘Silence, monsieur,’ said
the Queen to him; ‘silence; you are the only person who
ought to be silent here; when the mischief is done, those who
did it should not pretend to wish to remedy it.’ . . .
“The King remained mute; nobody spoke. It was reserved
for me to give the last piece of advice. I had the firmness to
say, ‘Let us go, and not deliberate; honour commands it, the
good of the State requires it. Let us go to the National
Assembly; this step ought to have been taken long ago: ‘Let
us go,’ said the King, raising his right hand; ‘let us start; let
us give this last mark of self-devotion, since it is necessary.’
themselves with arms at all. Meanwhile, the numerous bands from the
faubourgs, armed with pikes and cutlasses, filled the Carrousel and the
streets adjacent to the Tuileries. The sanguinary Marseillais were at their
head, with cannon pointed against the Chateau. In this emergency the
King’s Council sent M. Dejoly, the Minister of Justice, to the Assembly to
request they would send the King a deputation which might serve as a
safeguard to the executive power. His ruin was resolved on; they passed to
the order of the day. At eight o’clock the department repaired to the
Chateau. The procureur-syndic, seeing that the guard within was ready to
join the assailants, went into the King’s closet and requested to speak to him
in private. The King received him in his chamber; the Queen was with him.
There M. Roederer told him that the King, all his family, and the people
about them would inevitably perish unless his Majesty immediately
determined to go to the National Assembly. The Queen at first opposed this
advice, but the procureur-syndic told her that she rendered herself
responsible for the deaths of the King, her children, and all who were in the
palace. She no longer objected. The King then consented to go to the
Assembly. As he set out, he said to the minister and persons who
surrounded him, “Come, gentlemen, there is nothing more to be done here.”
[“The King hesitated, the Queen manifested the highest
dissatisfaction. ‘What!’ said she,’ are we alone; is there
nobody who can act?’—‘Yes, Madame, alone; action is
useless—resistance is impossible.’ One of the members of
the department, M. Gerdrot, insisted on the prompt
execution of the proposed measure. ‘Silence, monsieur,’ said
the Queen to him; ‘silence; you are the only person who
ought to be silent here; when the mischief is done, those who
did it should not pretend to wish to remedy it.’ . . .
“The King remained mute; nobody spoke. It was reserved
for me to give the last piece of advice. I had the firmness to
say, ‘Let us go, and not deliberate; honour commands it, the
good of the State requires it. Let us go to the National
Assembly; this step ought to have been taken long ago: ‘Let
us go,’ said the King, raising his right hand; ‘let us start; let
us give this last mark of self-devotion, since it is necessary.’
Page 339
The Queen was persuaded. Her first anxiety was for the
King, the second for her son; the King had none. ‘M.
Roederer—gentlemen,’ said the Queen, ‘you answer for the
person of the King; you answer for that of my
son.’—‘Madame,’ replied M. Roederer, ‘we pledge ourselves
to die at your side; that is all we can engage for.’”—
MONTJOIE, “History of Marie Antoinette.”]
The Queen said to me as she left the King’s chamber, “Wait in my
apartments; I will come to you, or I will send for you to go I know not
whither.” She took with her only the Princesse de Lamballe and Madame de
Tourzel. The Princesse de Tarente and Madame de la Roche-Aymon were
inconsolable at being left at the Tuileries; they, and all who belonged to the
chamber, went down into the Queen’s apartments.
We saw the royal family pass between two lines formed by the Swiss
grenadiers and those of the battalions of the Petits-Peres and the Filles Saint
Thomas. They were so pressed upon by the crowd that during that short
passage the Queen was robbed of her watch and purse. A man of great
height and horrible appearance, one of such as were to be seen at the head
of all the insurrections, drew near the Dauphin, whom the Queen was
leading by the hand, and took him up in his arms. The Queen uttered a
scream of terror, and was ready to faint. The man said to her, “Don’t be
frightened, I will do him no harm;” and he gave him back to her at the
entrance of the chamber.
I leave to history all the details of that too memorable day, confining
myself to recalling a few of the frightful scenes acted in the interior of the
Tuileries after the King had quitted the palace.
The assailants did not know that the King and his family had betaken
themselves to the Assembly; and those who defended the palace from the
aide of the courts were equally ignorant of it. It is supposed that if they had
been aware of the fact the siege would never have taken place.
[In reading of the events of the 10th of August, 1792, the
reader must remember that there was hardly any armed
force to resist the mob. The regiments that had shown signs
of being loyal to the King had been removed from Paris by
the Assembly. The Swiss had been deprived of their own
King, the second for her son; the King had none. ‘M.
Roederer—gentlemen,’ said the Queen, ‘you answer for the
person of the King; you answer for that of my
son.’—‘Madame,’ replied M. Roederer, ‘we pledge ourselves
to die at your side; that is all we can engage for.’”—
MONTJOIE, “History of Marie Antoinette.”]
The Queen said to me as she left the King’s chamber, “Wait in my
apartments; I will come to you, or I will send for you to go I know not
whither.” She took with her only the Princesse de Lamballe and Madame de
Tourzel. The Princesse de Tarente and Madame de la Roche-Aymon were
inconsolable at being left at the Tuileries; they, and all who belonged to the
chamber, went down into the Queen’s apartments.
We saw the royal family pass between two lines formed by the Swiss
grenadiers and those of the battalions of the Petits-Peres and the Filles Saint
Thomas. They were so pressed upon by the crowd that during that short
passage the Queen was robbed of her watch and purse. A man of great
height and horrible appearance, one of such as were to be seen at the head
of all the insurrections, drew near the Dauphin, whom the Queen was
leading by the hand, and took him up in his arms. The Queen uttered a
scream of terror, and was ready to faint. The man said to her, “Don’t be
frightened, I will do him no harm;” and he gave him back to her at the
entrance of the chamber.
I leave to history all the details of that too memorable day, confining
myself to recalling a few of the frightful scenes acted in the interior of the
Tuileries after the King had quitted the palace.
The assailants did not know that the King and his family had betaken
themselves to the Assembly; and those who defended the palace from the
aide of the courts were equally ignorant of it. It is supposed that if they had
been aware of the fact the siege would never have taken place.
[In reading of the events of the 10th of August, 1792, the
reader must remember that there was hardly any armed
force to resist the mob. The regiments that had shown signs
of being loyal to the King had been removed from Paris by
the Assembly. The Swiss had been deprived of their own
Page 340
artillery, and the Court had sent one of their battalions into
Normandy at a time when there was an idea of taking refuge
there. The National Guard were either disloyal or
disheartened, and the gunners, especially of that force at the
Tuileries, sympathised with the mob. Thus the King had
about 800 or 900 Swiss and little more than one battalion of
the National Guard. Mandat, one of the six heads of the
legions of the National Guard, to whose turn the command
fell on that day, was true to his duty, but was sent for to the
Hotel de Ville and assassinated. Still the small force, even
after the departure of the King, would have probably beaten
off the mob had not the King given the fatal order to the
Swiss to cease firing. (See Thiers’s “Revolution Francaise,”
vol. i., chap. xi.) Bonaparte’s opinion of the mob may be
judged by his remarks on the 20th June, 1792, when,
disgusted at seeing the King appear with the red cap on his
head, he exclaimed, “Che coglione! Why have they let in all
that rabble? Why don’t they sweep off 400 or 500 of them
with the cannon? The rest would then set off.”
(“Bourrienne,” vol. i., p.13, Bentley, London, 1836.)
Bonaparte carried out his own plan against a far stronger
force of assailants on the Jour des Sections, 4th October,
1795.]
The Marseillais began by driving from their posts several Swiss, who
yielded without resistance; a few of the assailants fired upon them; some of
the Swiss officers, seeing their men fall, and perhaps thinking the King was
still at the Tuileries, gave the word to a whole battalion to fire. The
aggressors were thrown into disorder, and the Carrousel was cleared in a
moment; but they soon returned, spurred on by rage and revenge. The Swiss
were but eight hundred strong; they fell back into the interior of the
Chateau; some of the doors were battered in by the guns, others broken
through with hatchets; the populace rushed from all quarters into the
interior of the palace; almost all the Swiss were massacred; the nobles,
flying through the gallery which leads to the Louvre, were either stabbed or
shot, and the bodies thrown out of the windows.
Normandy at a time when there was an idea of taking refuge
there. The National Guard were either disloyal or
disheartened, and the gunners, especially of that force at the
Tuileries, sympathised with the mob. Thus the King had
about 800 or 900 Swiss and little more than one battalion of
the National Guard. Mandat, one of the six heads of the
legions of the National Guard, to whose turn the command
fell on that day, was true to his duty, but was sent for to the
Hotel de Ville and assassinated. Still the small force, even
after the departure of the King, would have probably beaten
off the mob had not the King given the fatal order to the
Swiss to cease firing. (See Thiers’s “Revolution Francaise,”
vol. i., chap. xi.) Bonaparte’s opinion of the mob may be
judged by his remarks on the 20th June, 1792, when,
disgusted at seeing the King appear with the red cap on his
head, he exclaimed, “Che coglione! Why have they let in all
that rabble? Why don’t they sweep off 400 or 500 of them
with the cannon? The rest would then set off.”
(“Bourrienne,” vol. i., p.13, Bentley, London, 1836.)
Bonaparte carried out his own plan against a far stronger
force of assailants on the Jour des Sections, 4th October,
1795.]
The Marseillais began by driving from their posts several Swiss, who
yielded without resistance; a few of the assailants fired upon them; some of
the Swiss officers, seeing their men fall, and perhaps thinking the King was
still at the Tuileries, gave the word to a whole battalion to fire. The
aggressors were thrown into disorder, and the Carrousel was cleared in a
moment; but they soon returned, spurred on by rage and revenge. The Swiss
were but eight hundred strong; they fell back into the interior of the
Chateau; some of the doors were battered in by the guns, others broken
through with hatchets; the populace rushed from all quarters into the
interior of the palace; almost all the Swiss were massacred; the nobles,
flying through the gallery which leads to the Louvre, were either stabbed or
shot, and the bodies thrown out of the windows.
Page 341
M. Pallas and M. de Marchais, ushers of the King’s chamber, were killed
in defending the door of the council chamber; many others of the King’s
servants fell victims to their fidelity. I mention these two persons in
particular because, with their hats pulled over their brows and their swords
in their hands, they exclaimed, as they defended themselves with unavailing
courage, “We will not survive!—this is our post; our duty is to die at it.” M.
Diet behaved in the same manner at the door of the Queen’s bedchamber;
he experienced the same fate. The Princesse de Tarente had fortunately
opened the door of the apartments; otherwise, the dreadful band seeing
several women collected in the Queen’s salon would have fancied she was
among us, and would have immediately massacred us had we resisted them.
We were, indeed, all about to perish, when a man with a long beard came
up, exclaiming, in the name of Potion, “Spare the women; don’t dishonour
the nation!” A particular circumstance placed me in greater danger than the
others. In my confusion I imagined, a moment before the assailants entered
the Queen’s apartments, that my sister was not among the group of women
collected there; and I went up into an ‘entresol’, where I supposed she had
taken refuge, to induce her to come down, fancying it safer that we should
not be separated. I did not find her in the room in question; I saw there only
our two femmes de chambre and one of the Queen’s two heyducs, a man of
great height and military aspect. I saw that he was pale, and sitting on a bed.
I cried out to him, “Fly! the footmen and our people are already safe.”—“I
cannot,” said the man to me; “I am dying of fear.” As he spoke I heard a
number of men rushing hastily up the staircase; they threw themselves upon
him, and I saw him assassinated.
I ran towards the staircase, followed by our women. The murderers left
the heyduc to come to me. The women threw themselves at their feet, and
held their sabres. The narrowness of the staircase impeded the assassins; but
I had already felt a horrid hand thrust into my back to seize me by my
clothes, when some one called out from the bottom of the staircase, “What
are you doing above there? We don’t kill women.” I was on my knees; my
executioner quitted his hold of me, and said, “Get up, you jade; the nation
pardons you.”
The brutality of these words did not prevent my suddenly experiencing
an indescribable feeling which partook almost equally of the love of life
and the idea that I was going to see my son, and all that was dear to me,
again. A moment before I had thought less of death than of the pain which
in defending the door of the council chamber; many others of the King’s
servants fell victims to their fidelity. I mention these two persons in
particular because, with their hats pulled over their brows and their swords
in their hands, they exclaimed, as they defended themselves with unavailing
courage, “We will not survive!—this is our post; our duty is to die at it.” M.
Diet behaved in the same manner at the door of the Queen’s bedchamber;
he experienced the same fate. The Princesse de Tarente had fortunately
opened the door of the apartments; otherwise, the dreadful band seeing
several women collected in the Queen’s salon would have fancied she was
among us, and would have immediately massacred us had we resisted them.
We were, indeed, all about to perish, when a man with a long beard came
up, exclaiming, in the name of Potion, “Spare the women; don’t dishonour
the nation!” A particular circumstance placed me in greater danger than the
others. In my confusion I imagined, a moment before the assailants entered
the Queen’s apartments, that my sister was not among the group of women
collected there; and I went up into an ‘entresol’, where I supposed she had
taken refuge, to induce her to come down, fancying it safer that we should
not be separated. I did not find her in the room in question; I saw there only
our two femmes de chambre and one of the Queen’s two heyducs, a man of
great height and military aspect. I saw that he was pale, and sitting on a bed.
I cried out to him, “Fly! the footmen and our people are already safe.”—“I
cannot,” said the man to me; “I am dying of fear.” As he spoke I heard a
number of men rushing hastily up the staircase; they threw themselves upon
him, and I saw him assassinated.
I ran towards the staircase, followed by our women. The murderers left
the heyduc to come to me. The women threw themselves at their feet, and
held their sabres. The narrowness of the staircase impeded the assassins; but
I had already felt a horrid hand thrust into my back to seize me by my
clothes, when some one called out from the bottom of the staircase, “What
are you doing above there? We don’t kill women.” I was on my knees; my
executioner quitted his hold of me, and said, “Get up, you jade; the nation
pardons you.”
The brutality of these words did not prevent my suddenly experiencing
an indescribable feeling which partook almost equally of the love of life
and the idea that I was going to see my son, and all that was dear to me,
again. A moment before I had thought less of death than of the pain which
Page 342
the steel, suspended over my head, would occasion me. Death is seldom
seen so close without striking his blow. I heard every syllable uttered by the
assassins, just as if I had been calm.
Five or six men seized me and my companions, and, having made us get
up on benches placed before the windows, ordered us to call out, “The
nation for ever!”
I passed over several corpses; I recognised that of the old Vicomte de
Broves, to whom the Queen had sent me at the beginning of the night to
desire him and another old man in her name to go home. These brave men
desired I would tell her Majesty that they had but too strictly obeyed the
King’s orders in all circumstances under which they ought to have exposed
their own lives in order to preserve his; and that for this once they would
not obey, though they would cherish the recollection of the Queen’s
goodness.
Near the grille, on the side next the bridge, the men who conducted me
asked whither I wished to go. Upon my inquiring, in my turn, whether they
were at liberty to take me wherever I might wish to go, one of them, a
Marseillais, asked me, giving me at the same time a push with the butt end
of his musket, whether I still doubted the power of the people? I answered
“No,” and I mentioned the number of my brother-in-law’s house. I saw my
sister ascending the steps of the parapet of the bridge, surrounded by
members of the National Guard. I called to her, and she turned round.
“Would you have her go with you?” said my guardian to me. I told him I
did wish it. They called the people who were leading my sister to prison;
she joined me.
Madame de la Roche-Aymon and her daughter, Mademoiselle Pauline de
Tourzel, Madame de Ginestoux, lady to the Princesse de Lamballe, the
other women of the Queen, and the old Comte d’Affry, were led off
together to the Abbaye.
Our progress from the Tuileries to my sister’s house was most
distressing. We saw several Swiss pursued and killed, and musket-shots
were crossing each other in all directions. We passed under the walls of the
Louvre; they were firing from the parapet into the windows of the gallery,
to hit the knights of the dagger; for thus did the populace designate those
faithful subjects who had assembled at the Tuileries to defend the King.
seen so close without striking his blow. I heard every syllable uttered by the
assassins, just as if I had been calm.
Five or six men seized me and my companions, and, having made us get
up on benches placed before the windows, ordered us to call out, “The
nation for ever!”
I passed over several corpses; I recognised that of the old Vicomte de
Broves, to whom the Queen had sent me at the beginning of the night to
desire him and another old man in her name to go home. These brave men
desired I would tell her Majesty that they had but too strictly obeyed the
King’s orders in all circumstances under which they ought to have exposed
their own lives in order to preserve his; and that for this once they would
not obey, though they would cherish the recollection of the Queen’s
goodness.
Near the grille, on the side next the bridge, the men who conducted me
asked whither I wished to go. Upon my inquiring, in my turn, whether they
were at liberty to take me wherever I might wish to go, one of them, a
Marseillais, asked me, giving me at the same time a push with the butt end
of his musket, whether I still doubted the power of the people? I answered
“No,” and I mentioned the number of my brother-in-law’s house. I saw my
sister ascending the steps of the parapet of the bridge, surrounded by
members of the National Guard. I called to her, and she turned round.
“Would you have her go with you?” said my guardian to me. I told him I
did wish it. They called the people who were leading my sister to prison;
she joined me.
Madame de la Roche-Aymon and her daughter, Mademoiselle Pauline de
Tourzel, Madame de Ginestoux, lady to the Princesse de Lamballe, the
other women of the Queen, and the old Comte d’Affry, were led off
together to the Abbaye.
Our progress from the Tuileries to my sister’s house was most
distressing. We saw several Swiss pursued and killed, and musket-shots
were crossing each other in all directions. We passed under the walls of the
Louvre; they were firing from the parapet into the windows of the gallery,
to hit the knights of the dagger; for thus did the populace designate those
faithful subjects who had assembled at the Tuileries to defend the King.
Page 343
The brigands broke some vessels of water in the Queen’s first
antechamber; the mixture of blood and water stained the skirts of our white
gowns. The poissardes screamed after us in the streets that we were
attached to the Austrian. Our protectors then showed some consideration for
us, and made us go up a gateway to pull off our gowns; but our petticoats
being too short, and making us look like persons in disguise, other
poissardes began to bawl out that we were young Swiss dressed up like
women. We then saw a tribe of female cannibals enter the street, carrying
the head of poor Mandat. Our guards made us hastily enter a little public-
house, called for wine, and desired us to drink with them. They assured the
landlady that we were their sisters, and good patriots. Happily the
Marseillais had quitted us to return to the Tuileries. One of the men who
remained with us said to me in a low voice: “I am a gauze-worker in the
faubourg. I was forced to march; I am not for all this; I have not killed
anybody, and have rescued you. You ran a great risk when we met the mad
women who are carrying Mandat’s head. These horrible women said
yesterday at midnight, upon the site of the Bastille, that they must have their
revenge for the 6th of October, at Versailles, and that they had sworn to kill
the Queen and all the women attached to her; the danger of the action saved
you all.”
As I crossed the Carrousel, I saw my house in flames; but as soon as the
first moment of affright was over, I thought no more of my personal
misfortunes. My ideas turned solely upon the dreadful situation of the
Queen.
On reaching my sister’s we found all our family in despair, believing they
should never see us again. I could not remain in her house; some of the
mob, collected round the door, exclaimed that Marie Antoinette’s confidante
was in the house, and that they must have her head. I disguised myself, and
was concealed in the house of M. Morel, secretary for the lotteries. On the
morrow I was inquired for there, in the name of the Queen. A deputy, whose
sentiments were known to her, took upon himself to find me out.
I borrowed clothes, and went with my sister to the Feuillans—[A former
monastery near the Tuileries, so called from the Bernardines, one of the
Cistercian orders; later a revolutionary club.]—We got there at the same
time with M. Thierry de Ville d’Avray, the King’s first valet de chambre.
We were taken into an office, where we wrote down our names and places
antechamber; the mixture of blood and water stained the skirts of our white
gowns. The poissardes screamed after us in the streets that we were
attached to the Austrian. Our protectors then showed some consideration for
us, and made us go up a gateway to pull off our gowns; but our petticoats
being too short, and making us look like persons in disguise, other
poissardes began to bawl out that we were young Swiss dressed up like
women. We then saw a tribe of female cannibals enter the street, carrying
the head of poor Mandat. Our guards made us hastily enter a little public-
house, called for wine, and desired us to drink with them. They assured the
landlady that we were their sisters, and good patriots. Happily the
Marseillais had quitted us to return to the Tuileries. One of the men who
remained with us said to me in a low voice: “I am a gauze-worker in the
faubourg. I was forced to march; I am not for all this; I have not killed
anybody, and have rescued you. You ran a great risk when we met the mad
women who are carrying Mandat’s head. These horrible women said
yesterday at midnight, upon the site of the Bastille, that they must have their
revenge for the 6th of October, at Versailles, and that they had sworn to kill
the Queen and all the women attached to her; the danger of the action saved
you all.”
As I crossed the Carrousel, I saw my house in flames; but as soon as the
first moment of affright was over, I thought no more of my personal
misfortunes. My ideas turned solely upon the dreadful situation of the
Queen.
On reaching my sister’s we found all our family in despair, believing they
should never see us again. I could not remain in her house; some of the
mob, collected round the door, exclaimed that Marie Antoinette’s confidante
was in the house, and that they must have her head. I disguised myself, and
was concealed in the house of M. Morel, secretary for the lotteries. On the
morrow I was inquired for there, in the name of the Queen. A deputy, whose
sentiments were known to her, took upon himself to find me out.
I borrowed clothes, and went with my sister to the Feuillans—[A former
monastery near the Tuileries, so called from the Bernardines, one of the
Cistercian orders; later a revolutionary club.]—We got there at the same
time with M. Thierry de Ville d’Avray, the King’s first valet de chambre.
We were taken into an office, where we wrote down our names and places
Page 344
of abode, and we received tickets for admission into the rooms belonging to
Camus, the keeper of the Archives, where the King was with his family.
As we entered the first room, a person who was there said to me, “Ah!
you are a brave woman; but where is that Thierry, that man loaded with his
master’s bounties?”—“He is here,” said I; “he is following me. I perceive
that even scenes of death do not banish jealousy from among you.”
[M. Thierry, who never ceased to give his sovereign
proofs of unalterable attachment, was one of the victims of
the 2d of September.—MADAME CAMPAN.]
Having belonged to the Court from my earliest youth, I was known to
many persons whom I did not know. As I traversed a corridor above the
cloisters which led to the cells inhabited by the unfortunate Louis XVI. and
his family, several of the grenadiers called me by name. One of them said to
me, “Well, the poor King is lost! The Comte d’Artois would have managed
it better.”—“Not at all,” said another.
The royal family occupied a small suite of apartments consisting of four
cells, formerly belonging to the ancient monastery of the Feuillans. In the
first were the men who had accompanied the King: the Prince de Poix, the
Baron d’Aubier, M. de Saint-Pardou, equerry to Madame Elisabeth, MM.
de Goguelat, de Chamilly, and de Hue. In the second we found the King; he
was having his hair dressed; he took two locks of it, and gave one to my
sister and one to me. We offered to kiss his hand; he opposed it, and
embraced us without saying anything. In the third was the Queen, in bed,
and in indescribable affliction. We found her accompanied only by a stout
woman, who appeared tolerably civil; she was the keeper of the apartments.
She waited upon the Queen, who as yet had none of her own people about
her. Her Majesty stretched out her arms to us, saying, “Come, unfortunate
women; come, and see one still more unhappy than yourselves, since she
has been the cause of all your misfortunes. We are ruined,” continued she;
“we have arrived at that point to which they have been leading us for three
years, through all possible outrages; we shall fall in this dreadful revolution,
and many others will perish after us. All have contributed to our downfall;
the reformers have urged it like mad people, and others through ambition,
for the wildest Jacobin seeks wealth and office, and the mob is eager for
plunder. There is not one real patriot among all this infamous horde. The
Camus, the keeper of the Archives, where the King was with his family.
As we entered the first room, a person who was there said to me, “Ah!
you are a brave woman; but where is that Thierry, that man loaded with his
master’s bounties?”—“He is here,” said I; “he is following me. I perceive
that even scenes of death do not banish jealousy from among you.”
[M. Thierry, who never ceased to give his sovereign
proofs of unalterable attachment, was one of the victims of
the 2d of September.—MADAME CAMPAN.]
Having belonged to the Court from my earliest youth, I was known to
many persons whom I did not know. As I traversed a corridor above the
cloisters which led to the cells inhabited by the unfortunate Louis XVI. and
his family, several of the grenadiers called me by name. One of them said to
me, “Well, the poor King is lost! The Comte d’Artois would have managed
it better.”—“Not at all,” said another.
The royal family occupied a small suite of apartments consisting of four
cells, formerly belonging to the ancient monastery of the Feuillans. In the
first were the men who had accompanied the King: the Prince de Poix, the
Baron d’Aubier, M. de Saint-Pardou, equerry to Madame Elisabeth, MM.
de Goguelat, de Chamilly, and de Hue. In the second we found the King; he
was having his hair dressed; he took two locks of it, and gave one to my
sister and one to me. We offered to kiss his hand; he opposed it, and
embraced us without saying anything. In the third was the Queen, in bed,
and in indescribable affliction. We found her accompanied only by a stout
woman, who appeared tolerably civil; she was the keeper of the apartments.
She waited upon the Queen, who as yet had none of her own people about
her. Her Majesty stretched out her arms to us, saying, “Come, unfortunate
women; come, and see one still more unhappy than yourselves, since she
has been the cause of all your misfortunes. We are ruined,” continued she;
“we have arrived at that point to which they have been leading us for three
years, through all possible outrages; we shall fall in this dreadful revolution,
and many others will perish after us. All have contributed to our downfall;
the reformers have urged it like mad people, and others through ambition,
for the wildest Jacobin seeks wealth and office, and the mob is eager for
plunder. There is not one real patriot among all this infamous horde. The
Page 345
emigrant party have their intrigues and schemes; foreigners seek to profit by
the dissensions of France; every one has a share in our misfortunes.”
The Dauphin came in with Madame and the Marquise de Tourzel. On
seeing them the Queen said to me, “Poor children! how heartrending it is,
instead of handing down to them so fine an inheritance, to say it ends with
us!” She afterwards conversed with me about the Tuileries and the persons
who had fallen; she condescended also to mention the burning of my house.
I looked upon that loss as a mischance which ought not to dwell upon her
mind, and I told her so. She spoke of the Princesse de Tarente, whom she
greatly loved and valued, of Madame de la Roche-Aymon and her daughter,
of the other persons whom she had left at the palace, and of the Duchesse
de Luynes, who was to have passed the night at the Tuileries. Respecting
her she said, “Hers was one of the first heads turned by the rage for that
mischievous philosophy; but her heart brought her back, and I again found a
friend in her.”
[During the Reign of Terror I withdrew to the Chateau de
Coubertin, near that of Dampierre. The Duchesse de Luynes
frequently came to ask me to tell her what the Queen had
said about her at the Feuillans. She would say as she went
away, “I have often need to request you to repeat those
words of the Queen.”—MADAME CAMPAN.]
I asked the Queen what the ambassadors from foreign powers had done
under existing circumstances. She told me that they could do nothing; and
that the wife of the English ambassador had just given her a proof of the
personal interest she took in her welfare by sending her linen for her son.
the dissensions of France; every one has a share in our misfortunes.”
The Dauphin came in with Madame and the Marquise de Tourzel. On
seeing them the Queen said to me, “Poor children! how heartrending it is,
instead of handing down to them so fine an inheritance, to say it ends with
us!” She afterwards conversed with me about the Tuileries and the persons
who had fallen; she condescended also to mention the burning of my house.
I looked upon that loss as a mischance which ought not to dwell upon her
mind, and I told her so. She spoke of the Princesse de Tarente, whom she
greatly loved and valued, of Madame de la Roche-Aymon and her daughter,
of the other persons whom she had left at the palace, and of the Duchesse
de Luynes, who was to have passed the night at the Tuileries. Respecting
her she said, “Hers was one of the first heads turned by the rage for that
mischievous philosophy; but her heart brought her back, and I again found a
friend in her.”
[During the Reign of Terror I withdrew to the Chateau de
Coubertin, near that of Dampierre. The Duchesse de Luynes
frequently came to ask me to tell her what the Queen had
said about her at the Feuillans. She would say as she went
away, “I have often need to request you to repeat those
words of the Queen.”—MADAME CAMPAN.]
I asked the Queen what the ambassadors from foreign powers had done
under existing circumstances. She told me that they could do nothing; and
that the wife of the English ambassador had just given her a proof of the
personal interest she took in her welfare by sending her linen for her son.
Page 346
I informed her that, in the pillaging of my house, all my accounts with
her had been thrown into the Carrousel, and that every sheet of my month’s
expenditure was signed by her, sometimes leaving four or five inches of
blank paper above her signature, a circumstance which rendered me very
uneasy, from an apprehension that an improper use might be made of those
signatures. She desired me to demand admission to the committee of
general safety, and to make this declaration there. I repaired thither instantly
and found a deputy, with whose name I have never become acquainted.
After hearing me he said that he would not receive my deposition; that
Marie Antoinette was now nothing more than any other Frenchwoman; and
that if any of those detached papers bearing her signature should be
misapplied, she would have, at a future period, a right to lodge a complaint,
and to support her declaration by the facts which I had just related. The
Queen then regretted having sent me, and feared that she had, by her very
caution, pointed out a method of fabricating forgeries which might be
dangerous to her; then again she exclaimed, “My apprehensions are as
absurd as the step I made you take. They need nothing more for our ruin; all
has been told.”
She gave us details of what had taken place subsequently to the King’s
arrival at the Assembly. They are all well known, and I have no occasion to
record them; I will merely mention that she told us, though with much
delicacy, that she was not a little hurt at the King’s conduct since he had
quitted the Tuileries; that his habit of laying no restraint upon his great
appetite had prompted him to eat as if he had been at his palace; that those
who did not know him as she did, did not feel the piety and the
magnanimity of his resignation, all which produced so bad an effect that
deputies who were devoted to him had warned him of it; but no change
could be effected.
I still see in imagination, and shall always see, that narrow cell at the
Feuillans, hung with green paper, that wretched couch whence the
dethroned, Queen stretched out her arms to us, saying that our misfortunes,
of which she was the cause, increased her own. There, for the last time, I
saw the tears, I heard the sobs of her whom high birth, natural endowments,
and, above all, goodness of heart, had seemed to destine to adorn any
throne, and be the happiness of any people! It is impossible for those who
lived with Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette not to be fully convinced,
her had been thrown into the Carrousel, and that every sheet of my month’s
expenditure was signed by her, sometimes leaving four or five inches of
blank paper above her signature, a circumstance which rendered me very
uneasy, from an apprehension that an improper use might be made of those
signatures. She desired me to demand admission to the committee of
general safety, and to make this declaration there. I repaired thither instantly
and found a deputy, with whose name I have never become acquainted.
After hearing me he said that he would not receive my deposition; that
Marie Antoinette was now nothing more than any other Frenchwoman; and
that if any of those detached papers bearing her signature should be
misapplied, she would have, at a future period, a right to lodge a complaint,
and to support her declaration by the facts which I had just related. The
Queen then regretted having sent me, and feared that she had, by her very
caution, pointed out a method of fabricating forgeries which might be
dangerous to her; then again she exclaimed, “My apprehensions are as
absurd as the step I made you take. They need nothing more for our ruin; all
has been told.”
She gave us details of what had taken place subsequently to the King’s
arrival at the Assembly. They are all well known, and I have no occasion to
record them; I will merely mention that she told us, though with much
delicacy, that she was not a little hurt at the King’s conduct since he had
quitted the Tuileries; that his habit of laying no restraint upon his great
appetite had prompted him to eat as if he had been at his palace; that those
who did not know him as she did, did not feel the piety and the
magnanimity of his resignation, all which produced so bad an effect that
deputies who were devoted to him had warned him of it; but no change
could be effected.
I still see in imagination, and shall always see, that narrow cell at the
Feuillans, hung with green paper, that wretched couch whence the
dethroned, Queen stretched out her arms to us, saying that our misfortunes,
of which she was the cause, increased her own. There, for the last time, I
saw the tears, I heard the sobs of her whom high birth, natural endowments,
and, above all, goodness of heart, had seemed to destine to adorn any
throne, and be the happiness of any people! It is impossible for those who
lived with Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette not to be fully convinced,
Page 347
while doing full justice to the King’s virtues, that if the Queen had been
from the moment of her arrival in France the object of the care and affection
of a prince of decision and authority, she would have only added to the
glory of his reign.
What affecting things I have heard the Queen say in the affliction caused
her by the belief of part of the Court and the whole of the people that she
did not love France! How did that opinion shock those who knew her heart
and her sentiments! Twice did I see her on the point of going from her
apartments in the Tuileries into the gardens, to address the immense throng
constantly assembled there to insult her. “Yes,” exclaimed she, as she paced
her chamber with hurried steps, “I will say to them Frenchmen, they have
had the cruelty to persuade you that I do not love France!—I! the mother of
a Dauphin who will reign over this noble country!—I! whom Providence
has seated upon the most powerful throne of Europe! Of all the daughters of
Maria Theresa am I not that one whom fortune has most highly favoured?
And ought I not to feel all these advantages? What should I find at Vienna?
Nothing but sepulchres! What should I lose in France? Everything which
can confer glory!”
I protest I only repeat her own words; the soundness of her judgment
soon pointed out to her the dangers of such a proceeding. “I should descend
from the throne,” said she, “merely, perhaps, to excite a momentary
sympathy, which the factious would soon render more injurious than
beneficial to me.”
Yes, not only did Marie Antoinette love France, but few women took
greater pride in the courage of Frenchmen. I could adduce a multitude of
proofs of this; I will relate two traits which demonstrate the noblest
enthusiasm: The Queen was telling me that, at the coronation of the
Emperor Francis II., that Prince, bespeaking the admiration of a French
general officer, who was then an emigrant, for the fine appearance of his
troops, said to him, “There are the men to beat your sans culottes!” “That
remains to be seen, Sire,” instantly replied the officer. The Queen added, “I
don’t know the name of that brave Frenchman, but I will learn it; the King
ought to be in possession of it.” As she was reading the public papers a few
days before the 10th of August, she observed that mention was made of the
courage of a young man who died in defending the flag he carried, and
shouting, “Vive la Nation!”—“Ah! the fine lad!” said the Queen; “what a
from the moment of her arrival in France the object of the care and affection
of a prince of decision and authority, she would have only added to the
glory of his reign.
What affecting things I have heard the Queen say in the affliction caused
her by the belief of part of the Court and the whole of the people that she
did not love France! How did that opinion shock those who knew her heart
and her sentiments! Twice did I see her on the point of going from her
apartments in the Tuileries into the gardens, to address the immense throng
constantly assembled there to insult her. “Yes,” exclaimed she, as she paced
her chamber with hurried steps, “I will say to them Frenchmen, they have
had the cruelty to persuade you that I do not love France!—I! the mother of
a Dauphin who will reign over this noble country!—I! whom Providence
has seated upon the most powerful throne of Europe! Of all the daughters of
Maria Theresa am I not that one whom fortune has most highly favoured?
And ought I not to feel all these advantages? What should I find at Vienna?
Nothing but sepulchres! What should I lose in France? Everything which
can confer glory!”
I protest I only repeat her own words; the soundness of her judgment
soon pointed out to her the dangers of such a proceeding. “I should descend
from the throne,” said she, “merely, perhaps, to excite a momentary
sympathy, which the factious would soon render more injurious than
beneficial to me.”
Yes, not only did Marie Antoinette love France, but few women took
greater pride in the courage of Frenchmen. I could adduce a multitude of
proofs of this; I will relate two traits which demonstrate the noblest
enthusiasm: The Queen was telling me that, at the coronation of the
Emperor Francis II., that Prince, bespeaking the admiration of a French
general officer, who was then an emigrant, for the fine appearance of his
troops, said to him, “There are the men to beat your sans culottes!” “That
remains to be seen, Sire,” instantly replied the officer. The Queen added, “I
don’t know the name of that brave Frenchman, but I will learn it; the King
ought to be in possession of it.” As she was reading the public papers a few
days before the 10th of August, she observed that mention was made of the
courage of a young man who died in defending the flag he carried, and
shouting, “Vive la Nation!”—“Ah! the fine lad!” said the Queen; “what a
Page 348
happiness it would have been for us if such men had never left off crying,
‘Vive de Roi!’”
In all that I have hitherto said of this most unfortunate of women and of
queens, those who did not live with her, those who knew her but partially,
and especially the majority of foreigners, prejudiced by infamous libels,
may imagine I have thought it my duty to sacrifice truth on the altar of
gratitude. Fortunately I can invoke unexceptionable witnesses; they will
declare whether what I assert that I have seen and heard appears to them
either untrue or improbable.
‘Vive de Roi!’”
In all that I have hitherto said of this most unfortunate of women and of
queens, those who did not live with her, those who knew her but partially,
and especially the majority of foreigners, prejudiced by infamous libels,
may imagine I have thought it my duty to sacrifice truth on the altar of
gratitude. Fortunately I can invoke unexceptionable witnesses; they will
declare whether what I assert that I have seen and heard appears to them
either untrue or improbable.
Page 349
CHAPTER IX.
The Queen having been robbed of her purse as she was passing from the
Tuileries to the Feuillans, requested my sister to lend her twenty-five louis.
[On being interrogated the Queen declared that these five
and twenty louis had been lent to her by my sister; this
formed a pretence for arresting her and me, and led to her
death.—MADAME CAMPAN.]
I spent part of the day at the Feuillans, and her Majesty told me she
would ask Potion to let me be with her in the place which the Assembly
should decree for her prison. I then returned home to prepare everything
that might be necessary for me to accompany her.
On the same day (11th August), at nine in the evening, I returned to the
Feuillans. I found there were orders at all the gates forbidding my being
admitted. I claimed a right to enter by virtue of the first permission which
had been given to me; I was again refused. I was told that the Queen had as
many people as were requisite about her. My sister was with her, as well as
one of my companions, who came out of the prisons of the Abbaye on the
11th. I renewed my solicitations on the 12th; my tears and entreaties moved
neither the keepers of the gates, nor even a deputy, to whom I addressed
myself.
I soon heard of the removal of Louis XVI. and his family to the Temple. I
went to Potion accompanied by M. Valadon, for whom I had procured a
place in the post-office, and who was devoted to me. He determined to go
up to Potion alone; he told him that those who requested to be confined
could not be suspected of evil designs, and that no political opinion could
afford a ground of objection to these solicitations. Seeing that the well-
meaning man did not succeed, I thought to do more in person; but Petion
persisted in his refusal, and threatened to send me to La Force. Thinking to
give me a kind of consolation, he added I might be certain that all those
The Queen having been robbed of her purse as she was passing from the
Tuileries to the Feuillans, requested my sister to lend her twenty-five louis.
[On being interrogated the Queen declared that these five
and twenty louis had been lent to her by my sister; this
formed a pretence for arresting her and me, and led to her
death.—MADAME CAMPAN.]
I spent part of the day at the Feuillans, and her Majesty told me she
would ask Potion to let me be with her in the place which the Assembly
should decree for her prison. I then returned home to prepare everything
that might be necessary for me to accompany her.
On the same day (11th August), at nine in the evening, I returned to the
Feuillans. I found there were orders at all the gates forbidding my being
admitted. I claimed a right to enter by virtue of the first permission which
had been given to me; I was again refused. I was told that the Queen had as
many people as were requisite about her. My sister was with her, as well as
one of my companions, who came out of the prisons of the Abbaye on the
11th. I renewed my solicitations on the 12th; my tears and entreaties moved
neither the keepers of the gates, nor even a deputy, to whom I addressed
myself.
I soon heard of the removal of Louis XVI. and his family to the Temple. I
went to Potion accompanied by M. Valadon, for whom I had procured a
place in the post-office, and who was devoted to me. He determined to go
up to Potion alone; he told him that those who requested to be confined
could not be suspected of evil designs, and that no political opinion could
afford a ground of objection to these solicitations. Seeing that the well-
meaning man did not succeed, I thought to do more in person; but Petion
persisted in his refusal, and threatened to send me to La Force. Thinking to
give me a kind of consolation, he added I might be certain that all those
Page 350
who were then with Louis XVI. and his family would not stay with them
long. And in fact, two or three days afterwards the Princesse de Lamballe,
Madame de Tourzel, her daughter, the Queen’s first woman, the first woman
of the Dauphin and of Madame, M. de Chamilly, and M. de Hue were
carried off during the night and transferred to La Force. After the departure
of the King and Queen for the Temple, my sister was detained a prisoner in
the apartments their Majesties had quitted for twenty-four hours.
From this time I was reduced to the misery of having no further
intelligence of my august and unfortunate mistress but through the medium
of the newspapers or the National Guard, who did duty at the Temple.
The King and Queen said nothing to me at the Feuillans about the
portfolio which had been deposited with me; no doubt they expected to see
me again. The minister Roland and the deputies composing the provisional
government were very intent on a search for papers belonging to their
Majesties. They had the whole of the Tuileries ransacked. The infamous
Robespierre bethought himself of M. Campan, the Queen’s private
secretary, and said that his death was feigned; that he was living unknown
in some obscure part of France, and was doubtless the depositary of all the
important papers. In a great portfolio belonging to the King there had been
found a solitary letter from the Comte d’Artois, which, by its date, and the
subjects of which it treated, indicated the existence of a continued
correspondence. (This letter appeared among the documents used on the
trial of Louis XVI.) A former preceptor of my son’s had studied with
Robespierre; the latter, meeting him in the street, and knowing the
connection which had subsisted between him and the family of M. Campan,
required him to say, upon his honour, whether he was certain of the death of
the latter. The man replied that M. Campan had died at La Briche in 1791,
and that he had seen him interred in the cemetery of Epinay. “well, then,”
resumed Robespierre, “bring me the certificate of his burial at twelve to-
morrow; it is a document for which I have pressing occasion.” Upon
hearing the deputy’s demand I instantly sent for a certificate of M.
Campan’s burial, and Robespierre received it at nine o’clock the next
morning. But I considered that, in thinking of my father-in-law, they were
coming very near me, the real depositary of these important papers. I passed
days and nights in considering what I could do for the best under such
circumstances.
long. And in fact, two or three days afterwards the Princesse de Lamballe,
Madame de Tourzel, her daughter, the Queen’s first woman, the first woman
of the Dauphin and of Madame, M. de Chamilly, and M. de Hue were
carried off during the night and transferred to La Force. After the departure
of the King and Queen for the Temple, my sister was detained a prisoner in
the apartments their Majesties had quitted for twenty-four hours.
From this time I was reduced to the misery of having no further
intelligence of my august and unfortunate mistress but through the medium
of the newspapers or the National Guard, who did duty at the Temple.
The King and Queen said nothing to me at the Feuillans about the
portfolio which had been deposited with me; no doubt they expected to see
me again. The minister Roland and the deputies composing the provisional
government were very intent on a search for papers belonging to their
Majesties. They had the whole of the Tuileries ransacked. The infamous
Robespierre bethought himself of M. Campan, the Queen’s private
secretary, and said that his death was feigned; that he was living unknown
in some obscure part of France, and was doubtless the depositary of all the
important papers. In a great portfolio belonging to the King there had been
found a solitary letter from the Comte d’Artois, which, by its date, and the
subjects of which it treated, indicated the existence of a continued
correspondence. (This letter appeared among the documents used on the
trial of Louis XVI.) A former preceptor of my son’s had studied with
Robespierre; the latter, meeting him in the street, and knowing the
connection which had subsisted between him and the family of M. Campan,
required him to say, upon his honour, whether he was certain of the death of
the latter. The man replied that M. Campan had died at La Briche in 1791,
and that he had seen him interred in the cemetery of Epinay. “well, then,”
resumed Robespierre, “bring me the certificate of his burial at twelve to-
morrow; it is a document for which I have pressing occasion.” Upon
hearing the deputy’s demand I instantly sent for a certificate of M.
Campan’s burial, and Robespierre received it at nine o’clock the next
morning. But I considered that, in thinking of my father-in-law, they were
coming very near me, the real depositary of these important papers. I passed
days and nights in considering what I could do for the best under such
circumstances.
Page 351
I was thus situated when the order to inform against those who had been
denounced as suspected on the 10th of August led to domiciliary visits. My
servants were told that the people of the quarter in which I lived were
talking much of the search that would be made in my house, and came to
apprise me of it. I heard that fifty armed men would make themselves
masters of M. Auguies house, where I then was. I had just received this
intelligence when M. Gougenot, the King’s maitre d’hotel and receiver-
general of the taxes, a man much attached to his sovereign, came into my
room wrapped in a ridingcloak, under which, with great difficulty, he
carried the King’s portfolio, which I had entrusted to him. He threw it down
at my feet, and said to me, “There is your deposit; I did not receive it from
our unfortunate King’s own hands; in delivering it to you I have executed
my trust.” After saying this he was about to withdraw. I stopped him,
praying him to consult with me what I ought to do in such a trying
emergency. He would not listen to my entreaties, or even hear me describe
the course I intended to pursue. I told him my abode was about to be
surrounded; I imparted to him what the Queen had said to me about the
contents of the portfolio. To all this he answered, “There it is; decide for
yourself; I will have no hand in it.” Upon that I remained a few seconds
thinking, and my conduct was founded upon the following reasons. I spoke
aloud, although to myself; I walked about the room with agitated steps; M.
Gougenot was thunderstruck. “Yes,” said I, “when we can no longer
communicate with our King and receive his orders, however attached we
may be to him, we can only serve him according to the best of our own
judgment. The Queen said to me, ‘This portfolio contains scarcely anything
but documents of a most dangerous description in the event of a trial taking
place, if it should fall into the hands of revolutionary persons.’ She
mentioned, too, a single document which would, under the same
circumstances, be useful. It is my duty to interpret her words, and consider
them as orders. She meant to say, ‘You will save such a paper, you will
destroy the rest if they are likely to be taken from you.’ If it were not so,
was there any occasion for her to enter into any detail as to what the
portfolio contained? The order to keep it was sufficient. Probably it
contains, moreover, the letters of that part of the family which has
emigrated; there is nothing which may have been foreseen or decided upon
that can be useful now; and there can be no political thread which has not
been cut by the events of the 10th of August and the imprisonment of the
denounced as suspected on the 10th of August led to domiciliary visits. My
servants were told that the people of the quarter in which I lived were
talking much of the search that would be made in my house, and came to
apprise me of it. I heard that fifty armed men would make themselves
masters of M. Auguies house, where I then was. I had just received this
intelligence when M. Gougenot, the King’s maitre d’hotel and receiver-
general of the taxes, a man much attached to his sovereign, came into my
room wrapped in a ridingcloak, under which, with great difficulty, he
carried the King’s portfolio, which I had entrusted to him. He threw it down
at my feet, and said to me, “There is your deposit; I did not receive it from
our unfortunate King’s own hands; in delivering it to you I have executed
my trust.” After saying this he was about to withdraw. I stopped him,
praying him to consult with me what I ought to do in such a trying
emergency. He would not listen to my entreaties, or even hear me describe
the course I intended to pursue. I told him my abode was about to be
surrounded; I imparted to him what the Queen had said to me about the
contents of the portfolio. To all this he answered, “There it is; decide for
yourself; I will have no hand in it.” Upon that I remained a few seconds
thinking, and my conduct was founded upon the following reasons. I spoke
aloud, although to myself; I walked about the room with agitated steps; M.
Gougenot was thunderstruck. “Yes,” said I, “when we can no longer
communicate with our King and receive his orders, however attached we
may be to him, we can only serve him according to the best of our own
judgment. The Queen said to me, ‘This portfolio contains scarcely anything
but documents of a most dangerous description in the event of a trial taking
place, if it should fall into the hands of revolutionary persons.’ She
mentioned, too, a single document which would, under the same
circumstances, be useful. It is my duty to interpret her words, and consider
them as orders. She meant to say, ‘You will save such a paper, you will
destroy the rest if they are likely to be taken from you.’ If it were not so,
was there any occasion for her to enter into any detail as to what the
portfolio contained? The order to keep it was sufficient. Probably it
contains, moreover, the letters of that part of the family which has
emigrated; there is nothing which may have been foreseen or decided upon
that can be useful now; and there can be no political thread which has not
been cut by the events of the 10th of August and the imprisonment of the
Page 352
King. My house is about to be surrounded; I cannot conceal anything of
such bulk; I might, then, through want of foresight, give up that which
would cause the condemnation of the King. Let us open the portfolio, save
the document alluded to, and destroy the rest.” I took a knife and cut open
one side of the portfolio. I saw a great number of envelopes endorsed by the
King’s own hand. M. Gougenot found there the former seals of the King,
such as they were before the Assembly had changed the inscription.
[No doubt it was in order to have the ancient seals ready
at a moment’s notice, in case of a counter-revolution, that
the Queen desired me not to quit the Tuileries. M. Gougenot
threw the seals into the river, one from above the Pont Neuf,
and the other from near the Pont Royal.—MADAME
CAMPAN.]
At this moment we heard a great noise; he agreed to tie up the portfolio,
take it again under his cloak, and go to a safe place to execute what I had
taken upon me to determine. He made me swear, by all I held most sacred,
that I would affirm, under every possible emergency, that the course I was
pursuing had not been dictated to me by anybody; and that, whatever might
be the result, I would take all the credit or all the blame upon myself. I
lifted up my hand and took the oath he required; he went out. Half an hour
afterwards a great number of armed men came to my house; they placed
sentinels at all the outlets; they broke open secretaires and closets of which
they had not the keys; they ‘searched the flower-pots and boxes; they
examined the cellars; and the commandant repeatedly said, “Look
particularly for papers.” In the afternoon M. Gougenot returned. He had still
the seals of France about him, and he brought me a statement of all that he
had burnt.
The portfolio contained twenty letters from Monsieur, eighteen or
nineteen from the Comte d’Artois, seventeen from Madame Adelaide,
eighteen from Madame Victoire, a great many letters from Comte
Alexandre de Lameth, and many from M. de Malesherbes, with documents
annexed to them. There were also some from M. de Montmorin and other
ex-ministers or ambassadors. Each correspondence had its title written in
the King’s own hand upon the blank paper which contained it. The most
voluminous was that from Mirabeau. It was tied up with a scheme for an
such bulk; I might, then, through want of foresight, give up that which
would cause the condemnation of the King. Let us open the portfolio, save
the document alluded to, and destroy the rest.” I took a knife and cut open
one side of the portfolio. I saw a great number of envelopes endorsed by the
King’s own hand. M. Gougenot found there the former seals of the King,
such as they were before the Assembly had changed the inscription.
[No doubt it was in order to have the ancient seals ready
at a moment’s notice, in case of a counter-revolution, that
the Queen desired me not to quit the Tuileries. M. Gougenot
threw the seals into the river, one from above the Pont Neuf,
and the other from near the Pont Royal.—MADAME
CAMPAN.]
At this moment we heard a great noise; he agreed to tie up the portfolio,
take it again under his cloak, and go to a safe place to execute what I had
taken upon me to determine. He made me swear, by all I held most sacred,
that I would affirm, under every possible emergency, that the course I was
pursuing had not been dictated to me by anybody; and that, whatever might
be the result, I would take all the credit or all the blame upon myself. I
lifted up my hand and took the oath he required; he went out. Half an hour
afterwards a great number of armed men came to my house; they placed
sentinels at all the outlets; they broke open secretaires and closets of which
they had not the keys; they ‘searched the flower-pots and boxes; they
examined the cellars; and the commandant repeatedly said, “Look
particularly for papers.” In the afternoon M. Gougenot returned. He had still
the seals of France about him, and he brought me a statement of all that he
had burnt.
The portfolio contained twenty letters from Monsieur, eighteen or
nineteen from the Comte d’Artois, seventeen from Madame Adelaide,
eighteen from Madame Victoire, a great many letters from Comte
Alexandre de Lameth, and many from M. de Malesherbes, with documents
annexed to them. There were also some from M. de Montmorin and other
ex-ministers or ambassadors. Each correspondence had its title written in
the King’s own hand upon the blank paper which contained it. The most
voluminous was that from Mirabeau. It was tied up with a scheme for an
Page 353
escape, which he thought necessary. M. Gougenot, who had skimmed over
these letters with more attention than the rest, told me they were of so
interesting a nature that the King had no doubt kept them as documents
exceedingly valuable for a history of his reign, and that the correspondence
with the Princes, which was entirely relative to what was going forward
abroad, in concert with the King, would have been fatal to him if it had
been seized. After he had finished he placed in my hands the proces-verbal,
signed by all the ministers, to which the King attached so much importance,
because he had given his opinion against the declaration of war; a copy of
the letter written by the King to the Princes, his brothers, inviting them to
return to France; an account of the diamonds which the Queen had sent to
Brussels (these two documents were in my handwriting); and a receipt for
four hundred thousand francs, under the hand of a celebrated banker. This
sum was part of the eight hundred thousand francs which the Queen had
gradually saved during her reign, out of her pension of three hundred
thousand francs per annum, and out of the one hundred thousand francs
given by way of present on the birth of the Dauphin.
This receipt, written on a very small piece of paper, was in the cover of
an almanac. I agreed with M. Gougenot, who was obliged by his office to
reside in Paris, that he should retain the proces-verbal of the Council and
the receipt for the four hundred thousand francs, and that we should wait
either for orders or for the means of transmitting these documents to the
King or Queen; and I set out for Versailles.
The strictness of the precautions taken to guard the illustrious prisoners
was daily increased. The idea that I could not inform the King of the course
I had adopted of burning his papers, and the fear that I should not be able to
transmit to him that which he had pointed out as necessary, tormented me to
such a degree that it is wonderful my health endured the strain.
The dreadful trial drew near. Official advocates were granted to the King;
the heroic virtue of M. de Malesherbes induced him to brave the most
imminent dangers, either to save his master or to perish with him. I hoped
also to be able to find some means of informing his Majesty of what I had
thought it right to do. I sent a man, on whom I could rely, to Paris, to
request M. Gougenot to come to me at Versailles he came immediately. We
agreed that he should see M. de Malesherbes without availing himself of
any intermediate person for that purpose.
these letters with more attention than the rest, told me they were of so
interesting a nature that the King had no doubt kept them as documents
exceedingly valuable for a history of his reign, and that the correspondence
with the Princes, which was entirely relative to what was going forward
abroad, in concert with the King, would have been fatal to him if it had
been seized. After he had finished he placed in my hands the proces-verbal,
signed by all the ministers, to which the King attached so much importance,
because he had given his opinion against the declaration of war; a copy of
the letter written by the King to the Princes, his brothers, inviting them to
return to France; an account of the diamonds which the Queen had sent to
Brussels (these two documents were in my handwriting); and a receipt for
four hundred thousand francs, under the hand of a celebrated banker. This
sum was part of the eight hundred thousand francs which the Queen had
gradually saved during her reign, out of her pension of three hundred
thousand francs per annum, and out of the one hundred thousand francs
given by way of present on the birth of the Dauphin.
This receipt, written on a very small piece of paper, was in the cover of
an almanac. I agreed with M. Gougenot, who was obliged by his office to
reside in Paris, that he should retain the proces-verbal of the Council and
the receipt for the four hundred thousand francs, and that we should wait
either for orders or for the means of transmitting these documents to the
King or Queen; and I set out for Versailles.
The strictness of the precautions taken to guard the illustrious prisoners
was daily increased. The idea that I could not inform the King of the course
I had adopted of burning his papers, and the fear that I should not be able to
transmit to him that which he had pointed out as necessary, tormented me to
such a degree that it is wonderful my health endured the strain.
The dreadful trial drew near. Official advocates were granted to the King;
the heroic virtue of M. de Malesherbes induced him to brave the most
imminent dangers, either to save his master or to perish with him. I hoped
also to be able to find some means of informing his Majesty of what I had
thought it right to do. I sent a man, on whom I could rely, to Paris, to
request M. Gougenot to come to me at Versailles he came immediately. We
agreed that he should see M. de Malesherbes without availing himself of
any intermediate person for that purpose.
Page 354
M. Gougenot awaited his return from the Temple at the door of his hotel,
and made a sign that he wished to speak to him. A moment afterwards a
servant came to introduce him into the magistrates’ room. He imparted to
M. de Malesherbes what I had thought it right to do with respect to the
King’s papers, and placed in his hands the proces-verbal of the Council,
which his Majesty had preserved in order to serve, if occasion required it,
for a ground of his defence. However, that paper is not mentioned in either
of the speeches of his advocate; probably it was determined not to make use
of it.
I stop at that terrible period which is marked by the assassination of a
King whose virtues are well known; but I cannot refrain from relating what
he deigned to say in my favour to M. de Malesherbes:
“Let Madame Campan know that she did what I should myself have
ordered her to do; I thank her for it; she is one of those whom I regret I have
it not in my power to recompense for their fidelity to my person, and for
their good services.” I did not hear of this until the morning after he had
suffered, and I think I should have sunk under my despair if this honourable
testimony had not given me some consolation.
and made a sign that he wished to speak to him. A moment afterwards a
servant came to introduce him into the magistrates’ room. He imparted to
M. de Malesherbes what I had thought it right to do with respect to the
King’s papers, and placed in his hands the proces-verbal of the Council,
which his Majesty had preserved in order to serve, if occasion required it,
for a ground of his defence. However, that paper is not mentioned in either
of the speeches of his advocate; probably it was determined not to make use
of it.
I stop at that terrible period which is marked by the assassination of a
King whose virtues are well known; but I cannot refrain from relating what
he deigned to say in my favour to M. de Malesherbes:
“Let Madame Campan know that she did what I should myself have
ordered her to do; I thank her for it; she is one of those whom I regret I have
it not in my power to recompense for their fidelity to my person, and for
their good services.” I did not hear of this until the morning after he had
suffered, and I think I should have sunk under my despair if this honourable
testimony had not given me some consolation.
Page 355
SUPPLEMENT TO CHAPTER IX.
MADAME CAMPAN’S narrative breaking off abruptly at the time of the
painful end met with by her sister, we have supplemented it by abridged
accounts of the chief incidents in the tragedy which overwhelmed the royal
house she so faithfully served, taken from contemporary records and the
best historical authorities.
The Royal Family in the Temple.
The Assembly having, at the instance of the Commune of Paris, decreed
that the royal family should be immured in the Temple, they were removed
thither from the Feuillans on the 13th of August, 1792, in the charge of
Potion, Mayor of Paris, and Santerre, the commandant-general. Twelve
Commissioners of the general council were to keep constant watch at the
Temple, which had been fortified by earthworks and garrisoned by
detachments of the National Guard, no person being allowed to enter
without permission from the municipality.
The Temple, formerly the headquarters of the Knights Templars in Paris,
consisted of two buildings,—the Palace, facing the Rue de Temple, usually
occupied by one of the Princes of the blood; and the Tower, standing behind
the Palace.
[Clery gives a more minute description of this singular
building: “The small tower of the Temple in which the King
was then confined stood with its back against the great
tower, without any interior communication, and formed a
long square, flanked by two turrets. In one of these turrets
MADAME CAMPAN’S narrative breaking off abruptly at the time of the
painful end met with by her sister, we have supplemented it by abridged
accounts of the chief incidents in the tragedy which overwhelmed the royal
house she so faithfully served, taken from contemporary records and the
best historical authorities.
The Royal Family in the Temple.
The Assembly having, at the instance of the Commune of Paris, decreed
that the royal family should be immured in the Temple, they were removed
thither from the Feuillans on the 13th of August, 1792, in the charge of
Potion, Mayor of Paris, and Santerre, the commandant-general. Twelve
Commissioners of the general council were to keep constant watch at the
Temple, which had been fortified by earthworks and garrisoned by
detachments of the National Guard, no person being allowed to enter
without permission from the municipality.
The Temple, formerly the headquarters of the Knights Templars in Paris,
consisted of two buildings,—the Palace, facing the Rue de Temple, usually
occupied by one of the Princes of the blood; and the Tower, standing behind
the Palace.
[Clery gives a more minute description of this singular
building: “The small tower of the Temple in which the King
was then confined stood with its back against the great
tower, without any interior communication, and formed a
long square, flanked by two turrets. In one of these turrets
Page 356
there was a narrow staircase that led from the first floor to a
gallery on the platform; in the other were small rooms,
answering to each story of the tower. The body of the
building was four stories high. The first consisted of an
antechamber, a dining-room, and a small room in the turret,
where there was a library containing from twelve to fifteen
hundred volumes. The second story was divided nearly in the
same manner. The largest room was the Queen’s
bedchamber, in which the Dauphin also slept; the second,
which was separated from the Queen’s by a small
antechamber almost without light, was occupied by Madame
Royale and Madame Elisabeth. The King’s apartments were
on the third story. He slept in the great room, and made a
study of the turret closet. There was a kitchen separated
from the King’s chamber by a small dark room, which had
been successively occupied by M. de Chamilly and M. de
Hue. The fourth story was shut up; and on the ground floor
there were kitchens of which no use was made.”
—“Journal,” p. 96.]
The Tower was a square building, with a round tower at each corner and
a small turret on one side, usually called the Tourelle. In the narrative of the
Duchesse d’Angouleme she says that the soldiers who escorted the royal
prisoners wished to take the King alone to the Tower, and his family to the
Palace of the Temple, but that on the way Manuel received an order to
imprison them all in the Tower, where so little provision had been made for
their reception that Madame Elisabeth slept in the kitchen. The royal family
were accompanied by the Princesse de Lamballe, Madame de Tourzel and
her daughter Pauline, Mesdames de Navarre, de Saint-Brice, Thibaut, and
Bazire, MM. de Hug and de Chamilly, and three men-servants—An order
from the Commune soon removed these devoted attendants, and M. de Hue
alone was permitted to return. “We all passed the day together,” says
Madame Royale. “My father taught my brother geography; my mother
history, and to learn verses by heart; and my aunt gave him lessons in
arithmetic. My father fortunately found a library which amused him, and
my mother worked tapestry . . . . We went every day to walk in the garden,
for the sake of my brother’s health, though the King was always insulted by
gallery on the platform; in the other were small rooms,
answering to each story of the tower. The body of the
building was four stories high. The first consisted of an
antechamber, a dining-room, and a small room in the turret,
where there was a library containing from twelve to fifteen
hundred volumes. The second story was divided nearly in the
same manner. The largest room was the Queen’s
bedchamber, in which the Dauphin also slept; the second,
which was separated from the Queen’s by a small
antechamber almost without light, was occupied by Madame
Royale and Madame Elisabeth. The King’s apartments were
on the third story. He slept in the great room, and made a
study of the turret closet. There was a kitchen separated
from the King’s chamber by a small dark room, which had
been successively occupied by M. de Chamilly and M. de
Hue. The fourth story was shut up; and on the ground floor
there were kitchens of which no use was made.”
—“Journal,” p. 96.]
The Tower was a square building, with a round tower at each corner and
a small turret on one side, usually called the Tourelle. In the narrative of the
Duchesse d’Angouleme she says that the soldiers who escorted the royal
prisoners wished to take the King alone to the Tower, and his family to the
Palace of the Temple, but that on the way Manuel received an order to
imprison them all in the Tower, where so little provision had been made for
their reception that Madame Elisabeth slept in the kitchen. The royal family
were accompanied by the Princesse de Lamballe, Madame de Tourzel and
her daughter Pauline, Mesdames de Navarre, de Saint-Brice, Thibaut, and
Bazire, MM. de Hug and de Chamilly, and three men-servants—An order
from the Commune soon removed these devoted attendants, and M. de Hue
alone was permitted to return. “We all passed the day together,” says
Madame Royale. “My father taught my brother geography; my mother
history, and to learn verses by heart; and my aunt gave him lessons in
arithmetic. My father fortunately found a library which amused him, and
my mother worked tapestry . . . . We went every day to walk in the garden,
for the sake of my brother’s health, though the King was always insulted by
Page 357
the guard. On the Feast of Saint Louis ‘Ca Ira’ was sung under the walls of
the Temple. Manuel that evening brought my aunt a letter from her aunts at
Rome. It was the last the family received from without. My father was no
longer called King. He was treated with no kind of respect; the officers
always sat in his presence and never took off their hats. They deprived him
of his sword and searched his pockets . . . . Petion sent as gaoler the horrible
man—[Rocher, a saddler by trade] who had broken open my father’s door
on the 20th June, 1792, and who had been near assassinating him. This man
never left the Tower, and was indefatigable in endeavouring to torment him.
One time he would sing the ‘Caramgnole,’ and a thousand other horrors,
before us; again, knowing that my mother disliked the smoke of tobacco, he
would puff it in her face, as well as in that of my father, as they happened to
pass him. He took care always to be in bed before we went to supper,
because he knew that we must pass through his room. My father suffered it
all with gentleness, forgiving the man from the bottom of his heart. My
mother bore it with a dignity that frequently repressed his insolence.” The
only occasion, Madame Royale adds, on which the Queen showed any
impatience at the conduct of the officials, was when a municipal officer
woke the Dauphin suddenly in the night to make certain that he was safe, as
though the sight of the peacefully sleeping child would not have been in
itself the best assurance.
Clery, the valet de chambre of the Dauphin, having with difficulty
obtained permission to resume his duties, entered the Temple on the 24th
August, and for eight days shared with M. de Hue the personal attendance;
but on the 2d September De Hue was arrested, seals were placed on the
little room he had occupied, and Clery passed the night in that of the King.
On the following morning Manuel arrived, charged by the Commune to
inform the King that De Hue would not be permitted to return, and to offer
to send another person. “I thank you,” answered the King. “I will manage
with the valet de chambre of my son; and if the Council refuse I will serve
myself. I am determined to do it.” On the 3d September Manual visited the
Temple and assured the King that Madame de Lamballe and all the other
prisoners who had been removed to La Force were well, and safely
guarded. “But at three o’clock,” says Madame Royale, “just after dinner,
and as the King was sitting down to ‘tric trac’ with my mother (which he
played for the purpose of having an opportunity of saying a few words to
her unheard by the keepers), the most horrid shouts were heard. The officer
the Temple. Manuel that evening brought my aunt a letter from her aunts at
Rome. It was the last the family received from without. My father was no
longer called King. He was treated with no kind of respect; the officers
always sat in his presence and never took off their hats. They deprived him
of his sword and searched his pockets . . . . Petion sent as gaoler the horrible
man—[Rocher, a saddler by trade] who had broken open my father’s door
on the 20th June, 1792, and who had been near assassinating him. This man
never left the Tower, and was indefatigable in endeavouring to torment him.
One time he would sing the ‘Caramgnole,’ and a thousand other horrors,
before us; again, knowing that my mother disliked the smoke of tobacco, he
would puff it in her face, as well as in that of my father, as they happened to
pass him. He took care always to be in bed before we went to supper,
because he knew that we must pass through his room. My father suffered it
all with gentleness, forgiving the man from the bottom of his heart. My
mother bore it with a dignity that frequently repressed his insolence.” The
only occasion, Madame Royale adds, on which the Queen showed any
impatience at the conduct of the officials, was when a municipal officer
woke the Dauphin suddenly in the night to make certain that he was safe, as
though the sight of the peacefully sleeping child would not have been in
itself the best assurance.
Clery, the valet de chambre of the Dauphin, having with difficulty
obtained permission to resume his duties, entered the Temple on the 24th
August, and for eight days shared with M. de Hue the personal attendance;
but on the 2d September De Hue was arrested, seals were placed on the
little room he had occupied, and Clery passed the night in that of the King.
On the following morning Manuel arrived, charged by the Commune to
inform the King that De Hue would not be permitted to return, and to offer
to send another person. “I thank you,” answered the King. “I will manage
with the valet de chambre of my son; and if the Council refuse I will serve
myself. I am determined to do it.” On the 3d September Manual visited the
Temple and assured the King that Madame de Lamballe and all the other
prisoners who had been removed to La Force were well, and safely
guarded. “But at three o’clock,” says Madame Royale, “just after dinner,
and as the King was sitting down to ‘tric trac’ with my mother (which he
played for the purpose of having an opportunity of saying a few words to
her unheard by the keepers), the most horrid shouts were heard. The officer
Page 358
who happened to be on guard in the room behaved well. He shut the door
and the window, and even drew the curtains to prevent their seeing
anything; but outside the workmen and the gaoler Rocher joined the
assassins and increased the tumult. Several officers of the guard and the
municipality now arrived, and on my father’s asking what was the matter, a
young officer replied, ‘Well, since you will know, it is the head of Madame
de Lamballe that they want to show you.’ At these words my mother was
overcome with horror; it was the only occasion on which her firmness
abandoned her. The municipal officers were very angry with the young
man; but the King, with his usual goodness, excused him, saying that it was
his own fault, since he had questioned the officer. The noise lasted till five
o’clock. We learned that the people had wished to force the door, and that
the municipal officers had been enabled to prevent it only by putting a
tricoloured scarf across it, and allowing six of the murderers to march round
our prison with the head of the Princess, leaving at the door her body, which
they would have dragged in also.”
Clery was not so fortunate as to escape the frightful spectacle. He had
gone down to dine with Tison and his wife, employed as servants in the
Temple, and says: “We were hardly seated when a head, on the end of a
pike, was presented at the window. Tison’s wife gave a great cry; the
assassins fancied they recognised the Queen’s voice, and responded by
savage laughter. Under the idea that his Majesty was still at table, they
placed their dreadful trophy where it must be seen. It was the head of the
Princesse de Lamballe; although bleeding, it was not disfigured, and her
light hair, still in curls, hung about the pike.”
At length the immense mob that surrounded the Temple gradually
withdrew, “to follow the head of the Princess de Lamballe to the Palais
Royal.”
[The pike that bore the head was fixed before the Duc
d’Orleans’s window as he was going to dinner. It is said that
he looked at this horrid sight without horror, went into the
dining-room, sat down to table, and helped his guests
without saying a word. His silence and coolness left it
doubtful whether the assassins, in presenting him this bloody
trophy, intended to offer him an insult or to pay him homage.
and the window, and even drew the curtains to prevent their seeing
anything; but outside the workmen and the gaoler Rocher joined the
assassins and increased the tumult. Several officers of the guard and the
municipality now arrived, and on my father’s asking what was the matter, a
young officer replied, ‘Well, since you will know, it is the head of Madame
de Lamballe that they want to show you.’ At these words my mother was
overcome with horror; it was the only occasion on which her firmness
abandoned her. The municipal officers were very angry with the young
man; but the King, with his usual goodness, excused him, saying that it was
his own fault, since he had questioned the officer. The noise lasted till five
o’clock. We learned that the people had wished to force the door, and that
the municipal officers had been enabled to prevent it only by putting a
tricoloured scarf across it, and allowing six of the murderers to march round
our prison with the head of the Princess, leaving at the door her body, which
they would have dragged in also.”
Clery was not so fortunate as to escape the frightful spectacle. He had
gone down to dine with Tison and his wife, employed as servants in the
Temple, and says: “We were hardly seated when a head, on the end of a
pike, was presented at the window. Tison’s wife gave a great cry; the
assassins fancied they recognised the Queen’s voice, and responded by
savage laughter. Under the idea that his Majesty was still at table, they
placed their dreadful trophy where it must be seen. It was the head of the
Princesse de Lamballe; although bleeding, it was not disfigured, and her
light hair, still in curls, hung about the pike.”
At length the immense mob that surrounded the Temple gradually
withdrew, “to follow the head of the Princess de Lamballe to the Palais
Royal.”
[The pike that bore the head was fixed before the Duc
d’Orleans’s window as he was going to dinner. It is said that
he looked at this horrid sight without horror, went into the
dining-room, sat down to table, and helped his guests
without saying a word. His silence and coolness left it
doubtful whether the assassins, in presenting him this bloody
trophy, intended to offer him an insult or to pay him homage.
Page 359
—DE MOLLEVILLE’S “Annals of the French Revolution,”
vol. vii., p. 398.]
Meanwhile the royal family could scarcely believe that for the time their
lives were saved. “My aunt and I heard the drums beating to arms all
night,” says Madame Royale; “my unhappy mother did not even attempt to
sleep. We heard her sobs.”
In the comparative tranquillity which followed the September massacres,
the royal family resumed the regular habits they had adopted on entering
the Temple. “The King usually rose at six in the morning,” says Clery. “He
shaved himself, and I dressed his hair; he then went to his reading-room,
which, being very small, the municipal officer on duty remained in the
bedchamber with the door open, that he might always keep the King in
sight. His Majesty continued praying on his knees for some time, and then
read till nine. During that interval, after putting his chamber to rights and
preparing the breakfast, I went down to the Queen, who never opened her
door till I arrived, in order to prevent the municipal officer from going into
her apartment. At nine o’clock the Queen, the children, and Madame
Elisabeth went up to the King’s chamber to breakfast. At ten the King and
his family went down to the Queen’s chamber, and there passed the day. He
employed himself in educating his son, made him recite passages from
Corneille and Racine, gave him lessons in geography, and exercised him in
colouring the maps. The Queen, on her part, was employed in the education
of her daughter, and these different lessons lasted till eleven o’clock. The
remaining time till noon was passed in needlework, knitting, or making
tapestry. At one o’clock, when the weather was fine, the royal family were
conducted to the garden by four municipal officers and the commander of a
legion of the National Guard. As there were a number of workmen in the
Temple employed in pulling down houses and building new walls, they
only allowed a part of the chestnut-tree walk for the promenade, in which I
was allowed to share, and where I also played with the young Prince at ball,
quoits, or races. At two we returned to the Tower, where I served the dinner,
at which time Santerre regularly came to the Temple, attended by two aides-
de-camp. The King sometimes spoke to him,—the Queen never.
“After the meal the royal family came down into the Queen’s room, and
their Majesties generally played a game of piquet or tric-trac. At four
o’clock the King took a little repose, the Princesses round him, each with a
vol. vii., p. 398.]
Meanwhile the royal family could scarcely believe that for the time their
lives were saved. “My aunt and I heard the drums beating to arms all
night,” says Madame Royale; “my unhappy mother did not even attempt to
sleep. We heard her sobs.”
In the comparative tranquillity which followed the September massacres,
the royal family resumed the regular habits they had adopted on entering
the Temple. “The King usually rose at six in the morning,” says Clery. “He
shaved himself, and I dressed his hair; he then went to his reading-room,
which, being very small, the municipal officer on duty remained in the
bedchamber with the door open, that he might always keep the King in
sight. His Majesty continued praying on his knees for some time, and then
read till nine. During that interval, after putting his chamber to rights and
preparing the breakfast, I went down to the Queen, who never opened her
door till I arrived, in order to prevent the municipal officer from going into
her apartment. At nine o’clock the Queen, the children, and Madame
Elisabeth went up to the King’s chamber to breakfast. At ten the King and
his family went down to the Queen’s chamber, and there passed the day. He
employed himself in educating his son, made him recite passages from
Corneille and Racine, gave him lessons in geography, and exercised him in
colouring the maps. The Queen, on her part, was employed in the education
of her daughter, and these different lessons lasted till eleven o’clock. The
remaining time till noon was passed in needlework, knitting, or making
tapestry. At one o’clock, when the weather was fine, the royal family were
conducted to the garden by four municipal officers and the commander of a
legion of the National Guard. As there were a number of workmen in the
Temple employed in pulling down houses and building new walls, they
only allowed a part of the chestnut-tree walk for the promenade, in which I
was allowed to share, and where I also played with the young Prince at ball,
quoits, or races. At two we returned to the Tower, where I served the dinner,
at which time Santerre regularly came to the Temple, attended by two aides-
de-camp. The King sometimes spoke to him,—the Queen never.
“After the meal the royal family came down into the Queen’s room, and
their Majesties generally played a game of piquet or tric-trac. At four
o’clock the King took a little repose, the Princesses round him, each with a
Page 360
book . . . . When the King woke the conversation was resumed, and I gave
writing lessons to his son, taking the copies, according to his instructions,
from the works of, Montesquieu and other celebrated authors. After the
lesson I took the young Prince into Madame Elisabeth’s room, where we
played at ball, and battledore and shuttlecock. In the evening the family sat
round a table, while the Queen read to them from books of history, or other
works proper to instruct and amuse the children. Madame Elisabeth took
the book in her turn, and in this manner they read till eight o’clock. After
that I served the supper of the young Prince, in which the royal family
shared, and the King amused the children with charades out of a collection
of French papers which he found in the library. After the Dauphin had
supped, I undressed him, and the Queen heard him say his prayers. At nine
the King went to supper, and afterwards went for a moment to the Queen’s
chamber, shook hands with her and his sister for the night, kissed his
children, and then retired to the turret-room, where he sat reading till
midnight. The Queen and the Princesses locked themselves in, and one of
the municipal officers remained in the little room which parted their
chamber, where he passed the night; the other followed his Majesty. In this
manner was the time passed as long as the King remained in the small
tower.”
But even these harmless pursuits were too often made the means of
further insulting and thwarting the unfortunate family. Commissary Le
Clerc interrupted the Prince’s writing lessons, proposing to substitute
Republican works for those from which the King selected his copies. A
smith, who was present when the Queen was reading the history of France
to her children, denounced her to the Commune for choosing the period
when the Connstable de Bourbon took arms against France, and said she
wished to inspire her son with unpatriotic feelings; a municipal officer
asserted that the multiplication table the Prince was studying would afford a
means of “speaking in cipher,” so arithmetic had to be abandoned. Much
the same occurred even with the needlework, the Queen and Princess
finished some chairbacks, which they wished to send to the Duchesse de
Tarente; but the officials considered that the patterns were hieroglyphics,
intended for carrying on a correspondence, and ordered that none of the
Princesses work should leave the Temple. The short daily walk in the
garden was also embittered by the rude behaviour of the military and
municipal gaolers; sometimes, however, it afforded an opportunity for
writing lessons to his son, taking the copies, according to his instructions,
from the works of, Montesquieu and other celebrated authors. After the
lesson I took the young Prince into Madame Elisabeth’s room, where we
played at ball, and battledore and shuttlecock. In the evening the family sat
round a table, while the Queen read to them from books of history, or other
works proper to instruct and amuse the children. Madame Elisabeth took
the book in her turn, and in this manner they read till eight o’clock. After
that I served the supper of the young Prince, in which the royal family
shared, and the King amused the children with charades out of a collection
of French papers which he found in the library. After the Dauphin had
supped, I undressed him, and the Queen heard him say his prayers. At nine
the King went to supper, and afterwards went for a moment to the Queen’s
chamber, shook hands with her and his sister for the night, kissed his
children, and then retired to the turret-room, where he sat reading till
midnight. The Queen and the Princesses locked themselves in, and one of
the municipal officers remained in the little room which parted their
chamber, where he passed the night; the other followed his Majesty. In this
manner was the time passed as long as the King remained in the small
tower.”
But even these harmless pursuits were too often made the means of
further insulting and thwarting the unfortunate family. Commissary Le
Clerc interrupted the Prince’s writing lessons, proposing to substitute
Republican works for those from which the King selected his copies. A
smith, who was present when the Queen was reading the history of France
to her children, denounced her to the Commune for choosing the period
when the Connstable de Bourbon took arms against France, and said she
wished to inspire her son with unpatriotic feelings; a municipal officer
asserted that the multiplication table the Prince was studying would afford a
means of “speaking in cipher,” so arithmetic had to be abandoned. Much
the same occurred even with the needlework, the Queen and Princess
finished some chairbacks, which they wished to send to the Duchesse de
Tarente; but the officials considered that the patterns were hieroglyphics,
intended for carrying on a correspondence, and ordered that none of the
Princesses work should leave the Temple. The short daily walk in the
garden was also embittered by the rude behaviour of the military and
municipal gaolers; sometimes, however, it afforded an opportunity for
Page 361
marks of sympathy to be shown. People would station themselves at the
windows of houses overlooking the Temple gardens, and evince by gestures
their loyal affection, and some of the sentinels showed, even by tears, that
their duty was painful to them.
On the 21st September the National Convention was constituted, Petion
being made president and Collot d’Herbois moving the “abolition of
royalty” amidst transports of applause. That afternoon a municipal officer
attended by gendarmes a cheval, and followed by a crowd of people,
arrived at the Temple, and, after a flourish of trumpets, proclaimed the
establishment of the French Republic. The man, says Clery, “had the voice
of a Stentor.” The royal family could distinctly hear the announcement of
the King’s deposition. “Hebert, so well known under the title of Pere
Duchesne, and Destournelles were on guard. They were sitting near the
door, and turned to the King with meaning smiles. He had a book in his
hand, and went on reading without changing countenance. The Queen
showed the same firmness. The proclamation finished, the trumpets
sounded afresh. I went to the window; the people took me for Louis XVI.
and I was overwhelmed with insults.”
After the new decree the prisoners were treated with increased harshness.
Pens, paper, ink, and pencils were taken from them. The King and Madame
Elisabeth gave up all, but the Queen and her daughter each concealed a
pencil. “In the beginning of October,” says Madame Royale, “after my
father had supped, he was told to stop, that he was not to return to his
former apartments, and that he was to be separated from his family. At this
dreadful sentence the Queen lost her usual courage. We parted from him
with abundance of tears, though we expected to see him again in the
morning.
[At nine o’clock, says Clery, the King asked to be taken to
his family, but the municipal officers replied that they had
“no orders for that.” Shortly afterwards a boy brought the
King some bread and a decanter of lemonade for his
breakfast. The King gave half the bread to Clery, saying, “It
seems they have forgotten your breakfast; take this, the rest
is enough for me.” Clery refused, but the King insisted. “I
could not contain my tears,” he adds; “the King perceived
them, and his own fell also.”]
windows of houses overlooking the Temple gardens, and evince by gestures
their loyal affection, and some of the sentinels showed, even by tears, that
their duty was painful to them.
On the 21st September the National Convention was constituted, Petion
being made president and Collot d’Herbois moving the “abolition of
royalty” amidst transports of applause. That afternoon a municipal officer
attended by gendarmes a cheval, and followed by a crowd of people,
arrived at the Temple, and, after a flourish of trumpets, proclaimed the
establishment of the French Republic. The man, says Clery, “had the voice
of a Stentor.” The royal family could distinctly hear the announcement of
the King’s deposition. “Hebert, so well known under the title of Pere
Duchesne, and Destournelles were on guard. They were sitting near the
door, and turned to the King with meaning smiles. He had a book in his
hand, and went on reading without changing countenance. The Queen
showed the same firmness. The proclamation finished, the trumpets
sounded afresh. I went to the window; the people took me for Louis XVI.
and I was overwhelmed with insults.”
After the new decree the prisoners were treated with increased harshness.
Pens, paper, ink, and pencils were taken from them. The King and Madame
Elisabeth gave up all, but the Queen and her daughter each concealed a
pencil. “In the beginning of October,” says Madame Royale, “after my
father had supped, he was told to stop, that he was not to return to his
former apartments, and that he was to be separated from his family. At this
dreadful sentence the Queen lost her usual courage. We parted from him
with abundance of tears, though we expected to see him again in the
morning.
[At nine o’clock, says Clery, the King asked to be taken to
his family, but the municipal officers replied that they had
“no orders for that.” Shortly afterwards a boy brought the
King some bread and a decanter of lemonade for his
breakfast. The King gave half the bread to Clery, saying, “It
seems they have forgotten your breakfast; take this, the rest
is enough for me.” Clery refused, but the King insisted. “I
could not contain my tears,” he adds; “the King perceived
them, and his own fell also.”]
Page 362
They brought in our breakfast separately from his, however. My mother
would take nothing. The officers, alarmed at her silent and concentrated
sorrow, allowed us to see the King, but at meal-times only, and on condition
that we should not speak low, nor in any foreign language, but loud and in
‘good French.’ We went down, therefore, with the greatest joy to dine with
my father. In the evening, when my brother was in bed, my mother and my
aunt alternately sat with him or went with me to sup with my father. In the
morning, after breakfast, we remained in the King’s apartments while Clery
dressed our hair, as he was no longer allowed to come to my mother’s
room, and this arrangement gave us the pleasure of spending a few
moments more with my father.”
[When the first deputation from the Council of the
Commune visited the Temple, and formally inquired whether
the King had any complaint to make, he replied, “No; while
he was permitted to remain with his family he was happy.”]
The royal prisoners had no comfort except their affection for each other.
At that time even common necessaries were denied them. Their small stock
of linen had been lent them; by persons of the Court during the time they
spent at the Feuillans. The Princesses mended their clothes every day, and
after the King had gone to bed Madame Elisabeth mended his. “With much
trouble,” says Clrry, “I procured some fresh linen for them. But the
workwomen having marked it with crowned letters, the Princesses were
ordered to pick them out.” The room in the great tower to which the King
had been removed contained only one bed, and no other article of furniture.
A chair was brought on which Clery spent the first night; painters were still
at work on the room, and the smell of the paint, he says, was almost
unbearable. This room was afterwards furnished by collecting from various
parts of the Temple a chest of drawers, a small bureau, a few odd chairs, a
chimney-glass, and a bed hung with green damask, which had been used by
the captain of the guard to the Comte d’Artois. A room for the Queen was
being prepared over that of the King, and she implored the workmen to
finish it quickly, but it was not ready for her occupation for some time, and
when she was allowed to remove to it the Dauphin was taken from her and
placed with his father. When their Majesties met again in the great Tower,
says Clery, there was little change in the hours fixed for meals, reading,
would take nothing. The officers, alarmed at her silent and concentrated
sorrow, allowed us to see the King, but at meal-times only, and on condition
that we should not speak low, nor in any foreign language, but loud and in
‘good French.’ We went down, therefore, with the greatest joy to dine with
my father. In the evening, when my brother was in bed, my mother and my
aunt alternately sat with him or went with me to sup with my father. In the
morning, after breakfast, we remained in the King’s apartments while Clery
dressed our hair, as he was no longer allowed to come to my mother’s
room, and this arrangement gave us the pleasure of spending a few
moments more with my father.”
[When the first deputation from the Council of the
Commune visited the Temple, and formally inquired whether
the King had any complaint to make, he replied, “No; while
he was permitted to remain with his family he was happy.”]
The royal prisoners had no comfort except their affection for each other.
At that time even common necessaries were denied them. Their small stock
of linen had been lent them; by persons of the Court during the time they
spent at the Feuillans. The Princesses mended their clothes every day, and
after the King had gone to bed Madame Elisabeth mended his. “With much
trouble,” says Clrry, “I procured some fresh linen for them. But the
workwomen having marked it with crowned letters, the Princesses were
ordered to pick them out.” The room in the great tower to which the King
had been removed contained only one bed, and no other article of furniture.
A chair was brought on which Clery spent the first night; painters were still
at work on the room, and the smell of the paint, he says, was almost
unbearable. This room was afterwards furnished by collecting from various
parts of the Temple a chest of drawers, a small bureau, a few odd chairs, a
chimney-glass, and a bed hung with green damask, which had been used by
the captain of the guard to the Comte d’Artois. A room for the Queen was
being prepared over that of the King, and she implored the workmen to
finish it quickly, but it was not ready for her occupation for some time, and
when she was allowed to remove to it the Dauphin was taken from her and
placed with his father. When their Majesties met again in the great Tower,
says Clery, there was little change in the hours fixed for meals, reading,
Page 363
walking and the education of their children. They were not allowed to have
mass said in the Temple, and therefore commissioned Clery to get them the
breviary in use in the diocese of Paris. Among the books read by the King
while in the Tower were Hume’s “History of England” (in the original),
Tasso, and the “De Imitatione Christi.” The jealous suspicions of the
municipal officers led to the most absurd investigations; a draught-board
was taken to pieces lest the squares should hide treasonable papers;
macaroons were broken in half to see that they did not contain letters;
peaches were cut open and the stones cracked; and Clery was compelled to
drink the essence of soap prepared for shaving the King, under the pretence
that it might contain poison.
In November the King and all the family had feverish colds, and Clery
had an attack of rheumatic fever. On the first day of his illness he got up
and tried to dress his master, but the King, seeing how ill he was, ordered
him to lie down, and himself dressed the Dauphin. The little Prince waited
on Clery all day, and in the evening the King contrived to approach his bed,
and said, in a low voice, “I should like to take care of you myself, but you
know how we are watched. Take courage; tomorrow you shall see my
doctor.” Madame Elisabeth brought the valet cooling draughts, of which she
deprived herself; and after Clery was able to get up, the young Prince one
night with great difficulty kept awake till eleven o’clock in order to give
him a box of lozenges when he went to make the King’s bed.
On 7th December a deputation from the Commune brought an order that
the royal family should be deprived of “knives, razors, scissors, penknives,
and all other cutting instruments.” The King gave up a knife, and took from
a morocco case a pair of scissors and a penknife; and the officials then
searched the room, taking away the little toilet implements of gold and
silver, and afterwards removing the Princesses’ working materials.
Returning to the King’s room, they insisted upon seeing what remained in
his pocket-case. “Are these toys which I have in my hand also cutting
instruments?” asked the King, showing them a cork-screw, a turn-screw,
and a steel for lighting. These also were taken from him. Shortly afterwards
Madame Elisabeth was mending the King’s coat, and, having no scissors,
was compelled to break the thread with her teeth.
“What a contrast!” he exclaimed, looking at her tenderly. “You wanted
nothing in your pretty house at Montreuil.”
mass said in the Temple, and therefore commissioned Clery to get them the
breviary in use in the diocese of Paris. Among the books read by the King
while in the Tower were Hume’s “History of England” (in the original),
Tasso, and the “De Imitatione Christi.” The jealous suspicions of the
municipal officers led to the most absurd investigations; a draught-board
was taken to pieces lest the squares should hide treasonable papers;
macaroons were broken in half to see that they did not contain letters;
peaches were cut open and the stones cracked; and Clery was compelled to
drink the essence of soap prepared for shaving the King, under the pretence
that it might contain poison.
In November the King and all the family had feverish colds, and Clery
had an attack of rheumatic fever. On the first day of his illness he got up
and tried to dress his master, but the King, seeing how ill he was, ordered
him to lie down, and himself dressed the Dauphin. The little Prince waited
on Clery all day, and in the evening the King contrived to approach his bed,
and said, in a low voice, “I should like to take care of you myself, but you
know how we are watched. Take courage; tomorrow you shall see my
doctor.” Madame Elisabeth brought the valet cooling draughts, of which she
deprived herself; and after Clery was able to get up, the young Prince one
night with great difficulty kept awake till eleven o’clock in order to give
him a box of lozenges when he went to make the King’s bed.
On 7th December a deputation from the Commune brought an order that
the royal family should be deprived of “knives, razors, scissors, penknives,
and all other cutting instruments.” The King gave up a knife, and took from
a morocco case a pair of scissors and a penknife; and the officials then
searched the room, taking away the little toilet implements of gold and
silver, and afterwards removing the Princesses’ working materials.
Returning to the King’s room, they insisted upon seeing what remained in
his pocket-case. “Are these toys which I have in my hand also cutting
instruments?” asked the King, showing them a cork-screw, a turn-screw,
and a steel for lighting. These also were taken from him. Shortly afterwards
Madame Elisabeth was mending the King’s coat, and, having no scissors,
was compelled to break the thread with her teeth.
“What a contrast!” he exclaimed, looking at her tenderly. “You wanted
nothing in your pretty house at Montreuil.”
Page 364
“Ah, brother,” she answered, “how can I have any regret when I partake
your misfortunes?”
The Queen had frequently to take on herself some of the humble duties of
a servant. This was especially painful to Louis XVI. when the anniversary
of some State festival brought the contrast between past and present with
unusual keenness before him.
“Ah, Madame,” he once exclaimed, “what an employment for a Queen of
France! Could they see that at Vienna! Who would have foreseen that, in
uniting your lot to mine, you would have descended so low?”
“And do you esteem as nothing,” she replied, “the glory of being the wife
of one of the best and most persecuted of men? Are not such misfortunes
the noblest honours?”—[Alison’s “History of Europe,” vol. ii., p. 299.]
Meanwhile the Assembly had decided that the King should be brought to
trial. Nearly all parties, except the Girondists, no matter how bitterly
opposed to each other, could agree in making him the scapegoat; and the
first rumour of the approaching ordeal was conveyed to the Temple by
Clery’s wife, who, with a friend, had permission occasionally to visit him.
“I did not know how to announce this terrible news to the King,” he says;
“but time was pressing, and he had forbidden my concealing anything from
him. In the evening, while undressing him, I gave him an account of all I
had learnt, and added that there were only four days to concert some plan of
corresponding with the Queen. The arrival of the municipal officer would
not allow me to say more. Next morning, when the King rose, I could not
get a moment for speaking with him. He went up with his son to breakfast
with the Princesses, and I followed. After breakfast he talked long with the
Queen, who, by a look full of trouble, made me understand that they were
discussing what I had told the King. During the day I found an opportunity
of describing to Madame Elisabeth how much it had cost me to augment the
King’s distresses by informing him of his approaching trial. She reassured
me, saying that the King felt this as a mark of attachment on my part, and
added, ‘That which most troubles him is the fear of being separated from
us.’ In the evening the King told me how satisfied he was at having had
warning that he was to appear before the Convention. ‘Continue,’ he said,
‘to endeavour to find out something as to what they want to do with me.
Never fear distressing me. I have agreed with my family not to seem pre-
informed, in order not to compromise you.’”
your misfortunes?”
The Queen had frequently to take on herself some of the humble duties of
a servant. This was especially painful to Louis XVI. when the anniversary
of some State festival brought the contrast between past and present with
unusual keenness before him.
“Ah, Madame,” he once exclaimed, “what an employment for a Queen of
France! Could they see that at Vienna! Who would have foreseen that, in
uniting your lot to mine, you would have descended so low?”
“And do you esteem as nothing,” she replied, “the glory of being the wife
of one of the best and most persecuted of men? Are not such misfortunes
the noblest honours?”—[Alison’s “History of Europe,” vol. ii., p. 299.]
Meanwhile the Assembly had decided that the King should be brought to
trial. Nearly all parties, except the Girondists, no matter how bitterly
opposed to each other, could agree in making him the scapegoat; and the
first rumour of the approaching ordeal was conveyed to the Temple by
Clery’s wife, who, with a friend, had permission occasionally to visit him.
“I did not know how to announce this terrible news to the King,” he says;
“but time was pressing, and he had forbidden my concealing anything from
him. In the evening, while undressing him, I gave him an account of all I
had learnt, and added that there were only four days to concert some plan of
corresponding with the Queen. The arrival of the municipal officer would
not allow me to say more. Next morning, when the King rose, I could not
get a moment for speaking with him. He went up with his son to breakfast
with the Princesses, and I followed. After breakfast he talked long with the
Queen, who, by a look full of trouble, made me understand that they were
discussing what I had told the King. During the day I found an opportunity
of describing to Madame Elisabeth how much it had cost me to augment the
King’s distresses by informing him of his approaching trial. She reassured
me, saying that the King felt this as a mark of attachment on my part, and
added, ‘That which most troubles him is the fear of being separated from
us.’ In the evening the King told me how satisfied he was at having had
warning that he was to appear before the Convention. ‘Continue,’ he said,
‘to endeavour to find out something as to what they want to do with me.
Never fear distressing me. I have agreed with my family not to seem pre-
informed, in order not to compromise you.’”
Page 365
On the 11th December, at five o’clock in the morning, the prisoners heard
the generale beaten throughout Paris, and cavalry and cannon entered the
Temple gardens. At nine the King and the Dauphin went as usual to
breakfast with the Queen. They were allowed to remain together for an
hour, but constantly under the eyes of their republican guardians. At last
they were obliged to part, doubtful whether they would ever see each other
again. The little Prince, who remained with his father, and was ignorant of
the new cause for anxiety, begged hard that the King would play at ninepins
the generale beaten throughout Paris, and cavalry and cannon entered the
Temple gardens. At nine the King and the Dauphin went as usual to
breakfast with the Queen. They were allowed to remain together for an
hour, but constantly under the eyes of their republican guardians. At last
they were obliged to part, doubtful whether they would ever see each other
again. The little Prince, who remained with his father, and was ignorant of
the new cause for anxiety, begged hard that the King would play at ninepins
Page 366
with him as usual. Twice the Dauphin could not get beyond a certain
number. “Each time that I get up to sixteen,” he said, with some vexation, “I
lose the game.” The King did not reply, but Clery fancied the words made a
painful impression on him.
At eleven, while the King was giving the Dauphin a reading lesson, two
municipal officers entered and said they had come “to take young Louis to
his mother.” The King inquired why, but was only told that such were the
orders of the Council. At one o’clock the Mayor of Paris, Chambon,
accompanied by Chaumette, Procureur de la Commune, Santerre,
commandant of the National Guard, and others, arrived at the Temple and
read a decree to the King, which ordered that “Louis Capet” should be
brought before the Convention. “Capet is not my name,” he replied, “but
that of one of my ancestors. I could have wished,” he added, “that you had
left my son with me during the last two hours. But this treatment is
consistent with all I have experienced here. I follow you, not because I
recognise the authority of the Convention, but because I can be compelled
to obey it.” He then followed the Mayor to a carriage which waited, with a
numerous escort, at the gate of the Temple. The family left behind were
overwhelmed with grief and apprehension. “It is impossible to describe the
anxiety we suffered,” says Madame Royale. “My mother used every
endeavour with the officer who guarded her to discover what was passing; it
was the first time she had condescended to question any of these men. He
would tell her nothing.”
Trial of the King.—Parting of the Royal Family.—Execution.
The crowd was immense as, on the morning of the 11th December, 1792,
Louis XVI. was driven slowly from the Temple to the Convention, escorted
by cavalry, infantry, and artillery. Paris looked like an armed camp: all the
posts were doubled; the muster-roll of the National Guard was called over
number. “Each time that I get up to sixteen,” he said, with some vexation, “I
lose the game.” The King did not reply, but Clery fancied the words made a
painful impression on him.
At eleven, while the King was giving the Dauphin a reading lesson, two
municipal officers entered and said they had come “to take young Louis to
his mother.” The King inquired why, but was only told that such were the
orders of the Council. At one o’clock the Mayor of Paris, Chambon,
accompanied by Chaumette, Procureur de la Commune, Santerre,
commandant of the National Guard, and others, arrived at the Temple and
read a decree to the King, which ordered that “Louis Capet” should be
brought before the Convention. “Capet is not my name,” he replied, “but
that of one of my ancestors. I could have wished,” he added, “that you had
left my son with me during the last two hours. But this treatment is
consistent with all I have experienced here. I follow you, not because I
recognise the authority of the Convention, but because I can be compelled
to obey it.” He then followed the Mayor to a carriage which waited, with a
numerous escort, at the gate of the Temple. The family left behind were
overwhelmed with grief and apprehension. “It is impossible to describe the
anxiety we suffered,” says Madame Royale. “My mother used every
endeavour with the officer who guarded her to discover what was passing; it
was the first time she had condescended to question any of these men. He
would tell her nothing.”
Trial of the King.—Parting of the Royal Family.—Execution.
The crowd was immense as, on the morning of the 11th December, 1792,
Louis XVI. was driven slowly from the Temple to the Convention, escorted
by cavalry, infantry, and artillery. Paris looked like an armed camp: all the
posts were doubled; the muster-roll of the National Guard was called over
Page 367
every hour; a picket of two hundred men watched in the court of each of the
right sections; a reserve with cannon was stationed at the Tuileries, and
strong detachments patroled the streets and cleared the road of all loiterers.
The trees that lined the boulevards, the doors and windows of the houses,
were alive with gazers, and all eyes were fixed on the King. He was much
changed since his people last beheld him. The beard he had been compelled
to grow after his razors were taken from him covered cheeks, lips, and chin
with light-coloured hair, which concealed the melancholy expression of his
mouth; he had become thin, and his garments hung loosely on him; but his
manner was perfectly collected and calm, and he recognised and named to
the Mayor the various quarters through which he passed. On arriving at the
Feuillans he was taken to a room to await the orders of the Assembly.
It was about half-past two when the King appeared at the bar. The Mayor
and Generaux Santerre and Wittengoff were at his side. Profound silence
pervaded the Assembly. All were touched by the King’s dignity and the
composure of his looks under so great a reverse of fortune. By nature he
had been formed rather to endure calamity with patience than to contend
against it with energy. The approach of death could not disturb his serenity.
“Louis, you may be seated,” said Barere. “Answer the questions that
shall be put to you.” The King seated himself and listened to the reading of
the ‘acte enonciatif’, article by article. All the faults of the Court were there
enumerated and imputed to Louis XVI. personally. He was charged with the
interruption of the sittings of the 20th of June, 1789, with the Bed of Justice
held on the 23d of the same month, the aristocratic conspiracy thwarted by
the insurrection of the 14th of July, the entertainment of the Life Guards,
the insults offered to the national cockade, the refusal to sanction the
Declaration of Rights, as well as several constitutional articles; lastly, all the
facts which indicated a new conspiracy in October, and which were
followed by the scenes of the 5th and 6th; the speeches of reconciliation
which had succeeded all these scenes, and which promised a change that
was not sincere; the false oath taken at the Federation of the 14th of July;
the secret practices of Talon and Mirabeau to effect a counter-revolution;
the money spent in bribing a great number of deputies; the assemblage of
the “knights of the dagger” on the 28th of February, 1791; the flight to
Varennes; the fusilade of the Champ de Mars; the silence observed
respecting the Treaty of Pilnitz; the delay in the promulgation of the decree
which incorporated Avignon with France; the commotions at Nimes,
right sections; a reserve with cannon was stationed at the Tuileries, and
strong detachments patroled the streets and cleared the road of all loiterers.
The trees that lined the boulevards, the doors and windows of the houses,
were alive with gazers, and all eyes were fixed on the King. He was much
changed since his people last beheld him. The beard he had been compelled
to grow after his razors were taken from him covered cheeks, lips, and chin
with light-coloured hair, which concealed the melancholy expression of his
mouth; he had become thin, and his garments hung loosely on him; but his
manner was perfectly collected and calm, and he recognised and named to
the Mayor the various quarters through which he passed. On arriving at the
Feuillans he was taken to a room to await the orders of the Assembly.
It was about half-past two when the King appeared at the bar. The Mayor
and Generaux Santerre and Wittengoff were at his side. Profound silence
pervaded the Assembly. All were touched by the King’s dignity and the
composure of his looks under so great a reverse of fortune. By nature he
had been formed rather to endure calamity with patience than to contend
against it with energy. The approach of death could not disturb his serenity.
“Louis, you may be seated,” said Barere. “Answer the questions that
shall be put to you.” The King seated himself and listened to the reading of
the ‘acte enonciatif’, article by article. All the faults of the Court were there
enumerated and imputed to Louis XVI. personally. He was charged with the
interruption of the sittings of the 20th of June, 1789, with the Bed of Justice
held on the 23d of the same month, the aristocratic conspiracy thwarted by
the insurrection of the 14th of July, the entertainment of the Life Guards,
the insults offered to the national cockade, the refusal to sanction the
Declaration of Rights, as well as several constitutional articles; lastly, all the
facts which indicated a new conspiracy in October, and which were
followed by the scenes of the 5th and 6th; the speeches of reconciliation
which had succeeded all these scenes, and which promised a change that
was not sincere; the false oath taken at the Federation of the 14th of July;
the secret practices of Talon and Mirabeau to effect a counter-revolution;
the money spent in bribing a great number of deputies; the assemblage of
the “knights of the dagger” on the 28th of February, 1791; the flight to
Varennes; the fusilade of the Champ de Mars; the silence observed
respecting the Treaty of Pilnitz; the delay in the promulgation of the decree
which incorporated Avignon with France; the commotions at Nimes,
Page 368
Montauban, Mende, and Jales; the continuance of their pay to the emigrant
Life Guards and to the disbanded Constitutional Guard; the insufficiency of
the armies assembled on the frontiers; the refusal to sanction the decree for
the camp of twenty thousand men; the disarming of the fortresses; the
organisation of secret societies in the interior of Paris; the review of the
Swiss and the garrison of the palace on the 10th August; the summoning the
Mayor to the Tuileries; and lastly, the effusion of blood which had resulted
from these military dispositions. After each article the President paused, and
said, “What have you to answer?” The King, in a firm voice, denied some
of the facts, imputed others to his ministers, and always appealed to the
constitution, from which he declared he had never deviated. His answers
were very temperate, but on the charge, “You spilt the blood of the people
on the 10th of August,” he exclaimed, with emphasis, “No, monsieur, no; it
was not I.”
All the papers on which the act of accusation was founded were then
shown to the King, and he disavowed some of them and disputed the
existence of the iron chest; this produced a bad impression, and was worse
than useless, as the fact had been proved.
[A secret closet which the King had directed to be
constructed in a wall in the Tuileries. The door was of iron,
whence it was afterwards known by the name of the iron
chest. See Thiers, and Scott.]
Throughout the examination the King showed great presence of mind. He
was careful in his answers never to implicate any members of the
constituent, and legislative Assemblies; many who then sat as his judges
trembled lest he should betray them. The Jacobins beheld with dismay the
profound impression made on the Convention by the firm but mild
demeanour of the sovereign. The most violent of the party proposed that he
should be hanged that very night; a laugh as of demons followed the
proposal from the benches of the Mountain, but the majority, composed of
the Girondists and the neutrals, decided that he should be formally tried.
After the examination Santerre took the King by the arm and led him
back to the waiting-room of the Convention, accompanied by Chambon and
Chaumette. Mental agitation and the length of the proceedings had
exhausted him, and he staggered from weakness. Chaumette inquired if he
Life Guards and to the disbanded Constitutional Guard; the insufficiency of
the armies assembled on the frontiers; the refusal to sanction the decree for
the camp of twenty thousand men; the disarming of the fortresses; the
organisation of secret societies in the interior of Paris; the review of the
Swiss and the garrison of the palace on the 10th August; the summoning the
Mayor to the Tuileries; and lastly, the effusion of blood which had resulted
from these military dispositions. After each article the President paused, and
said, “What have you to answer?” The King, in a firm voice, denied some
of the facts, imputed others to his ministers, and always appealed to the
constitution, from which he declared he had never deviated. His answers
were very temperate, but on the charge, “You spilt the blood of the people
on the 10th of August,” he exclaimed, with emphasis, “No, monsieur, no; it
was not I.”
All the papers on which the act of accusation was founded were then
shown to the King, and he disavowed some of them and disputed the
existence of the iron chest; this produced a bad impression, and was worse
than useless, as the fact had been proved.
[A secret closet which the King had directed to be
constructed in a wall in the Tuileries. The door was of iron,
whence it was afterwards known by the name of the iron
chest. See Thiers, and Scott.]
Throughout the examination the King showed great presence of mind. He
was careful in his answers never to implicate any members of the
constituent, and legislative Assemblies; many who then sat as his judges
trembled lest he should betray them. The Jacobins beheld with dismay the
profound impression made on the Convention by the firm but mild
demeanour of the sovereign. The most violent of the party proposed that he
should be hanged that very night; a laugh as of demons followed the
proposal from the benches of the Mountain, but the majority, composed of
the Girondists and the neutrals, decided that he should be formally tried.
After the examination Santerre took the King by the arm and led him
back to the waiting-room of the Convention, accompanied by Chambon and
Chaumette. Mental agitation and the length of the proceedings had
exhausted him, and he staggered from weakness. Chaumette inquired if he
Page 369
wished for refreshment, but the King refused it. A moment after, seeing a
grenadier of the escort offer the Procureur de la Commune half a small loaf,
Louis XVI. approached and asked him, in a whisper, for a piece.
“Ask aloud for what you want,” said Chaumette, retreating as though he
feared being suspected of pity.
“I asked for a piece of your bread,” replied the King.
“Divide it with me,” said Chaumette. “It is a Spartan breakfast. If I had a
root I would give you half.”—[Lamartine’s “History of the Girondists,”
edit. 1870, vol. ii., p. 313.]
Soon after six in the evening the King returned to the Temple. “He
seemed tired,” says Clery, simply, “and his first wish was to be led to his
family. The officers refused, on the plea that they had no orders. He insisted
that at least they should be informed of his return, and this was promised
him. The King ordered me to ask for his supper at half-past eight. The
intervening hours he employed in his usual reading, surrounded by four
municipals. When I announced that supper was served, the King asked the
commissaries if his family could not come down. They made no reply. ‘But
at least,’ the King said, ‘my son will pass the night in my room, his bed
being here?’ The same silence. After supper the King again urged his wish
to see his family. They answered that they must await the decision of the
Convention. While I was undressing him the King said, ‘I was far from
expecting all the questions they put to me.’ He lay down with perfect
calmness. The order for my removal during the night was not executed.” On
the King’s return to the Temple being known, “my mother asked to see him
instantly,” writes Madame Royale. “She made the same request even to
Chambon, but received no answer. My brother passed the night with her;
and as he had no bed, she gave him hers, and sat up all the night in such
deep affliction that we were afraid to leave her; but she compelled my aunt
and me to go to bed. Next day she again asked to see my father, and to read
the newspapers, that she might learn the course of the trial. She entreated
that if she was to be denied this indulgence, his children, at least, might see
him. Her requests were referred to the Commune. The newspapers were
refused; but my brother and I were to be allowed to see my father on
condition of being entirely separated from my mother. My father replied
that, great as his happiness was in seeing his children, the important
grenadier of the escort offer the Procureur de la Commune half a small loaf,
Louis XVI. approached and asked him, in a whisper, for a piece.
“Ask aloud for what you want,” said Chaumette, retreating as though he
feared being suspected of pity.
“I asked for a piece of your bread,” replied the King.
“Divide it with me,” said Chaumette. “It is a Spartan breakfast. If I had a
root I would give you half.”—[Lamartine’s “History of the Girondists,”
edit. 1870, vol. ii., p. 313.]
Soon after six in the evening the King returned to the Temple. “He
seemed tired,” says Clery, simply, “and his first wish was to be led to his
family. The officers refused, on the plea that they had no orders. He insisted
that at least they should be informed of his return, and this was promised
him. The King ordered me to ask for his supper at half-past eight. The
intervening hours he employed in his usual reading, surrounded by four
municipals. When I announced that supper was served, the King asked the
commissaries if his family could not come down. They made no reply. ‘But
at least,’ the King said, ‘my son will pass the night in my room, his bed
being here?’ The same silence. After supper the King again urged his wish
to see his family. They answered that they must await the decision of the
Convention. While I was undressing him the King said, ‘I was far from
expecting all the questions they put to me.’ He lay down with perfect
calmness. The order for my removal during the night was not executed.” On
the King’s return to the Temple being known, “my mother asked to see him
instantly,” writes Madame Royale. “She made the same request even to
Chambon, but received no answer. My brother passed the night with her;
and as he had no bed, she gave him hers, and sat up all the night in such
deep affliction that we were afraid to leave her; but she compelled my aunt
and me to go to bed. Next day she again asked to see my father, and to read
the newspapers, that she might learn the course of the trial. She entreated
that if she was to be denied this indulgence, his children, at least, might see
him. Her requests were referred to the Commune. The newspapers were
refused; but my brother and I were to be allowed to see my father on
condition of being entirely separated from my mother. My father replied
that, great as his happiness was in seeing his children, the important
Page 370
business which then occupied him would not allow of his attending
altogether to his son, and that his daughter could not leave her mother.”
[During their last interview Madame Elisabeth had given
Clery one of her handkerchiefs, saying, “You shall keep it so
long as my brother continues well; if he becomes ill, send it
to me among my nephew’s things.”]
The Assembly having, after a violent debate, resolved that Louis XVI.
should have the aid of counsel, a deputation was sent to the Temple to ask
whom he would choose. The King named Messieurs Target and Tronchet.
The former refused his services on the ground that he had discontinued
practice since 1785; the latter complied at once with the King’s request; and
while the Assembly was considering whom to, nominate in Target’s place,
the President received a letter from the venerable Malesherbes, then seventy
years old, and “the most respected magistrate in France,” in the course of
which he said: “I have been twice called to be counsel for him who was my
master, in times when that duty was coveted by every one. I owe him the
same service now that it is a duty which many people deem dangerous. If I
knew any possible means of acquainting him with my desires, I should not
take the liberty of addressing myself to you.”
[Christian Guillaume de Lamoignon de Malesherbes, an
eminent French statesman, son of the Chancellor of France,
was born at Paris in 1721. In 1750 he succeeded his father
as President of the Court of Aids, and was also made
superintendent of the press. On the banishment of the
Parliaments and the suppression of the Court of Aids,
Malesherbes was exiled to his country-seat. In 1775 he was
appointed Minister of State. On the decree of the Convention
for the King’s trial, he emerged from his retreat to become
the voluntary advocate of his sovereign. Malesherbes was
guillotined in 1794, and almost his whole family were
extirpated by their merciless persecutors.]
Other citizens made similar proposals, but the King, being made
acquainted with them by a deputation from the Commune, while expressing
his gratitude for all the offers, accepted only that of Malesherbes.
altogether to his son, and that his daughter could not leave her mother.”
[During their last interview Madame Elisabeth had given
Clery one of her handkerchiefs, saying, “You shall keep it so
long as my brother continues well; if he becomes ill, send it
to me among my nephew’s things.”]
The Assembly having, after a violent debate, resolved that Louis XVI.
should have the aid of counsel, a deputation was sent to the Temple to ask
whom he would choose. The King named Messieurs Target and Tronchet.
The former refused his services on the ground that he had discontinued
practice since 1785; the latter complied at once with the King’s request; and
while the Assembly was considering whom to, nominate in Target’s place,
the President received a letter from the venerable Malesherbes, then seventy
years old, and “the most respected magistrate in France,” in the course of
which he said: “I have been twice called to be counsel for him who was my
master, in times when that duty was coveted by every one. I owe him the
same service now that it is a duty which many people deem dangerous. If I
knew any possible means of acquainting him with my desires, I should not
take the liberty of addressing myself to you.”
[Christian Guillaume de Lamoignon de Malesherbes, an
eminent French statesman, son of the Chancellor of France,
was born at Paris in 1721. In 1750 he succeeded his father
as President of the Court of Aids, and was also made
superintendent of the press. On the banishment of the
Parliaments and the suppression of the Court of Aids,
Malesherbes was exiled to his country-seat. In 1775 he was
appointed Minister of State. On the decree of the Convention
for the King’s trial, he emerged from his retreat to become
the voluntary advocate of his sovereign. Malesherbes was
guillotined in 1794, and almost his whole family were
extirpated by their merciless persecutors.]
Other citizens made similar proposals, but the King, being made
acquainted with them by a deputation from the Commune, while expressing
his gratitude for all the offers, accepted only that of Malesherbes.
Page 371
[The Citoyenne Olympia Degonges, calling herself a free
and loyal Republican without spot or blame, and declaring
that the cold and selfish cruelty of Target had inflamed her
heroism and roused her sensibility, asked permission to
assist M, de Malesherbes in defending the King. The
Assembly passed to the order of the day on this request.—
BERTRAND DE MOLLEVILLE, “Annals,” edit. 1802, vol,
viii., p. 254.]
On 14th December M. Tronchet was allowed to confer with the King,
and later in the same day M. de Malesherbes was admitted to the Tower.
“The King ran up to this worthy old man, whom he clasped in his arms,”
said Clery, “and the former minister melted into tears at the sight of his
master.”
[According to M. de Hue, “The first time M. de
Malesherbes entered the Temple, the King clasped him in his
arms and said, ‘Ah, is it you, my friend? You fear not to
endanger your own life to save mine; but all will be useless.
They will bring me to the scaffold. No matter; I shall gain
my cause if I leave an unspotted memory behind me.’”]
Another deputation brought the King the Act of Accusation and the
documents relating to it, numbering more than a hundred, and taking from
four o’clock till midnight to read. During this long process the King had
refreshments served to the deputies, taking nothing himself till they had left,
but considerately reproving Clery for not having supped. From the 14th to
the 26th December the King saw his counsel and their colleague M. de Size
every day. At this time a means of communication between the royal family
and the King was devised: a man named Turgi, who had been in the royal
kitchen, and who contrived to obtain employment in the Temple, when
conveying the meals of the royal family to their apartments, or articles he
had purchased for them, managed to give Madame Elisabeth news of the
King. Next day, the Princess, when Turgi was removing the dinner, slipped
into his hand a bit of paper on which she had pricked with a pin a request
for a word from her brother’s own hand. Turgi gave this paper to Clery, who
conveyed it to the King the same evening; and he, being allowed writing
and loyal Republican without spot or blame, and declaring
that the cold and selfish cruelty of Target had inflamed her
heroism and roused her sensibility, asked permission to
assist M, de Malesherbes in defending the King. The
Assembly passed to the order of the day on this request.—
BERTRAND DE MOLLEVILLE, “Annals,” edit. 1802, vol,
viii., p. 254.]
On 14th December M. Tronchet was allowed to confer with the King,
and later in the same day M. de Malesherbes was admitted to the Tower.
“The King ran up to this worthy old man, whom he clasped in his arms,”
said Clery, “and the former minister melted into tears at the sight of his
master.”
[According to M. de Hue, “The first time M. de
Malesherbes entered the Temple, the King clasped him in his
arms and said, ‘Ah, is it you, my friend? You fear not to
endanger your own life to save mine; but all will be useless.
They will bring me to the scaffold. No matter; I shall gain
my cause if I leave an unspotted memory behind me.’”]
Another deputation brought the King the Act of Accusation and the
documents relating to it, numbering more than a hundred, and taking from
four o’clock till midnight to read. During this long process the King had
refreshments served to the deputies, taking nothing himself till they had left,
but considerately reproving Clery for not having supped. From the 14th to
the 26th December the King saw his counsel and their colleague M. de Size
every day. At this time a means of communication between the royal family
and the King was devised: a man named Turgi, who had been in the royal
kitchen, and who contrived to obtain employment in the Temple, when
conveying the meals of the royal family to their apartments, or articles he
had purchased for them, managed to give Madame Elisabeth news of the
King. Next day, the Princess, when Turgi was removing the dinner, slipped
into his hand a bit of paper on which she had pricked with a pin a request
for a word from her brother’s own hand. Turgi gave this paper to Clery, who
conveyed it to the King the same evening; and he, being allowed writing
Page 372
materials while preparing his defence, wrote Madame Elisabeth a short
note. An answer was conveyed in a ball of cotton, which Turgi threw under
Clery’s bed while passing the door of his room. Letters were also passed
between the Princess’s room and that of Clery, who lodged beneath her, by
means of a string let down and drawn up at night. This communication with
his family was a great comfort to the King, who, nevertheless, constantly
cautioned his faithful servant. “Take care,” he would say kindly, “you
expose yourself too much.”
[The King’s natural benevolence was constantly shown
while in the Temple. His own dreadful position never
prevented him from sympathy with the smaller troubles of
others. A servant in the Temple named Marchand, the father
of a family, was robbed of two hundred francs,—his wages
for two months. The King observed his distress, asked its
cause, and gave Clery the amount to be handed to
Marchand, with a caution not to speak of it to any one, and,
above all, not to thank the King, lest it should injure him
with his employers.]
During his separation from his family the King refused to go into the
garden. When it was proposed to him he said, “I cannot make up my mind
to go out alone; the walk was agreeable to me only when I shared it with
my family.” But he did not allow himself to dwell on painful reflections. He
talked freely to the municipals on guard, and surprised them by his varied
and practical knowledge of their trades, and his interest in their domestic
affairs. On the 19th December the King’s breakfast was served as usual;
but, being a fast-day, he refused to take anything. At dinner-time the King
said to Clery, “Fourteen years ago you were up earlier than you were to-
day; it is the day my daughter was born—today, her birthday,” he repeated,
with tears, “and to be prevented from seeing her!” Madame Royale had
wished for a calendar; the King ordered Clery to buy her the “Almanac of
the Republic,” which had replaced the “Court Almanac,” and ran through it,
marking with a pencil many names.
“On Christmas Day,” Says Clery, “the King wrote his will.”
note. An answer was conveyed in a ball of cotton, which Turgi threw under
Clery’s bed while passing the door of his room. Letters were also passed
between the Princess’s room and that of Clery, who lodged beneath her, by
means of a string let down and drawn up at night. This communication with
his family was a great comfort to the King, who, nevertheless, constantly
cautioned his faithful servant. “Take care,” he would say kindly, “you
expose yourself too much.”
[The King’s natural benevolence was constantly shown
while in the Temple. His own dreadful position never
prevented him from sympathy with the smaller troubles of
others. A servant in the Temple named Marchand, the father
of a family, was robbed of two hundred francs,—his wages
for two months. The King observed his distress, asked its
cause, and gave Clery the amount to be handed to
Marchand, with a caution not to speak of it to any one, and,
above all, not to thank the King, lest it should injure him
with his employers.]
During his separation from his family the King refused to go into the
garden. When it was proposed to him he said, “I cannot make up my mind
to go out alone; the walk was agreeable to me only when I shared it with
my family.” But he did not allow himself to dwell on painful reflections. He
talked freely to the municipals on guard, and surprised them by his varied
and practical knowledge of their trades, and his interest in their domestic
affairs. On the 19th December the King’s breakfast was served as usual;
but, being a fast-day, he refused to take anything. At dinner-time the King
said to Clery, “Fourteen years ago you were up earlier than you were to-
day; it is the day my daughter was born—today, her birthday,” he repeated,
with tears, “and to be prevented from seeing her!” Madame Royale had
wished for a calendar; the King ordered Clery to buy her the “Almanac of
the Republic,” which had replaced the “Court Almanac,” and ran through it,
marking with a pencil many names.
“On Christmas Day,” Says Clery, “the King wrote his will.”
Page 373
[Madame Royale says: “On the 26th December, St.
Stephen’s Day, my father made his will, because he expected
to be assassinated that day on his way to the bar of the
Convention. He went thither, nevertheless, with his usual
calmness.”—“Royal Memoirs,” p. 196.]
On the 26th December, 1792, the King appeared a second time before the
Convention. M. de Seze, labouring night and day, had completed his
defence. The King insisted on excluding from it all that was too rhetorical,
and confining it to the mere discussion of essential points.
[When the pathetic peroration of M, de Seze was read to
the King, the evening before it was delivered to the
Assembly, “I have to request of you,” he said, “to make a
painful sacrifice; strike out of your pleading the peroration.
It is enough for me to appear before such judges, and show
my entire innocence; I will not move their feelings.”—
LACRETELLE.]
At half-past nine in the morning the whole armed force was in motion to
conduct him from the Temple to the Feuillans, with the same precautions
and in the same order as had been observed on the former occasion. Riding
in the carriage of the Mayor, he conversed, on the way, with the same
composure as usual, and talked of Seneca, of Livy, of the hospitals. Arrived
at the Feuillans, he showed great anxiety for his defenders; he seated
himself beside them in the Assembly, surveyed with great composure the
benches where his accusers and his judges sat, seemed to examine their
faces with the view of discovering the impression produced by the pleading
of M. de Seze, and more than once conversed smilingly with Tronchet and
Malesherbes. The Assembly received his defence in sullen silence, but
without any tokens of disapprobation.
Being afterwards conducted to an adjoining room with his counsel, the
King showed great anxiety about M. de Seze, who seemed fatigued by the
long defence. While riding back to the Temple he conversed with his
companions with the same serenity as he had shown on leaving it.
No sooner had the King left the hall of the Convention than a violent
tumult arose there. Some were for opening the discussion. Others,
Stephen’s Day, my father made his will, because he expected
to be assassinated that day on his way to the bar of the
Convention. He went thither, nevertheless, with his usual
calmness.”—“Royal Memoirs,” p. 196.]
On the 26th December, 1792, the King appeared a second time before the
Convention. M. de Seze, labouring night and day, had completed his
defence. The King insisted on excluding from it all that was too rhetorical,
and confining it to the mere discussion of essential points.
[When the pathetic peroration of M, de Seze was read to
the King, the evening before it was delivered to the
Assembly, “I have to request of you,” he said, “to make a
painful sacrifice; strike out of your pleading the peroration.
It is enough for me to appear before such judges, and show
my entire innocence; I will not move their feelings.”—
LACRETELLE.]
At half-past nine in the morning the whole armed force was in motion to
conduct him from the Temple to the Feuillans, with the same precautions
and in the same order as had been observed on the former occasion. Riding
in the carriage of the Mayor, he conversed, on the way, with the same
composure as usual, and talked of Seneca, of Livy, of the hospitals. Arrived
at the Feuillans, he showed great anxiety for his defenders; he seated
himself beside them in the Assembly, surveyed with great composure the
benches where his accusers and his judges sat, seemed to examine their
faces with the view of discovering the impression produced by the pleading
of M. de Seze, and more than once conversed smilingly with Tronchet and
Malesherbes. The Assembly received his defence in sullen silence, but
without any tokens of disapprobation.
Being afterwards conducted to an adjoining room with his counsel, the
King showed great anxiety about M. de Seze, who seemed fatigued by the
long defence. While riding back to the Temple he conversed with his
companions with the same serenity as he had shown on leaving it.
No sooner had the King left the hall of the Convention than a violent
tumult arose there. Some were for opening the discussion. Others,
Page 374
complaining of the delays which postponed the decision of this process,
demanded the vote immediately, remarking that in every court, after the
accused had been heard, the judges proceed to give their opinion.
Lanjuinais had from the commencement of the proceedings felt an
indignation which his impetuous disposition no longer suffered him to
repress. He darted to the tribune, and, amidst the cries excited by his
presence, demanded the annulling of the proceedings altogether. He
exclaimed that the days of ferocious men were gone by, that the Assembly
ought not to be so dishonoured as to be made to sit in judgment on Louis
XVI., that no authority in France had that right, and the Assembly in
particular had no claim to it; that if it resolved to act as a political body, it
could do no more than take measures of safety against the ci-devant King;
but that if it was acting as a court of justice it was overstepping all
principles, for it was subjecting the vanquished to be tried by the
conquerors, since most of the present members had declared themselves the
conspirators of the 10th of August. At the word “conspirators” a tremendous
uproar arose on all aides. Cries of “Order!”—“To the Abbaye!”—“Down
with the Tribune!” were heard. Lanjuinais strove in vain to justify the word
“conspirators,” saying that he meant it to be taken in a favourable sense,
and that the 10th of August was a glorious conspiracy. He concluded by
declaring that he would rather die a thousand deaths than condemn,
contrary to all laws, even the most execrable of tyrants.
A great number of speakers followed, and the confusion continually
increased. The members, determined not to hear any more, mingled
together, formed groups, abused and threatened one another. After a tempest
of an hour’s duration, tranquillity was at last restored; and the Assembly,
adopting the opinion of those who demanded the discussion on the trial of
Louis XVI., declared that it was opened, and that it should be continued, to
the exclusion of all other business, till sentence should be passed.
The discussion was accordingly resumed on the 27th, and there was a
constant succession of speakers from the 28th to the 31st. Vergniaud at
length ascended the tribune for the first time, and an extraordinary
eagerness was manifested to hear the Girondists express their sentiments by
the lips of their greatest orator.
The speech of Vergniaud produced a deep impression on all his hearers.
Robespierre was thunderstruck by his earnest and, persuasive eloquence.
demanded the vote immediately, remarking that in every court, after the
accused had been heard, the judges proceed to give their opinion.
Lanjuinais had from the commencement of the proceedings felt an
indignation which his impetuous disposition no longer suffered him to
repress. He darted to the tribune, and, amidst the cries excited by his
presence, demanded the annulling of the proceedings altogether. He
exclaimed that the days of ferocious men were gone by, that the Assembly
ought not to be so dishonoured as to be made to sit in judgment on Louis
XVI., that no authority in France had that right, and the Assembly in
particular had no claim to it; that if it resolved to act as a political body, it
could do no more than take measures of safety against the ci-devant King;
but that if it was acting as a court of justice it was overstepping all
principles, for it was subjecting the vanquished to be tried by the
conquerors, since most of the present members had declared themselves the
conspirators of the 10th of August. At the word “conspirators” a tremendous
uproar arose on all aides. Cries of “Order!”—“To the Abbaye!”—“Down
with the Tribune!” were heard. Lanjuinais strove in vain to justify the word
“conspirators,” saying that he meant it to be taken in a favourable sense,
and that the 10th of August was a glorious conspiracy. He concluded by
declaring that he would rather die a thousand deaths than condemn,
contrary to all laws, even the most execrable of tyrants.
A great number of speakers followed, and the confusion continually
increased. The members, determined not to hear any more, mingled
together, formed groups, abused and threatened one another. After a tempest
of an hour’s duration, tranquillity was at last restored; and the Assembly,
adopting the opinion of those who demanded the discussion on the trial of
Louis XVI., declared that it was opened, and that it should be continued, to
the exclusion of all other business, till sentence should be passed.
The discussion was accordingly resumed on the 27th, and there was a
constant succession of speakers from the 28th to the 31st. Vergniaud at
length ascended the tribune for the first time, and an extraordinary
eagerness was manifested to hear the Girondists express their sentiments by
the lips of their greatest orator.
The speech of Vergniaud produced a deep impression on all his hearers.
Robespierre was thunderstruck by his earnest and, persuasive eloquence.
Page 375
Vergniaud, however, had but shaken, not convinced, the Assembly, which
wavered between the two parties. Several members were successively
heard, for and against the appeal to the people. Brissot, Gensonne, Petion,
supported it in their turn. One speaker at length had a decisive influence on
the question. Barere, by his suppleness, and his cold and evasive eloquence,
was the model and oracle of the centre. He spoke at great length on the trial,
reviewed it in all its bearings—of facts, of laws, and of policy—and
furnished all those weak minds, who only wanted specious reasons for
yielding, with motives for the condemnation of the King. From that moment
the unfortunate King was condemned. The discussion lasted till the 7th, and
nobody would listen any longer to the continual repetition of the same facts
and arguments. It was therefore declared to be closed without opposition,
but the proposal of a fresh adjournment excited a commotion among the
most violent, and ended in a decree which fixed the 14th of January for
putting the questions to the vote.
Meantime the King did not allow the torturing suspense to disturb his
outward composure, or lessen his kindness to those around him. On the
morning after his second appearance at the bar of the Convention, the
commissary Vincent, who had undertaken secretly to convey to the Queen a
copy of the King’s printed defence, asked for something which had
belonged to him, to treasure as a relic; the King took off his neck
handkerchief and gave it him; his gloves he bestowed on another municipal,
who had made the same request. “On January 1st,” says Clery, “I
approached the King’s bed and asked permission to offer him my warmest
prayers for the end of his misfortunes. ‘I accept your good wishes with
affection,’ he replied, extending his hand to me. As soon as he had risen, he
requested a municipal to go and inquire for his family, and present them his
good wishes for the new year. The officers were moved by the tone in
which these words, so heartrending considering the position of the King,
were pronounced . . . . The correspondence between their Majesties went on
constantly. The King being informed that Madame Royale was ill, was very
uneasy for some days. The Queen, after begging earnestly, obtained
permission for M. Brunnier, the medical attendant of the royal children, to
come to the Temple. This seemed to quiet him.”
The nearer the moment which was to decide the King’s fate approached,
the greater became the agitation in, Paris. “A report was circulated that the
atrocities of September were to be repeated there, and the prisoners and
wavered between the two parties. Several members were successively
heard, for and against the appeal to the people. Brissot, Gensonne, Petion,
supported it in their turn. One speaker at length had a decisive influence on
the question. Barere, by his suppleness, and his cold and evasive eloquence,
was the model and oracle of the centre. He spoke at great length on the trial,
reviewed it in all its bearings—of facts, of laws, and of policy—and
furnished all those weak minds, who only wanted specious reasons for
yielding, with motives for the condemnation of the King. From that moment
the unfortunate King was condemned. The discussion lasted till the 7th, and
nobody would listen any longer to the continual repetition of the same facts
and arguments. It was therefore declared to be closed without opposition,
but the proposal of a fresh adjournment excited a commotion among the
most violent, and ended in a decree which fixed the 14th of January for
putting the questions to the vote.
Meantime the King did not allow the torturing suspense to disturb his
outward composure, or lessen his kindness to those around him. On the
morning after his second appearance at the bar of the Convention, the
commissary Vincent, who had undertaken secretly to convey to the Queen a
copy of the King’s printed defence, asked for something which had
belonged to him, to treasure as a relic; the King took off his neck
handkerchief and gave it him; his gloves he bestowed on another municipal,
who had made the same request. “On January 1st,” says Clery, “I
approached the King’s bed and asked permission to offer him my warmest
prayers for the end of his misfortunes. ‘I accept your good wishes with
affection,’ he replied, extending his hand to me. As soon as he had risen, he
requested a municipal to go and inquire for his family, and present them his
good wishes for the new year. The officers were moved by the tone in
which these words, so heartrending considering the position of the King,
were pronounced . . . . The correspondence between their Majesties went on
constantly. The King being informed that Madame Royale was ill, was very
uneasy for some days. The Queen, after begging earnestly, obtained
permission for M. Brunnier, the medical attendant of the royal children, to
come to the Temple. This seemed to quiet him.”
The nearer the moment which was to decide the King’s fate approached,
the greater became the agitation in, Paris. “A report was circulated that the
atrocities of September were to be repeated there, and the prisoners and
Page 376
their relatives beset the deputies with supplications that they would snatch
them from destruction. The Jacobins, on their part, alleged that conspiracies
were hatching in all quarters to save Louis XVI. from punishment, and to
restore royalty. Their anger, excited by delays and obstacles, assumed a
more threatening aspect; and the two parties thus alarmed one another by
supposing that each harboured sinister designs.”
On the 14th of January the Convention called for the order of the day,
being the final judgment of Louis XVI.
“The sitting of the Convention which concluded the trial,” says Hazlitt,
“lasted seventy-two hours. It might naturally be supposed that silence,
restraint, a sort of religious awe, would have pervaded the scene. On the
contrary, everything bore the marks of gaiety, dissipation, and the most
grotesque confusion. The farther end of the hall was converted into boxes,
where ladies, in a studied deshabille, swallowed ices, oranges, liqueurs, and
received the salutations of the members who went and came, as on ordinary
occasions. Here the doorkeepers on the Mountain side opened and shut the
boxes reserved for the mistresses of the Duc d’Orleans; and there, though
every sound of approbation or disapprobation was strictly forbidden, you
heard the long and indignant ‘Ha, ha’s!’ of the mother-duchess, the
patroness of the bands of female Jacobins, whenever her ears were not
loudly greeted with the welcome sounds of death. The upper gallery,
reserved for the people, was during the whole trial constantly full of
strangers of every description, drinking wine as in a tavern.
“Bets were made as to the issue of the trial in all the neighbouring coffee-
houses. Ennui, impatience, disgust sat on almost every countenance. The
figures passing and repassing, rendered more ghastly by the pallid lights,
and who in a slow, sepulchral voice pronounced only the word—Death;
others calculating if they should have time to go to dinner before they gave
their verdict; women pricking cards with pins in order to count the votes;
some of the deputies fallen asleep, and only waking up to give their
sentence,—all this had the appearance rather of a hideous dream than of a
reality.”
The Duc d’Orleans, when called on to give his vote for the death of his
King and relation, walked with a faltering step, and a face paler than death
itself, to the appointed place, and there read these words: “Exclusively
governed by my duty, and convinced that all those who have resisted the
them from destruction. The Jacobins, on their part, alleged that conspiracies
were hatching in all quarters to save Louis XVI. from punishment, and to
restore royalty. Their anger, excited by delays and obstacles, assumed a
more threatening aspect; and the two parties thus alarmed one another by
supposing that each harboured sinister designs.”
On the 14th of January the Convention called for the order of the day,
being the final judgment of Louis XVI.
“The sitting of the Convention which concluded the trial,” says Hazlitt,
“lasted seventy-two hours. It might naturally be supposed that silence,
restraint, a sort of religious awe, would have pervaded the scene. On the
contrary, everything bore the marks of gaiety, dissipation, and the most
grotesque confusion. The farther end of the hall was converted into boxes,
where ladies, in a studied deshabille, swallowed ices, oranges, liqueurs, and
received the salutations of the members who went and came, as on ordinary
occasions. Here the doorkeepers on the Mountain side opened and shut the
boxes reserved for the mistresses of the Duc d’Orleans; and there, though
every sound of approbation or disapprobation was strictly forbidden, you
heard the long and indignant ‘Ha, ha’s!’ of the mother-duchess, the
patroness of the bands of female Jacobins, whenever her ears were not
loudly greeted with the welcome sounds of death. The upper gallery,
reserved for the people, was during the whole trial constantly full of
strangers of every description, drinking wine as in a tavern.
“Bets were made as to the issue of the trial in all the neighbouring coffee-
houses. Ennui, impatience, disgust sat on almost every countenance. The
figures passing and repassing, rendered more ghastly by the pallid lights,
and who in a slow, sepulchral voice pronounced only the word—Death;
others calculating if they should have time to go to dinner before they gave
their verdict; women pricking cards with pins in order to count the votes;
some of the deputies fallen asleep, and only waking up to give their
sentence,—all this had the appearance rather of a hideous dream than of a
reality.”
The Duc d’Orleans, when called on to give his vote for the death of his
King and relation, walked with a faltering step, and a face paler than death
itself, to the appointed place, and there read these words: “Exclusively
governed by my duty, and convinced that all those who have resisted the
Page 377
sovereignty of the people deserve death, my vote is for death!” Important as
the accession of the first Prince of the blood was to the Terrorist faction, his
conduct in this instance was too obviously selfish and atrocious not to
excite a general feeling of indignation; the agitation of the Assembly
became extreme; it seemed as if by this single vote the fate of the monarch
was irrevocably sealed.
The President having examined the register, the result of the scrutiny was
proclaimed as follows
Against an appeal to the people........... 480
For an appeal to the people............... 283
Majority for final judgment............... 197
The President having announced that he was about to declare the result of
the scrutiny, a profound silence ensued, and he then gave in the following
declaration: that, out of 719 votes, 366 were for DEATH, 319 were for
imprisonment during the war, two for perpetual imprisonment, eight for a
suspension of the execution of the sentence of death until after the
expulsion of the family of the Bourbons, twenty-three were for not putting
him to death until the French territory was invaded by any foreign power,
and one was for a sentence of death, but with power of commutation of the
punishment.
After this enumeration the President took off his hat, and, lowering his
voice, said: “In consequence of this expression of opinion I declare that the
punishment pronounced by the National Convention against Louis Capet is
DEATH!”
Previous to the passing of the sentence the President announced on the
part of the Foreign Minister the receipt of a letter from the Spanish Minister
relative to that sentence. The Convention, however, refused to hear it. [It
will be remembered that a similar remonstrance was forwarded by the
English Government.]
M. de Malesherbes, according to his promise to the King, went to the
Temple at nine o’clock on the morning of the 17th.
[Louis was fully prepared for his fate. During the calling
of the votes he asked M. de Malesherbes, “Have you not met
the accession of the first Prince of the blood was to the Terrorist faction, his
conduct in this instance was too obviously selfish and atrocious not to
excite a general feeling of indignation; the agitation of the Assembly
became extreme; it seemed as if by this single vote the fate of the monarch
was irrevocably sealed.
The President having examined the register, the result of the scrutiny was
proclaimed as follows
Against an appeal to the people........... 480
For an appeal to the people............... 283
Majority for final judgment............... 197
The President having announced that he was about to declare the result of
the scrutiny, a profound silence ensued, and he then gave in the following
declaration: that, out of 719 votes, 366 were for DEATH, 319 were for
imprisonment during the war, two for perpetual imprisonment, eight for a
suspension of the execution of the sentence of death until after the
expulsion of the family of the Bourbons, twenty-three were for not putting
him to death until the French territory was invaded by any foreign power,
and one was for a sentence of death, but with power of commutation of the
punishment.
After this enumeration the President took off his hat, and, lowering his
voice, said: “In consequence of this expression of opinion I declare that the
punishment pronounced by the National Convention against Louis Capet is
DEATH!”
Previous to the passing of the sentence the President announced on the
part of the Foreign Minister the receipt of a letter from the Spanish Minister
relative to that sentence. The Convention, however, refused to hear it. [It
will be remembered that a similar remonstrance was forwarded by the
English Government.]
M. de Malesherbes, according to his promise to the King, went to the
Temple at nine o’clock on the morning of the 17th.
[Louis was fully prepared for his fate. During the calling
of the votes he asked M. de Malesherbes, “Have you not met
Page 378
near the Temple the White Lady?”—“What do you mean?”
replied he. “Do you not know,” resumed the King with a
smile, “that when a prince of our house is about to die, a
female dressed in white is seen wandering about the palace?
My friends,” added he to his defenders, “I am about to
depart before you for the land of the just, but there, at least,
we shall be reunited.” In fact, his Majesty’s only
apprehension seemed to be for his family.—ALISON.]
“All is lost,” he said to Clery. “The King is condemned.” The King, who
saw him arrive, rose to receive him.
[When M. de Malesherbes went to the Temple to
announce the result of the vote, he found Louis with his
forehead resting on his hands, and absorbed in a deep
reverie. Without inquiring concerning his fate, he said: “For
two hours I have been considering whether, during my whole
reign, I have voluntarily given any cause of complaint to my
subjects; and with perfect sincerity I declare that I deserve
no reproach at their hands, and that I have never formed a
wish but for their happiness.” LACRETELLE.]
M. de Malesherbes, choked by sobs, threw himself at his feet. The King
raised him up and affectionately embraced him. When he could control his
voice, De Malesherbes informed the King of the decree sentencing him to
death; he made no movement of surprise or emotion, but seemed only
affected by the distress of his advocate, whom he tried to comfort.
On the 20th of January, at two in the afternoon, Louis XVI. was awaiting
his advocates, when he heard the approach of a numerous party. He stopped
with dignity at the door of his apartment, apparently unmoved: Garat then
told him sorrowfully that he was commissioned to communicate to him the
decrees of the Convention. Grouvelle, secretary of the Executive Council,
read them to him. The first declared Louis XVI. guilty of treason against the
general safety of the State; the second condemned him to death; the third
rejected any appeal to the people; and the fourth and last ordered his
execution in twenty-four hours. Louis, looking calmly round, took the paper
from Grouvelle, and read Garat a letter, in which he demanded from the
replied he. “Do you not know,” resumed the King with a
smile, “that when a prince of our house is about to die, a
female dressed in white is seen wandering about the palace?
My friends,” added he to his defenders, “I am about to
depart before you for the land of the just, but there, at least,
we shall be reunited.” In fact, his Majesty’s only
apprehension seemed to be for his family.—ALISON.]
“All is lost,” he said to Clery. “The King is condemned.” The King, who
saw him arrive, rose to receive him.
[When M. de Malesherbes went to the Temple to
announce the result of the vote, he found Louis with his
forehead resting on his hands, and absorbed in a deep
reverie. Without inquiring concerning his fate, he said: “For
two hours I have been considering whether, during my whole
reign, I have voluntarily given any cause of complaint to my
subjects; and with perfect sincerity I declare that I deserve
no reproach at their hands, and that I have never formed a
wish but for their happiness.” LACRETELLE.]
M. de Malesherbes, choked by sobs, threw himself at his feet. The King
raised him up and affectionately embraced him. When he could control his
voice, De Malesherbes informed the King of the decree sentencing him to
death; he made no movement of surprise or emotion, but seemed only
affected by the distress of his advocate, whom he tried to comfort.
On the 20th of January, at two in the afternoon, Louis XVI. was awaiting
his advocates, when he heard the approach of a numerous party. He stopped
with dignity at the door of his apartment, apparently unmoved: Garat then
told him sorrowfully that he was commissioned to communicate to him the
decrees of the Convention. Grouvelle, secretary of the Executive Council,
read them to him. The first declared Louis XVI. guilty of treason against the
general safety of the State; the second condemned him to death; the third
rejected any appeal to the people; and the fourth and last ordered his
execution in twenty-four hours. Louis, looking calmly round, took the paper
from Grouvelle, and read Garat a letter, in which he demanded from the
Page 379
Convention three days to prepare for death, a confessor to assist him in his
last moments, liberty to see his family, and permission for them to leave
France. Garat took the letter, promising to submit it immediately to the
Convention.
Louis XVI. then went back into his room with great composure, ordered
his dinner, and ate as usual. There were no knives on the table, and his
attendants refused to let him have any. “Do they think me so cowardly,” he
exclaimed, “as to lay violent hands on myself? I am innocent, and I am not
afraid to die.”
The Convention refused the delay, but granted some other demands
which he had made. Garat sent for Edgeworth de Firmont, the ecclesiastic
whom Louis XVI. had chosen, and took him in his own carriage to the
Temple. M. Edgeworth, on being ushered into the presence of the King,
would have thrown himself at his feet, but Louis instantly raised him, and
both shed tears of emotion. He then, with eager curiosity, asked various
questions concerning the clergy of France, several bishops, and particularly
the Archbishop of Paris, requesting him to assure the latter that he died
faithfully attached to his communion.—The clock having struck eight, he
rose, begged M. Edgeworth to wait, and retired with emotion, saying that he
was going to see his family. The municipal officers, unwilling to lose sight
of the King, even while with his family, had decided that he should see
them in the dining-room, which had a glass door, through which they could
watch all his motions without hearing what he said. At half-past eight the
door opened. The Queen, holding the Dauphin by the hand, Madame
Elisabeth, and Madame Royale rushed sobbing into the arms of Louis XVI.
The door was closed, and the municipal officers, Clery, and M. Edgeworth
placed themselves behind it. During the first moments, it was but a scene of
confusion and despair. Cries and lamentations prevented those who were on
the watch from distinguishing anything. At length the conversation became
more calm, and the Princesses, still holding the King clasped in their arms,
spoke with him in a low tone. “He related his trial to my mother,” says
Madame Royale, “apologising for the wretches who had condemned him.
He told her that he would not consent to any attempt to save him, which
might excite disturbance in the country. He then gave my brother some
religious advice, and desired him, above all, to forgive those who caused his
death; and he gave us his blessing. My mother was very desirous that the
whole family should pass the night with my father, but he opposed this,
last moments, liberty to see his family, and permission for them to leave
France. Garat took the letter, promising to submit it immediately to the
Convention.
Louis XVI. then went back into his room with great composure, ordered
his dinner, and ate as usual. There were no knives on the table, and his
attendants refused to let him have any. “Do they think me so cowardly,” he
exclaimed, “as to lay violent hands on myself? I am innocent, and I am not
afraid to die.”
The Convention refused the delay, but granted some other demands
which he had made. Garat sent for Edgeworth de Firmont, the ecclesiastic
whom Louis XVI. had chosen, and took him in his own carriage to the
Temple. M. Edgeworth, on being ushered into the presence of the King,
would have thrown himself at his feet, but Louis instantly raised him, and
both shed tears of emotion. He then, with eager curiosity, asked various
questions concerning the clergy of France, several bishops, and particularly
the Archbishop of Paris, requesting him to assure the latter that he died
faithfully attached to his communion.—The clock having struck eight, he
rose, begged M. Edgeworth to wait, and retired with emotion, saying that he
was going to see his family. The municipal officers, unwilling to lose sight
of the King, even while with his family, had decided that he should see
them in the dining-room, which had a glass door, through which they could
watch all his motions without hearing what he said. At half-past eight the
door opened. The Queen, holding the Dauphin by the hand, Madame
Elisabeth, and Madame Royale rushed sobbing into the arms of Louis XVI.
The door was closed, and the municipal officers, Clery, and M. Edgeworth
placed themselves behind it. During the first moments, it was but a scene of
confusion and despair. Cries and lamentations prevented those who were on
the watch from distinguishing anything. At length the conversation became
more calm, and the Princesses, still holding the King clasped in their arms,
spoke with him in a low tone. “He related his trial to my mother,” says
Madame Royale, “apologising for the wretches who had condemned him.
He told her that he would not consent to any attempt to save him, which
might excite disturbance in the country. He then gave my brother some
religious advice, and desired him, above all, to forgive those who caused his
death; and he gave us his blessing. My mother was very desirous that the
whole family should pass the night with my father, but he opposed this,
Page 380
observing to her that he much needed some hours of repose and quiet.”
After a long conversation, interrupted by silence and grief, the King put an
end to the painful meeting, agreeing to see his family again at eight the next
morning. “Do you promise that you will?” earnestly inquired the
Princesses. “Yes, yes,” sorrowfully replied the King.
[“But when we were gone,” says his daughter, “he
requested that we might not be permitted to return, as our
presence afflicted him too much.”]
At this moment the Queen held him by one arm, Madame Elisabeth by
the other, while Madame Royale clasped him round the waist, and the
Dauphin stood before him, with one hand in that of his mother. At the
moment of retiring Madame Royale fainted; she was carried away, and the
King returned to M. Edgeworth deeply depressed by this painful interview.
The King retired to rest about midnight; M. Edgeworth threw himself upon
a bed, and Clery took his place near the pillow of his master.
Next morning, the 21st of January, at five, the King awoke, called Clery,
and dressed with great calmness. He congratulated himself on having
recovered his strength by sleep. Clery kindled a fire, and moved a chest of
drawers, out of which he formed an altar. M. Edgeworth put on his
pontifical robes, and began to celebrate mass. Clery waited on him, and the
King listened, kneeling with the greatest devotion. He then received the
communion from the hands of M. Edgeworth, and after mass rose with new
vigour, and awaited with composure the moment for going to the scaffold.
He asked for scissors that Clery might cut his hair; but the Commune
refused to trust him with a pair.
At this moment the drums were beating in the capital. All who belonged
to the armed sections repaired to their company with complete submission.
It was reported that four or five hundred devoted men, were to make a dash
upon the carriage, and rescue the King. The Convention, the Commune, the
Executive Council, and the Jacobins were sitting. At eight in the morning,
Santerre, with a deputation from the Commune, the department, and the
criminal tribunal, repaired to the Temple. Louis XVI., on hearing them
arrive, rose and prepared to depart. He desired Clery to transmit his last
farewell to his wife, his sister, and his children; he gave him a sealed
After a long conversation, interrupted by silence and grief, the King put an
end to the painful meeting, agreeing to see his family again at eight the next
morning. “Do you promise that you will?” earnestly inquired the
Princesses. “Yes, yes,” sorrowfully replied the King.
[“But when we were gone,” says his daughter, “he
requested that we might not be permitted to return, as our
presence afflicted him too much.”]
At this moment the Queen held him by one arm, Madame Elisabeth by
the other, while Madame Royale clasped him round the waist, and the
Dauphin stood before him, with one hand in that of his mother. At the
moment of retiring Madame Royale fainted; she was carried away, and the
King returned to M. Edgeworth deeply depressed by this painful interview.
The King retired to rest about midnight; M. Edgeworth threw himself upon
a bed, and Clery took his place near the pillow of his master.
Next morning, the 21st of January, at five, the King awoke, called Clery,
and dressed with great calmness. He congratulated himself on having
recovered his strength by sleep. Clery kindled a fire, and moved a chest of
drawers, out of which he formed an altar. M. Edgeworth put on his
pontifical robes, and began to celebrate mass. Clery waited on him, and the
King listened, kneeling with the greatest devotion. He then received the
communion from the hands of M. Edgeworth, and after mass rose with new
vigour, and awaited with composure the moment for going to the scaffold.
He asked for scissors that Clery might cut his hair; but the Commune
refused to trust him with a pair.
At this moment the drums were beating in the capital. All who belonged
to the armed sections repaired to their company with complete submission.
It was reported that four or five hundred devoted men, were to make a dash
upon the carriage, and rescue the King. The Convention, the Commune, the
Executive Council, and the Jacobins were sitting. At eight in the morning,
Santerre, with a deputation from the Commune, the department, and the
criminal tribunal, repaired to the Temple. Louis XVI., on hearing them
arrive, rose and prepared to depart. He desired Clery to transmit his last
farewell to his wife, his sister, and his children; he gave him a sealed
Page 381
packet, hair, and various trinkets, with directions to deliver these articles to
them.
[In the course of the morning the King said to me: “You
will give this seal to my son and this ring to the Queen, and
assure her that it is with pain I part with it. This little packet
contains the hair of all my family; you will give her that, too.
Tell the Queen, my dear sister, and my children, that,
although I promised to see them again this morning, I have
resolved to spare them the pang of so cruel a separation.
Tell them how much it costs me to go away without receiving
their embraces once more!” He wiped away some tears, and
then added, in the most mournful accents, “I charge you to
bear them my last farewell.”—CLERY.]
He then clasped his hand and thanked him for his services. After this he
addressed himself to one of the municipal officers, requesting him to
transmit his last will to the Commune. This officer, who had formerly been
a priest, and was named Jacques Roux, brutally replied that his business
was to conduct him to execution, and not to perform his commissions.
Another person took charge of it, and Louis, turning towards the party, gave
with firmness the signal for starting.
Officers of gendarmerie were placed on the front seat of the carriage. The
King and M. Edgeworth occupied the back. During the ride, which was
rather long, the King read in M. Edgeworth’s breviary the prayers for
persons at the point of death; the two gendarmes were astonished at his
piety and tranquil resignation. The vehicle advanced slowly, and amidst
universal silence. At the Place de la Revolution an extensive space had been
left vacant about the scaffold. Around this space were planted cannon; the
most violent of the Federalists were stationed about the scaffold; and the
vile rabble, always ready to insult genius, virtue, and misfortune, when a
signal is given it to do so, crowded behind the ranks of the Federalists, and
alone manifested some outward tokens of satisfaction.
At ten minutes past ten the carriage stopped. Louis XVI., rising briskly,
stepped out into the Place. Three executioners came up; he refused their
assistance, and took off his clothes himself. But, perceiving that they were
going to bind his hands, he made a movement of indignation, and seemed
them.
[In the course of the morning the King said to me: “You
will give this seal to my son and this ring to the Queen, and
assure her that it is with pain I part with it. This little packet
contains the hair of all my family; you will give her that, too.
Tell the Queen, my dear sister, and my children, that,
although I promised to see them again this morning, I have
resolved to spare them the pang of so cruel a separation.
Tell them how much it costs me to go away without receiving
their embraces once more!” He wiped away some tears, and
then added, in the most mournful accents, “I charge you to
bear them my last farewell.”—CLERY.]
He then clasped his hand and thanked him for his services. After this he
addressed himself to one of the municipal officers, requesting him to
transmit his last will to the Commune. This officer, who had formerly been
a priest, and was named Jacques Roux, brutally replied that his business
was to conduct him to execution, and not to perform his commissions.
Another person took charge of it, and Louis, turning towards the party, gave
with firmness the signal for starting.
Officers of gendarmerie were placed on the front seat of the carriage. The
King and M. Edgeworth occupied the back. During the ride, which was
rather long, the King read in M. Edgeworth’s breviary the prayers for
persons at the point of death; the two gendarmes were astonished at his
piety and tranquil resignation. The vehicle advanced slowly, and amidst
universal silence. At the Place de la Revolution an extensive space had been
left vacant about the scaffold. Around this space were planted cannon; the
most violent of the Federalists were stationed about the scaffold; and the
vile rabble, always ready to insult genius, virtue, and misfortune, when a
signal is given it to do so, crowded behind the ranks of the Federalists, and
alone manifested some outward tokens of satisfaction.
At ten minutes past ten the carriage stopped. Louis XVI., rising briskly,
stepped out into the Place. Three executioners came up; he refused their
assistance, and took off his clothes himself. But, perceiving that they were
going to bind his hands, he made a movement of indignation, and seemed
Page 382
ready to resist. M. Edgeworth gave him a last look, and said, “Suffer this
outrage, as a last resemblance to that God who is about to be your reward.”
At these words the King suffered himself to be bound and conducted to the
scaffold. All at once Louis hurriedly advanced to address the people.
“Frenchmen,” said he, in a firm voice, “I die innocent of the crimes which
are imputed to me; I forgive the authors of my death, and I pray that my
blood may not fall upon France.” He would have continued, but the drums
were instantly ordered to beat: their rolling drowned his voice; the
executioners laid hold of him, and M. Edgeworth took his leave in these
memorable words: “Son of Saint Louis, ascend to heaven!” As soon as the
blood flowed, furious wretches dipped their pikes and handkerchiefs in it,
then dispersed throughout Paris, shouting “Vive la Republique! Vive la
Nation!” and even went to the gates of the Temple to display brutal and
factious joy.
[The body of Louis was, immediately after the execution,
removed to the ancient cemetery of the Madeleine. Large
quantities of quicklime were thrown into the grave, which
occasioned so rapid a decomposition that, when his remains
were sought for in 1816, it was with difficulty any part could
be recovered. Over the spot where he was interred Napoleon
commenced the splendid Temple of Glory, after the battle of
Jena; and the superb edifice was completed by the
Bourbons, and now forms the Church of the Madeleine, the
most beautiful structure in Paris. Louis was executed on the
same ground where the Queen, Madame Elisabeth, and so
many other noble victims of the Revolution perished; where
Robespierre and Danton afterwards suffered; and where the
Emperor Alexander and the allied sovereigns took their
station, when their victorious troops entered Paris in 1814!
The history of modern Europe has not a scene fraught with
equally interesting recollections to exhibit. It is now marked
by the colossal obelisk of blood-red granite which was
brought from Thebes, in Upper Egypt, in 1833, by the
French Government.—ALLISON.]
outrage, as a last resemblance to that God who is about to be your reward.”
At these words the King suffered himself to be bound and conducted to the
scaffold. All at once Louis hurriedly advanced to address the people.
“Frenchmen,” said he, in a firm voice, “I die innocent of the crimes which
are imputed to me; I forgive the authors of my death, and I pray that my
blood may not fall upon France.” He would have continued, but the drums
were instantly ordered to beat: their rolling drowned his voice; the
executioners laid hold of him, and M. Edgeworth took his leave in these
memorable words: “Son of Saint Louis, ascend to heaven!” As soon as the
blood flowed, furious wretches dipped their pikes and handkerchiefs in it,
then dispersed throughout Paris, shouting “Vive la Republique! Vive la
Nation!” and even went to the gates of the Temple to display brutal and
factious joy.
[The body of Louis was, immediately after the execution,
removed to the ancient cemetery of the Madeleine. Large
quantities of quicklime were thrown into the grave, which
occasioned so rapid a decomposition that, when his remains
were sought for in 1816, it was with difficulty any part could
be recovered. Over the spot where he was interred Napoleon
commenced the splendid Temple of Glory, after the battle of
Jena; and the superb edifice was completed by the
Bourbons, and now forms the Church of the Madeleine, the
most beautiful structure in Paris. Louis was executed on the
same ground where the Queen, Madame Elisabeth, and so
many other noble victims of the Revolution perished; where
Robespierre and Danton afterwards suffered; and where the
Emperor Alexander and the allied sovereigns took their
station, when their victorious troops entered Paris in 1814!
The history of modern Europe has not a scene fraught with
equally interesting recollections to exhibit. It is now marked
by the colossal obelisk of blood-red granite which was
brought from Thebes, in Upper Egypt, in 1833, by the
French Government.—ALLISON.]
Page 383
The Royal Prisoners.—Separation of the Dauphin from His
Family.
—Removal of the Queen.
On the morning of the King’s execution, according to the narrative of
Madame Royale, his family rose at six: “The night before, my mother had
scarcely strength enough to put my brother to bed; She threw herself,
dressed as she was, on her own bed, where we heard her shivering with cold
and grief all night long. At a quarter-past six the door opened; we believed
that we were sent for to the King, but it was only the officers looking for a
prayer-book for him. We did not, however, abandon the hope of seeing him,
till shouts of joy from the infuriated populace told us that all was over. In
the afternoon my mother asked to see Clery, who probably had some
message for her; we hoped that seeing him would occasion a burst of grief
which might relieve the state of silent and choking agony in which we saw
her.” The request was refused, and the officers who brought the refusal said
Clery was in “a frightful state of despair” at not being allowed to see the
royal family; shortly afterwards he was dismissed from the Temple.
“We had now a little more freedom,” continues the Princess; “our guards
even believed that we were about to be sent out of France; but nothing
could calm my mother’s agony; no hope could touch her heart, and life or
death became indifferent to her. Fortunately my own affliction increased my
illness so seriously that it distracted her thoughts . . . . My mother would go
no more to the garden, because she must have passed the door of what had
been my father’s room, and that she could not bear. But fearing lest want of
air should prove injurious to my brother and me, about the end of February
she asked permission to walk on the leads of the Tower, and it was granted.”
The Council of the Commune, becoming aware of the interest which
these sad promenades excited, and the sympathy with which they were
Family.
—Removal of the Queen.
On the morning of the King’s execution, according to the narrative of
Madame Royale, his family rose at six: “The night before, my mother had
scarcely strength enough to put my brother to bed; She threw herself,
dressed as she was, on her own bed, where we heard her shivering with cold
and grief all night long. At a quarter-past six the door opened; we believed
that we were sent for to the King, but it was only the officers looking for a
prayer-book for him. We did not, however, abandon the hope of seeing him,
till shouts of joy from the infuriated populace told us that all was over. In
the afternoon my mother asked to see Clery, who probably had some
message for her; we hoped that seeing him would occasion a burst of grief
which might relieve the state of silent and choking agony in which we saw
her.” The request was refused, and the officers who brought the refusal said
Clery was in “a frightful state of despair” at not being allowed to see the
royal family; shortly afterwards he was dismissed from the Temple.
“We had now a little more freedom,” continues the Princess; “our guards
even believed that we were about to be sent out of France; but nothing
could calm my mother’s agony; no hope could touch her heart, and life or
death became indifferent to her. Fortunately my own affliction increased my
illness so seriously that it distracted her thoughts . . . . My mother would go
no more to the garden, because she must have passed the door of what had
been my father’s room, and that she could not bear. But fearing lest want of
air should prove injurious to my brother and me, about the end of February
she asked permission to walk on the leads of the Tower, and it was granted.”
The Council of the Commune, becoming aware of the interest which
these sad promenades excited, and the sympathy with which they were
Page 384
observed from the neighbouring houses, ordered that the spaces between the
battlements should be filled up with shutters, which intercepted the view.
But while the rules for the Queen’s captivity were again made more strict,
some of the municipal commissioners tried slightly to alleviate it, and by
means of M. de Hue, who was at liberty in Paris, and the faithful Turgi, who
remained in the Tower, some communications passed between the royal
family and their friends. The wife of Tison, who waited on the Queen,
suspected and finally denounced these more lenient guardians,—[Toulan,
Lepitre, Vincent, Bruno, and others.]—who were executed, the royal
prisoners being subjected to a close examination.
“On the 20th of April,” says Madame Royale, “my mother and I had just
gone to bed when Hebert arrived with several municipals. We got up
hastily, and these men read us a decree of the Commune directing that we
should be searched. My poor brother was asleep; they tore him from his bed
under the pretext of examining it. My mother took him up, shivering with
cold. All they took was a shopkeeper’s card which my mother had happened
to keep, a stick of sealing-wax from my aunt, and from me ‘une sacre coeur
de Jesus’ and a prayer for the welfare of France. The search lasted from
half-past ten at night till four o’clock in the morning.”
The next visit of the officials was to Madame Elisabeth alone; they found
in her room a hat which the King had worn during his imprisonment, and
which she had begged him to give her as a souvenir. They took it from her
in spite of her entreaties. “It was suspicious,” said the cruel and
contemptible tyrants.
The Dauphin became ill with fever, and it was long before his mother,
who watched by him night and day, could obtain medicine or advice for
him. When Thierry was at last allowed to see him his treatment relieved the
most violent symptoms, but, says Madame Royale, “his health was never
reestablished. Want of air and exercise did him great mischief, as well as the
kind of life which this poor child led, who at eight years of age passed his
days amidst the tears of his friends, and in constant anxiety and agony.”
While the Dauphin’s health was causing his family such alarm, they were
deprived of the services of Tison’s wife, who became ill, and finally insane,
and was removed to the Hotel Dieu, where her ravings were reported to the
Assembly and made the ground of accusations against the royal prisoners.
battlements should be filled up with shutters, which intercepted the view.
But while the rules for the Queen’s captivity were again made more strict,
some of the municipal commissioners tried slightly to alleviate it, and by
means of M. de Hue, who was at liberty in Paris, and the faithful Turgi, who
remained in the Tower, some communications passed between the royal
family and their friends. The wife of Tison, who waited on the Queen,
suspected and finally denounced these more lenient guardians,—[Toulan,
Lepitre, Vincent, Bruno, and others.]—who were executed, the royal
prisoners being subjected to a close examination.
“On the 20th of April,” says Madame Royale, “my mother and I had just
gone to bed when Hebert arrived with several municipals. We got up
hastily, and these men read us a decree of the Commune directing that we
should be searched. My poor brother was asleep; they tore him from his bed
under the pretext of examining it. My mother took him up, shivering with
cold. All they took was a shopkeeper’s card which my mother had happened
to keep, a stick of sealing-wax from my aunt, and from me ‘une sacre coeur
de Jesus’ and a prayer for the welfare of France. The search lasted from
half-past ten at night till four o’clock in the morning.”
The next visit of the officials was to Madame Elisabeth alone; they found
in her room a hat which the King had worn during his imprisonment, and
which she had begged him to give her as a souvenir. They took it from her
in spite of her entreaties. “It was suspicious,” said the cruel and
contemptible tyrants.
The Dauphin became ill with fever, and it was long before his mother,
who watched by him night and day, could obtain medicine or advice for
him. When Thierry was at last allowed to see him his treatment relieved the
most violent symptoms, but, says Madame Royale, “his health was never
reestablished. Want of air and exercise did him great mischief, as well as the
kind of life which this poor child led, who at eight years of age passed his
days amidst the tears of his friends, and in constant anxiety and agony.”
While the Dauphin’s health was causing his family such alarm, they were
deprived of the services of Tison’s wife, who became ill, and finally insane,
and was removed to the Hotel Dieu, where her ravings were reported to the
Assembly and made the ground of accusations against the royal prisoners.
Page 385
[This woman, troubled by remorse, lost her reason, threw
herself at the feet of the Queen, implored her pardon, and
disturbed the Temple for many days with the sight and the
noise of her madness. The Princesses, forgetting the
denunciations of this unfortunate being, in consideration of
her repentance and insanity, watched over her by turns, and
deprived themselves of their own food to relieve her.—
LAMARTINE, “History of the Girondists,” vol. iii., p.140.]
No woman took her place, and the Princesses themselves made their
beds, swept their rooms, and waited upon the Queen.
Far worse punishments than menial work were prepared for them. On 3d
July a decree of the Convention ordered that the Dauphin should be
separated from his family and “placed in the most secure apartment of the
Tower.” As soon as he heard this decree pronounced, says his sister, “he
threw himself into my mother’s arms, and with violent cries entreated not to
be parted from her. My mother would not let her son go, and she actually
defended against the efforts of the officers the bed in which she had placed
him. The men threatened to call up the guard and use violence. My mother
exclaimed that they had better kill her than tear her child from her. At last
they threatened our lives, and my mother’s maternal tenderness forced her
to the sacrifice. My aunt and I dressed the child, for my poor mother had no
longer strength for anything. Nevertheless, when he was dressed, she took
him up in her arms and delivered him herself to the officers, bathing him
with her tears, foreseeing that she was never to behold him again. The poor
little fellow embraced us all tenderly, and was carried away in a flood of
tears. My mother’s horror was extreme when she heard that Simon, a
shoemaker by trade, whom she had seen as a municipal officer in the
Temple, was the person to whom her child was confided . . . . The officers
now no longer remained in my mother’s apartment; they only came three
times a day to bring our meals and examine the bolts and bars of our
windows; we were locked up together night and day. We often went up to
the Tower, because my brother went, too, from the other side. The only
pleasure my mother enjoyed was seeing him through a crevice as he passed
at a distance. She would watch for hours together to see him as he passed. It
was her only hope, her only thought.”
herself at the feet of the Queen, implored her pardon, and
disturbed the Temple for many days with the sight and the
noise of her madness. The Princesses, forgetting the
denunciations of this unfortunate being, in consideration of
her repentance and insanity, watched over her by turns, and
deprived themselves of their own food to relieve her.—
LAMARTINE, “History of the Girondists,” vol. iii., p.140.]
No woman took her place, and the Princesses themselves made their
beds, swept their rooms, and waited upon the Queen.
Far worse punishments than menial work were prepared for them. On 3d
July a decree of the Convention ordered that the Dauphin should be
separated from his family and “placed in the most secure apartment of the
Tower.” As soon as he heard this decree pronounced, says his sister, “he
threw himself into my mother’s arms, and with violent cries entreated not to
be parted from her. My mother would not let her son go, and she actually
defended against the efforts of the officers the bed in which she had placed
him. The men threatened to call up the guard and use violence. My mother
exclaimed that they had better kill her than tear her child from her. At last
they threatened our lives, and my mother’s maternal tenderness forced her
to the sacrifice. My aunt and I dressed the child, for my poor mother had no
longer strength for anything. Nevertheless, when he was dressed, she took
him up in her arms and delivered him herself to the officers, bathing him
with her tears, foreseeing that she was never to behold him again. The poor
little fellow embraced us all tenderly, and was carried away in a flood of
tears. My mother’s horror was extreme when she heard that Simon, a
shoemaker by trade, whom she had seen as a municipal officer in the
Temple, was the person to whom her child was confided . . . . The officers
now no longer remained in my mother’s apartment; they only came three
times a day to bring our meals and examine the bolts and bars of our
windows; we were locked up together night and day. We often went up to
the Tower, because my brother went, too, from the other side. The only
pleasure my mother enjoyed was seeing him through a crevice as he passed
at a distance. She would watch for hours together to see him as he passed. It
was her only hope, her only thought.”
Page 386
The Queen was soon deprived even of this melancholy consolation. On
1st August, 1793, it was resolved that she should be tried. Robespierre
opposed the measure, but Barere roused into action that deep-rooted hatred
of the Queen which not even the sacrifice of her life availed to eradicate.
“Why do the enemies of the Republic still hope for success?” he asked. “Is
it because we have too long forgotten the crimes of the Austrian? The
children of Louis the Conspirator are hostages for the Republic . . .but
behind them lurks a woman who has been the cause of all the disasters of
France.”
At two o’clock on the morning of the following day, the municipal
officers “awoke us,” says Madame Royale, “to read to my mother the
decree of the Convention, which ordered her removal to the Conciergerie,
[The Conciergerie was originally, as its name implies, the
porter’s lodge of the ancient Palace of Justice, and became
in time a prison, from the custom of confining there persons
who had committed trifling offences about the Court.]
preparatory to her trial. She heard it without visible emotion, and without
speaking a single word. My aunt and I immediately asked to be allowed to
accompany my mother, but this favour was refused us. All the time my
mother was making up a bundle of clothes to take with her, these officers
never left her. She was even obliged to dress herself before them, and they
asked for her pockets, taking away the trifles they contained. She embraced
me, charging me to keep up my spirits and my courage, to take tender care
of my aunt, and obey her as a second mother. She then threw herself into
my aunt’s arms, and recommended her children to her care; my aunt replied
to her in a whisper, and she was then hurried away. In leaving the Temple
she struck her head against the wicket, not having stooped low enough.
[Mathieu, the gaoler, used to say, “I make Madame Veto
and her sister and daughter, proud though they are, salute
me; for the door is so low they cannot pass without
bowing.”]
The officers asked whether she had hurt herself. ‘No,’ she replied,
‘nothing can hurt me now.”
1st August, 1793, it was resolved that she should be tried. Robespierre
opposed the measure, but Barere roused into action that deep-rooted hatred
of the Queen which not even the sacrifice of her life availed to eradicate.
“Why do the enemies of the Republic still hope for success?” he asked. “Is
it because we have too long forgotten the crimes of the Austrian? The
children of Louis the Conspirator are hostages for the Republic . . .but
behind them lurks a woman who has been the cause of all the disasters of
France.”
At two o’clock on the morning of the following day, the municipal
officers “awoke us,” says Madame Royale, “to read to my mother the
decree of the Convention, which ordered her removal to the Conciergerie,
[The Conciergerie was originally, as its name implies, the
porter’s lodge of the ancient Palace of Justice, and became
in time a prison, from the custom of confining there persons
who had committed trifling offences about the Court.]
preparatory to her trial. She heard it without visible emotion, and without
speaking a single word. My aunt and I immediately asked to be allowed to
accompany my mother, but this favour was refused us. All the time my
mother was making up a bundle of clothes to take with her, these officers
never left her. She was even obliged to dress herself before them, and they
asked for her pockets, taking away the trifles they contained. She embraced
me, charging me to keep up my spirits and my courage, to take tender care
of my aunt, and obey her as a second mother. She then threw herself into
my aunt’s arms, and recommended her children to her care; my aunt replied
to her in a whisper, and she was then hurried away. In leaving the Temple
she struck her head against the wicket, not having stooped low enough.
[Mathieu, the gaoler, used to say, “I make Madame Veto
and her sister and daughter, proud though they are, salute
me; for the door is so low they cannot pass without
bowing.”]
The officers asked whether she had hurt herself. ‘No,’ she replied,
‘nothing can hurt me now.”
Page 387
The Last Moments of Marie Antoinette.
We have already seen what changes had been made in the Temple. Marie
Antoinette had been separated from her sister, her daughter, and her Son, by
virtue of a decree which ordered the trial and exile of the last members of
the family of the Bourbons. She had been removed to the Conciergerie, and
there, alone in a narrow prison, she was reduced to what was strictly
necessary, like the other prisoners. The imprudence of a devoted friend had
rendered her situation still more irksome. Michonnis, a member of the
municipality, in whom she had excited a warm interest, was desirous of
introducing to her a person who, he said, wished to see her out of curiosity.
This man, a courageous emigrant, threw to her a carnation, in which was
enclosed a slip of very fine paper with these words: “Your friends are
ready,”—false hope, and equally dangerous for her who received it, and for
him who gave it! Michonnis and the emigrant were detected and forthwith
apprehended; and the vigilance exercised in regard to the unfortunate
prisoner became from that day more rigorous than ever.
[The Queen was lodged in a room called the council
chamber, which was considered as the moat unwholesome
apartment in the Conciergerie on account of its dampness
and the bad smells by which it was continually affected.
Under pretence of giving her a person to wait upon her they
placed near her a spy,—a man of a horrible countenance
and hollow, sepulchral voice. This wretch, whose name was
Barassin, was a robber and murderer by profession. Such
was the chosen attendant on the Queen of France! A few
days before her trial this wretch was removed and a
gendarme placed in her chamber, who watched over her
night and day, and from whom she was not separated, even
We have already seen what changes had been made in the Temple. Marie
Antoinette had been separated from her sister, her daughter, and her Son, by
virtue of a decree which ordered the trial and exile of the last members of
the family of the Bourbons. She had been removed to the Conciergerie, and
there, alone in a narrow prison, she was reduced to what was strictly
necessary, like the other prisoners. The imprudence of a devoted friend had
rendered her situation still more irksome. Michonnis, a member of the
municipality, in whom she had excited a warm interest, was desirous of
introducing to her a person who, he said, wished to see her out of curiosity.
This man, a courageous emigrant, threw to her a carnation, in which was
enclosed a slip of very fine paper with these words: “Your friends are
ready,”—false hope, and equally dangerous for her who received it, and for
him who gave it! Michonnis and the emigrant were detected and forthwith
apprehended; and the vigilance exercised in regard to the unfortunate
prisoner became from that day more rigorous than ever.
[The Queen was lodged in a room called the council
chamber, which was considered as the moat unwholesome
apartment in the Conciergerie on account of its dampness
and the bad smells by which it was continually affected.
Under pretence of giving her a person to wait upon her they
placed near her a spy,—a man of a horrible countenance
and hollow, sepulchral voice. This wretch, whose name was
Barassin, was a robber and murderer by profession. Such
was the chosen attendant on the Queen of France! A few
days before her trial this wretch was removed and a
gendarme placed in her chamber, who watched over her
night and day, and from whom she was not separated, even
Page 388
when in bed, but by a ragged curtain. In this melancholy
abode Marie Antoinette had no other dress than an old black
gown, stockings with holes, which she was forced to mend
every day; and she was entirely destitute of shoes.—DU
BROCA.]
Gendarmes were to mount guard incessantly at the door of her prison,
and they were expressly forbidden to answer anything that she might say to
them.
That wretch Hebert, the deputy of Chaumette, and editor of the
disgusting paper Pere Duchesne, a writer of the party of which Vincent,
Ronsin, Varlet, and Leclerc were the leaders—Hebert had made it his
particular business to torment the unfortunate remnant of the dethroned
family. He asserted that the family of the tyrant ought not to be better
treated than any sans-culotte family; and he had caused a resolution to be
passed by which the sort of luxury in which the prisoners in the Temple
were maintained was to be suppressed. They were no longer to be allowed
either poultry or pastry; they were reduced to one sort of aliment for
breakfast, and to soup or broth and a single dish for dinner, to two dishes
for supper, and half a bottle of wine apiece. Tallow candles were to be
furnished instead of wag, pewter instead of silver plate, and delft ware
instead of porcelain. The wood and water carriers alone were permitted to
enter their room, and that only accompanied by two commissioners. Their
food was to be introduced to them by means of a turning box. The
numerous establishment was reduced to a cook and an assistant, two men-
servants, and a woman-servant to attend to the linen.
As soon as this resolution was passed, Hebert had repaired to the Temple
and inhumanly taken away from the unfortunate prisoners even the most
trifling articles to which they attached a high value. Eighty Louis which
Madame Elisabeth had in reserve, and which she had received from
Madame de Lamballe, were also taken away. No one is more dangerous,
more cruel, than the man without acquirements, without education, clothed
with a recent authority. If, above all, he possess a base nature, if, like
Hebert, who was check-taker at the door of a theatre, and embezzled money
out of the receipts, he be destitute of natural morality, and if he leap all at
once from the mud of his condition into power, he is as mean as he is
atrocious. Such was Hebert in his conduct at the Temple. He did not confine
abode Marie Antoinette had no other dress than an old black
gown, stockings with holes, which she was forced to mend
every day; and she was entirely destitute of shoes.—DU
BROCA.]
Gendarmes were to mount guard incessantly at the door of her prison,
and they were expressly forbidden to answer anything that she might say to
them.
That wretch Hebert, the deputy of Chaumette, and editor of the
disgusting paper Pere Duchesne, a writer of the party of which Vincent,
Ronsin, Varlet, and Leclerc were the leaders—Hebert had made it his
particular business to torment the unfortunate remnant of the dethroned
family. He asserted that the family of the tyrant ought not to be better
treated than any sans-culotte family; and he had caused a resolution to be
passed by which the sort of luxury in which the prisoners in the Temple
were maintained was to be suppressed. They were no longer to be allowed
either poultry or pastry; they were reduced to one sort of aliment for
breakfast, and to soup or broth and a single dish for dinner, to two dishes
for supper, and half a bottle of wine apiece. Tallow candles were to be
furnished instead of wag, pewter instead of silver plate, and delft ware
instead of porcelain. The wood and water carriers alone were permitted to
enter their room, and that only accompanied by two commissioners. Their
food was to be introduced to them by means of a turning box. The
numerous establishment was reduced to a cook and an assistant, two men-
servants, and a woman-servant to attend to the linen.
As soon as this resolution was passed, Hebert had repaired to the Temple
and inhumanly taken away from the unfortunate prisoners even the most
trifling articles to which they attached a high value. Eighty Louis which
Madame Elisabeth had in reserve, and which she had received from
Madame de Lamballe, were also taken away. No one is more dangerous,
more cruel, than the man without acquirements, without education, clothed
with a recent authority. If, above all, he possess a base nature, if, like
Hebert, who was check-taker at the door of a theatre, and embezzled money
out of the receipts, he be destitute of natural morality, and if he leap all at
once from the mud of his condition into power, he is as mean as he is
atrocious. Such was Hebert in his conduct at the Temple. He did not confine
Page 389
himself to the annoyances which we have mentioned. He and some others
conceived the idea of separating the young Prince from his aunt and sister.
A shoemaker named Simon and his wife were the instructors to whom it
was deemed right to consign him for the purpose of giving him a sans-
cullotte education. Simon and his wife were shut up in the Temple, and,
becoming prisoners with the unfortunate child, were directed to bring him
up in their own way. Their food was better than that of the Princesses, and
they shared the table of the municipal commissioners who were on duty.
Simon was permitted to go down, accompanied by two commissioners, to
the court of the Temple, for the purpose of giving the Dauphin a little
exercise.
Hebert conceived the infamous idea of wringing from this boy
revelations to criminate his unhappy mother. Whether this wretch imputed
to the child false revelations, or abused his, tender age and his condition to
extort from him what admissions soever he pleased, he obtained a revolting
deposition; and as the youth of the Prince did not admit of his being brought
before the tribunal, Hebert appeared and detailed the infamous particulars
which he had himself either dictated or invented.
It was on the 14th of October that Marie Antoinette appeared before her
judges. Dragged before the sanguinary tribunal by inexorable revolutionary
vengeance, she appeared there without any chance of acquittal, for it was
not to obtain her acquittal that the Jacobins had brought her before it. It was
necessary, however, to make some charges. Fouquier therefore collected the
rumours current among the populace ever since the arrival of the Princess in
France, and, in the act of accusation, he charged her with having plundered
the exchequer, first for her pleasures, and afterwards in order to transmit
money to her brother, the Emperor. He insisted on the scenes of the 5th and
6th of October, and on the dinners of the Life Guards, alleging that she had
at that period framed a plot, which obliged the people to go to Versailles to
frustrate it. He afterwards accused her of having governed her husband,
interfered in the choice of ministers, conducted the intrigues with the
deputies gained by the Court, prepared the journey to Varennes, provoked
the war, and transmitted to the enemy’s generals all our plans of campaign.
He further accused her of having prepared a new conspiracy on the 10th of
August, of having on that day caused the people to be fired upon, having
induced her husband to defend himself by taxing him with cowardice;
lastly, of having never ceased to plot and correspond with foreigners since
conceived the idea of separating the young Prince from his aunt and sister.
A shoemaker named Simon and his wife were the instructors to whom it
was deemed right to consign him for the purpose of giving him a sans-
cullotte education. Simon and his wife were shut up in the Temple, and,
becoming prisoners with the unfortunate child, were directed to bring him
up in their own way. Their food was better than that of the Princesses, and
they shared the table of the municipal commissioners who were on duty.
Simon was permitted to go down, accompanied by two commissioners, to
the court of the Temple, for the purpose of giving the Dauphin a little
exercise.
Hebert conceived the infamous idea of wringing from this boy
revelations to criminate his unhappy mother. Whether this wretch imputed
to the child false revelations, or abused his, tender age and his condition to
extort from him what admissions soever he pleased, he obtained a revolting
deposition; and as the youth of the Prince did not admit of his being brought
before the tribunal, Hebert appeared and detailed the infamous particulars
which he had himself either dictated or invented.
It was on the 14th of October that Marie Antoinette appeared before her
judges. Dragged before the sanguinary tribunal by inexorable revolutionary
vengeance, she appeared there without any chance of acquittal, for it was
not to obtain her acquittal that the Jacobins had brought her before it. It was
necessary, however, to make some charges. Fouquier therefore collected the
rumours current among the populace ever since the arrival of the Princess in
France, and, in the act of accusation, he charged her with having plundered
the exchequer, first for her pleasures, and afterwards in order to transmit
money to her brother, the Emperor. He insisted on the scenes of the 5th and
6th of October, and on the dinners of the Life Guards, alleging that she had
at that period framed a plot, which obliged the people to go to Versailles to
frustrate it. He afterwards accused her of having governed her husband,
interfered in the choice of ministers, conducted the intrigues with the
deputies gained by the Court, prepared the journey to Varennes, provoked
the war, and transmitted to the enemy’s generals all our plans of campaign.
He further accused her of having prepared a new conspiracy on the 10th of
August, of having on that day caused the people to be fired upon, having
induced her husband to defend himself by taxing him with cowardice;
lastly, of having never ceased to plot and correspond with foreigners since
Page 390
her captivity in the Temple, and of having there treated her young son as
King. We here observe how, on the terrible day of long-deferred vengeance,
when subjects at length break forth and strike such of their princes as have
not deserved the blow, everything is distorted and converted into crime. We
see how the profusion and fondness for pleasure, so natural to a young
princess, how her attachment to her native country, her influence over her
husband, her regrets, always more indiscreet in a woman than a man, nay,
even her bolder courage, appeared to their inflamed or malignant
imaginations.
It was necessary to produce witnesses. Lecointre, deputy of Versailles,
who had seen what had passed on the 5th and 6th of October, Hebert, who
had frequently visited the Temple, various clerks in the ministerial offices,
and several domestic servants of the old Court were summoned.. Admiral
d’Estaing, formerly commandant of the guard of Versailles; Manuel, the ex-
procureur of the Commune; Latour-du-Pin, minister of war in 1789; the
venerable Bailly, who, it was said, had been, with La Fayette, an
accomplice in the journey to Varennes; lastly, Valaze one of the Girondists
destined to the scaffold, were taken from their prisons and compelled to
give evidence.
No precise fact was elicited. Some had seen the Queen in high spirits
when the Life Guards testified their attachment; others had seen her vexed
and dejected while being conducted to Paris, or brought back from
Varennes; these had been present at splendid festivities which must have
cost enormous sums; those had heard it said in the ministerial offices that
the Queen was adverse to the sanction of the decrees. An ancient waiting-
woman of the Queen had heard the Duc de Coigny say, in 1788, that the
Emperor had already received two hundred millions from France to make
war upon the Turks.
The cynical Hebert, being brought before the unfortunate Queen, dared at
length to prefer the charges wrung from the young Prince. He said that
Charles Capet had given Simon an account of the journey to Varennes, and
mentioned La Fayette and Bailly as having cooperated in it. He then added
that this boy was addicted to odious and very premature vices for his age;
that he had been surprised by Simon, who, on questioning him, learned that
he derived from his mother the vices in which he indulged. Hebert said that
it was no doubt the intention of Marie Antoinette, by weakening thus, early
King. We here observe how, on the terrible day of long-deferred vengeance,
when subjects at length break forth and strike such of their princes as have
not deserved the blow, everything is distorted and converted into crime. We
see how the profusion and fondness for pleasure, so natural to a young
princess, how her attachment to her native country, her influence over her
husband, her regrets, always more indiscreet in a woman than a man, nay,
even her bolder courage, appeared to their inflamed or malignant
imaginations.
It was necessary to produce witnesses. Lecointre, deputy of Versailles,
who had seen what had passed on the 5th and 6th of October, Hebert, who
had frequently visited the Temple, various clerks in the ministerial offices,
and several domestic servants of the old Court were summoned.. Admiral
d’Estaing, formerly commandant of the guard of Versailles; Manuel, the ex-
procureur of the Commune; Latour-du-Pin, minister of war in 1789; the
venerable Bailly, who, it was said, had been, with La Fayette, an
accomplice in the journey to Varennes; lastly, Valaze one of the Girondists
destined to the scaffold, were taken from their prisons and compelled to
give evidence.
No precise fact was elicited. Some had seen the Queen in high spirits
when the Life Guards testified their attachment; others had seen her vexed
and dejected while being conducted to Paris, or brought back from
Varennes; these had been present at splendid festivities which must have
cost enormous sums; those had heard it said in the ministerial offices that
the Queen was adverse to the sanction of the decrees. An ancient waiting-
woman of the Queen had heard the Duc de Coigny say, in 1788, that the
Emperor had already received two hundred millions from France to make
war upon the Turks.
The cynical Hebert, being brought before the unfortunate Queen, dared at
length to prefer the charges wrung from the young Prince. He said that
Charles Capet had given Simon an account of the journey to Varennes, and
mentioned La Fayette and Bailly as having cooperated in it. He then added
that this boy was addicted to odious and very premature vices for his age;
that he had been surprised by Simon, who, on questioning him, learned that
he derived from his mother the vices in which he indulged. Hebert said that
it was no doubt the intention of Marie Antoinette, by weakening thus, early
Page 391
the physical constitution of her son, to secure to herself the means of ruling
him in case he should ever ascend the throne. The rumours which had been
whispered for twenty years by a malicious Court had given the people a
most unfavourable opinion of the morals of the Queen. That audience,
however, though wholly Jacobin, was disgusted at the accusations of
Hebert.
[Can there be a more infernal invention than that made
against the. Queen by Hdbert,—namely, that she had had an
improper intimacy with her own son? He made use of this
sublime idea of which he boasted in order to prejudice the
women against the Queen, and to prevent her execution from
exciting pity. It had, however, no other effect than that of
disgusting all parties.—PRUDHOMME.]
He nevertheless persisted in supporting them.
[Hebert did not long survive her in whose sufferings he
had taken such an infamous part. He was executed on 26th
March, 1794.]
The unhappy mother made no reply. Urged a new to explain herself, she
said, with extraordinary emotion, “I thought that human nature would
excuse me from answering such an imputation, but I appeal from it to the
heart of every mother here present.” This noble and simple reply affected all
who heard it.
In the depositions of the witnesses, however, all was not so bitter for
Marie Antoinette. The brave D’Estaing, whose enemy she had been, would
not say anything to inculpate her, and spoke only of the courage which she
had shown on the 5th and 6th of October, and of the noble resolution which
she had expressed, to die beside her husband rather than fly. Manuel, in
spite of his enmity to the Court during the time of the Legislative Assembly,
declared that he could not say anything against the accused. When the
venerable Bailly was brought forward, who formerly so often predicted to
the Court the calamities which its imprudence must produce, he appeared
painfully affected; and when he was asked if he knew the wife of Capet,
“Yes,” said he, bowing respectfully, “I have known Madame.” He declared
him in case he should ever ascend the throne. The rumours which had been
whispered for twenty years by a malicious Court had given the people a
most unfavourable opinion of the morals of the Queen. That audience,
however, though wholly Jacobin, was disgusted at the accusations of
Hebert.
[Can there be a more infernal invention than that made
against the. Queen by Hdbert,—namely, that she had had an
improper intimacy with her own son? He made use of this
sublime idea of which he boasted in order to prejudice the
women against the Queen, and to prevent her execution from
exciting pity. It had, however, no other effect than that of
disgusting all parties.—PRUDHOMME.]
He nevertheless persisted in supporting them.
[Hebert did not long survive her in whose sufferings he
had taken such an infamous part. He was executed on 26th
March, 1794.]
The unhappy mother made no reply. Urged a new to explain herself, she
said, with extraordinary emotion, “I thought that human nature would
excuse me from answering such an imputation, but I appeal from it to the
heart of every mother here present.” This noble and simple reply affected all
who heard it.
In the depositions of the witnesses, however, all was not so bitter for
Marie Antoinette. The brave D’Estaing, whose enemy she had been, would
not say anything to inculpate her, and spoke only of the courage which she
had shown on the 5th and 6th of October, and of the noble resolution which
she had expressed, to die beside her husband rather than fly. Manuel, in
spite of his enmity to the Court during the time of the Legislative Assembly,
declared that he could not say anything against the accused. When the
venerable Bailly was brought forward, who formerly so often predicted to
the Court the calamities which its imprudence must produce, he appeared
painfully affected; and when he was asked if he knew the wife of Capet,
“Yes,” said he, bowing respectfully, “I have known Madame.” He declared
Page 392
that he knew nothing, and maintained that the declarations extorted from
the young Prince relative to the journey to Varennes were false. In
recompense for his deposition he was assailed with outrageous reproaches,
from which he might judge what fate would soon be awarded to himself.
In all the evidence there appeared but two serious facts, attested by
Latour-du-Pin and Valaze, who deposed to them because they could not
help it. Latour-du-Pin declared that Marie Antoinette had applied to him for
an accurate statement of the armies while he was minister of war. Valaze,
always cold, but respectful towards misfortune, would not say anything to
criminate the accused; yet he could not help declaring that, as a member of
the commission of twenty-four, being charged with his colleagues to
examine the papers found at the house of Septeuil, treasurer of the civil list,
he had seen bonds for various sums signed Antoinette, which was very
natural; but he added that he had also seen a letter in which the minister
requested the King to transmit to the Queen the copy of the plan of
campaign which he had in his hands. The most unfavourable construction
was immediately put upon these two facts, the application for a statement of
the armies, and the communication of the plan of campaign; and it was
concluded that they could not be wanted for any other purpose than to be
sent to the enemy, for it was not supposed that a young princess should turn
her attention, merely for her own satisfaction, to matters of administration
and military, plans. After these depositions, several others were received
respecting the expenses of the Court, the influence of the Queen in public
affairs, the scene of the 10th of August, and what had passed in the Temple;
and the most vague rumours and most trivial circumstances were eagerly
caught at as proofs.
Marie Antoinette frequently repeated, with presence of mind and
firmness, that there was no precise fact against her; that, besides, though the
wife of Louis XVI., she was not answerable for any of the acts of his reign.
[At first the Queen, consulting only her own sense of
dignity, had resolved on her trial to make no other reply to
the questions of her judges than “Assassinate me as you
have already assassinated my husband!” Afterwards,
however, she determined to follow the example of the King,
exert herself in her defence, and leave her judges without
the young Prince relative to the journey to Varennes were false. In
recompense for his deposition he was assailed with outrageous reproaches,
from which he might judge what fate would soon be awarded to himself.
In all the evidence there appeared but two serious facts, attested by
Latour-du-Pin and Valaze, who deposed to them because they could not
help it. Latour-du-Pin declared that Marie Antoinette had applied to him for
an accurate statement of the armies while he was minister of war. Valaze,
always cold, but respectful towards misfortune, would not say anything to
criminate the accused; yet he could not help declaring that, as a member of
the commission of twenty-four, being charged with his colleagues to
examine the papers found at the house of Septeuil, treasurer of the civil list,
he had seen bonds for various sums signed Antoinette, which was very
natural; but he added that he had also seen a letter in which the minister
requested the King to transmit to the Queen the copy of the plan of
campaign which he had in his hands. The most unfavourable construction
was immediately put upon these two facts, the application for a statement of
the armies, and the communication of the plan of campaign; and it was
concluded that they could not be wanted for any other purpose than to be
sent to the enemy, for it was not supposed that a young princess should turn
her attention, merely for her own satisfaction, to matters of administration
and military, plans. After these depositions, several others were received
respecting the expenses of the Court, the influence of the Queen in public
affairs, the scene of the 10th of August, and what had passed in the Temple;
and the most vague rumours and most trivial circumstances were eagerly
caught at as proofs.
Marie Antoinette frequently repeated, with presence of mind and
firmness, that there was no precise fact against her; that, besides, though the
wife of Louis XVI., she was not answerable for any of the acts of his reign.
[At first the Queen, consulting only her own sense of
dignity, had resolved on her trial to make no other reply to
the questions of her judges than “Assassinate me as you
have already assassinated my husband!” Afterwards,
however, she determined to follow the example of the King,
exert herself in her defence, and leave her judges without
Page 393
any excuse or pretest for putting her to death.—WEBER’S
“Memoirs of Marie Antoinette.”]
Fouquier nevertheless declared her to be sufficiently convicted; Chaveau-
Lagarde made unavailing efforts to defend her; and the unfortunate Queen
was condemned to suffer the same fate as her husband.
Conveyed back to the Conciergerie, she there passed in tolerable
composure the night preceding her execution, and, on the morning of the
following day, the 16th of October, she was conducted, amidst a great
concourse of the populace, to the fatal spot where, ten months before, Louis
XVI. had perished.
[The Queen, after having written and prayed, slept
soundly for some hours. On her waking, Bault’s daughter
dressed her and adjusted her hair with more neatness than
on other days. Marie Antoinette wore a white gown, a white
handkerchief covered her shoulders, a white cap her hair; a
black ribbon bound this cap round her temples .... The cries,
the looks, the laughter, the jests of the people overwhelmed
her with humiliation; her colour, changing continually from
purple to paleness, betrayed her agitation .... On reaching
the scaffold she inadvertently trod on the executioner’s foot.
“Memoirs of Marie Antoinette.”]
Fouquier nevertheless declared her to be sufficiently convicted; Chaveau-
Lagarde made unavailing efforts to defend her; and the unfortunate Queen
was condemned to suffer the same fate as her husband.
Conveyed back to the Conciergerie, she there passed in tolerable
composure the night preceding her execution, and, on the morning of the
following day, the 16th of October, she was conducted, amidst a great
concourse of the populace, to the fatal spot where, ten months before, Louis
XVI. had perished.
[The Queen, after having written and prayed, slept
soundly for some hours. On her waking, Bault’s daughter
dressed her and adjusted her hair with more neatness than
on other days. Marie Antoinette wore a white gown, a white
handkerchief covered her shoulders, a white cap her hair; a
black ribbon bound this cap round her temples .... The cries,
the looks, the laughter, the jests of the people overwhelmed
her with humiliation; her colour, changing continually from
purple to paleness, betrayed her agitation .... On reaching
the scaffold she inadvertently trod on the executioner’s foot.
Page 394
“Pardon me,” she said, courteously. She knelt for an instant
and uttered a half-audible prayer; then rising and glancing
towards the towers of the Temple, “Adieu, once again, my
children,” she said; “I go to rejoin your father.”—
LAMARTINE.]
She listened with calmness to the exhortations of the ecclesiastic who
accompanied her, and cast an indifferent look at the people who had so
often applauded her beauty and her grace, and who now as warmly
applauded her execution. On reaching the foot of the scaffold she perceived
the Tuileries, and appeared to be moved; but she hastened to ascend the
fatal ladder, and gave herself up with courage to the executioner.
[Sorrow had blanched the Queen’s once beautiful hair;
but her features and air still commanded the admiration of
all who beheld her; her cheeks, pale and emaciated, were
occasionally tinged with a vivid colour at the mention of
those she had lost. When led out to execution, she was
dressed in white; she had cut off her hair with her own
hands. Placed in a tumbrel, with her arms tied behind her,
she was taken by a circuitous route to the Place de la
Revolution, and she ascended the scaffold with a firm and
dignified step, as if she had been about to take her place on
a throne by the side of her husband.—LACRETELLE.]
The infamous wretch exhibited her head to the people, as he was
accustomed to do when he had sacrificed an illustrious victim.
The Last Separation.—Execution of Madame Elisabeth.
—Death of the Dauphin.
The two Princesses left in the Temple were now almost inconsolable;
they spent days and nights in tears, whose only alleviation was that they
and uttered a half-audible prayer; then rising and glancing
towards the towers of the Temple, “Adieu, once again, my
children,” she said; “I go to rejoin your father.”—
LAMARTINE.]
She listened with calmness to the exhortations of the ecclesiastic who
accompanied her, and cast an indifferent look at the people who had so
often applauded her beauty and her grace, and who now as warmly
applauded her execution. On reaching the foot of the scaffold she perceived
the Tuileries, and appeared to be moved; but she hastened to ascend the
fatal ladder, and gave herself up with courage to the executioner.
[Sorrow had blanched the Queen’s once beautiful hair;
but her features and air still commanded the admiration of
all who beheld her; her cheeks, pale and emaciated, were
occasionally tinged with a vivid colour at the mention of
those she had lost. When led out to execution, she was
dressed in white; she had cut off her hair with her own
hands. Placed in a tumbrel, with her arms tied behind her,
she was taken by a circuitous route to the Place de la
Revolution, and she ascended the scaffold with a firm and
dignified step, as if she had been about to take her place on
a throne by the side of her husband.—LACRETELLE.]
The infamous wretch exhibited her head to the people, as he was
accustomed to do when he had sacrificed an illustrious victim.
The Last Separation.—Execution of Madame Elisabeth.
—Death of the Dauphin.
The two Princesses left in the Temple were now almost inconsolable;
they spent days and nights in tears, whose only alleviation was that they
Page 395
were shed together. “The company of my aunt, whom I loved so tenderly,”
said Madame Royale, “was a great comfort to me. But alas! all that I loved
was perishing around me, and I was soon to lose her also . . . . In the
beginning of September I had an illness caused solely by my anxiety about
my mother; I never heard a drum beat that I did not expect another 3d of
September.”—[when the head of the Princesse de Lamballe was carried to
the Temple.]
In the course of the month the rigour of their captivity was much
increased. The Commune ordered that they should only have one room; that
Tison (who had done the heaviest of the household work for them, and
since the kindness they showed to his insane wife had occasionally given
them tidings of the Dauphin) should be imprisoned in the turret; that they
should be supplied with only the barest necessaries; and that no one should
enter their room save to carry water and firewood. Their quantity of firing
was reduced, and they were not allowed candles. They were also forbidden
to go on the leads, and their large sheets were taken away, “lest—
notwithstanding the gratings!—they should escape from the windows.”
On 8th October, 1793, Madame Royale was ordered to go downstairs,
that she might be interrogated by some municipal officers. “My aunt, who
was greatly affected, would have followed, but they stopped her. She asked
whether I should be permitted to come up again; Chaumette assured her that
I should. ‘You may trust,’ said he, ‘the word of an honest republican. She
shall return.’ I soon found myself in my brother’s room, whom I embraced
tenderly; but we were torn asunder, and I was obliged to go into another
room.—[This was the last time the brother and sister met] . . . Chaumette
then questioned me about a thousand shocking things of which they accused
my mother and aunt; I was so indignant at hearing such horrors that,
terrified as I was, I could not help exclaiming that they were infamous
falsehoods.
“But in spite of my tears they still pressed their questions. There were
some things which I did not comprehend, but of which I understood enough
to make me weep with indignation and horror . . . . They then asked me
about Varennes, and other things. I answered as well as I could without
implicating anybody. I had always heard my parents say that it were better
to die than to implicate anybody.” When the examination was over the
Princess begged to be allowed to join her mother, but Chaumette said he
said Madame Royale, “was a great comfort to me. But alas! all that I loved
was perishing around me, and I was soon to lose her also . . . . In the
beginning of September I had an illness caused solely by my anxiety about
my mother; I never heard a drum beat that I did not expect another 3d of
September.”—[when the head of the Princesse de Lamballe was carried to
the Temple.]
In the course of the month the rigour of their captivity was much
increased. The Commune ordered that they should only have one room; that
Tison (who had done the heaviest of the household work for them, and
since the kindness they showed to his insane wife had occasionally given
them tidings of the Dauphin) should be imprisoned in the turret; that they
should be supplied with only the barest necessaries; and that no one should
enter their room save to carry water and firewood. Their quantity of firing
was reduced, and they were not allowed candles. They were also forbidden
to go on the leads, and their large sheets were taken away, “lest—
notwithstanding the gratings!—they should escape from the windows.”
On 8th October, 1793, Madame Royale was ordered to go downstairs,
that she might be interrogated by some municipal officers. “My aunt, who
was greatly affected, would have followed, but they stopped her. She asked
whether I should be permitted to come up again; Chaumette assured her that
I should. ‘You may trust,’ said he, ‘the word of an honest republican. She
shall return.’ I soon found myself in my brother’s room, whom I embraced
tenderly; but we were torn asunder, and I was obliged to go into another
room.—[This was the last time the brother and sister met] . . . Chaumette
then questioned me about a thousand shocking things of which they accused
my mother and aunt; I was so indignant at hearing such horrors that,
terrified as I was, I could not help exclaiming that they were infamous
falsehoods.
“But in spite of my tears they still pressed their questions. There were
some things which I did not comprehend, but of which I understood enough
to make me weep with indignation and horror . . . . They then asked me
about Varennes, and other things. I answered as well as I could without
implicating anybody. I had always heard my parents say that it were better
to die than to implicate anybody.” When the examination was over the
Princess begged to be allowed to join her mother, but Chaumette said he
Page 396
could not obtain permission for her to do so. She was then cautioned to say
nothing about her examination to her aunt, who was next to appear before
them. Madame Elisabeth, her niece declares, “replied with still more
contempt to their shocking questions.”
The only intimation of the Queen’s fate which her daughter and her
sister-in-law were allowed to receive was through hearing her sentence
cried by the newsman. But “we could not persuade ourselves that she was
dead,” writes Madame Royale. “A hope, so natural to the unfortunate,
persuaded us that she must have been saved. For eighteen months I
remained in this cruel suspense. We learnt also by the cries of the newsman
the death of the Duc d’Orleans.
[The Duc d’Orleans, the early and interested propagator
of the Revolution, was its next victim. Billaud Varennes said
in the Convention: “The time has come when all the
conspirators should be known and struck. I demand that we
no longer pass over in silence a man whom we seem to have
forgotten, despite the numerous facts against him. I demand
that D’ORLEANS be sent to the Revolutionary Tribunal.”
The Convention, once his hireling adulators, unanimously
supported the proposal. In vain he alleged his having been
accessory to the disorders of 5th October, his support of the
revolt on 10th August, 1792, his vote against the King on
17th January, 1793. His condemnation was pronounced. He
then asked only for a delay of twenty-four hours, and had a
repast carefully prepared, on which he feasted with avidity.
When led out for execution he gazed with a smile on the
Palais Royal, the scene of his former orgies. He was
detained for a quarter of an hour before that palace by the
order of Robespierre, who had asked his daughter’s hand,
and promised in return to excite a tumult in which the
Duke’s life should be saved. Depraved though he was, he
would not consent to such a sacrifice, and he met his fate
with stoical fortitude.—ALLISON, vol. iii., p. 172.]
It was the only piece of news that reached us during the whole winter.”
nothing about her examination to her aunt, who was next to appear before
them. Madame Elisabeth, her niece declares, “replied with still more
contempt to their shocking questions.”
The only intimation of the Queen’s fate which her daughter and her
sister-in-law were allowed to receive was through hearing her sentence
cried by the newsman. But “we could not persuade ourselves that she was
dead,” writes Madame Royale. “A hope, so natural to the unfortunate,
persuaded us that she must have been saved. For eighteen months I
remained in this cruel suspense. We learnt also by the cries of the newsman
the death of the Duc d’Orleans.
[The Duc d’Orleans, the early and interested propagator
of the Revolution, was its next victim. Billaud Varennes said
in the Convention: “The time has come when all the
conspirators should be known and struck. I demand that we
no longer pass over in silence a man whom we seem to have
forgotten, despite the numerous facts against him. I demand
that D’ORLEANS be sent to the Revolutionary Tribunal.”
The Convention, once his hireling adulators, unanimously
supported the proposal. In vain he alleged his having been
accessory to the disorders of 5th October, his support of the
revolt on 10th August, 1792, his vote against the King on
17th January, 1793. His condemnation was pronounced. He
then asked only for a delay of twenty-four hours, and had a
repast carefully prepared, on which he feasted with avidity.
When led out for execution he gazed with a smile on the
Palais Royal, the scene of his former orgies. He was
detained for a quarter of an hour before that palace by the
order of Robespierre, who had asked his daughter’s hand,
and promised in return to excite a tumult in which the
Duke’s life should be saved. Depraved though he was, he
would not consent to such a sacrifice, and he met his fate
with stoical fortitude.—ALLISON, vol. iii., p. 172.]
It was the only piece of news that reached us during the whole winter.”
Page 397
The severity with which the prisoners were treated was carried into every
detail of their life. The officers who guarded them took away their
chessmen and cards because some of them were named kings and queens,
and all the books with coats of arms on them; they refused to get ointment
for a gathering on Madame Elisabeth’s arm; they, would not allow her to
make a herb-tea which she thought would strengthen her niece; they
declined to supply fish or eggs on fast-days or during Lent, bringing only
coarse fat meat, and brutally replying to all remonstances, “None but fools
believe in that stuff nowadays.” Madame Elisabeth never made the officials
another request, but reserved some of the bread and cafe-au-lait from her
breakfast for her second meal. The time during which she could be thus
tormented was growing short.
On 9th May, 1794, as the Princesses were going to bed, the outside bolts
of the door were unfastened and a loud knocking was heard. “When my
aunt was dressed,” says Madame Royale, “she opened the door, and they
said to her, ‘Citoyenne, come down.’—‘And my niece?’—‘We shall take
care of her afterwards.’ She embraced me, and to calm my agitation
promised to return. ‘No, citoyenne,’ said the men, ‘bring your bonnet; you
shall not return.’ They overwhelmed her with abuse, but she bore it
patiently, embracing me, and exhorting me to trust in Heaven, and never to
forget the last commands of my father and mother.”
Madame Elisabeth was then taken to the Conciergerie, where she was
interrogated by the vice-president at midnight, and then allowed to take
some hours rest on the bed on which Marie Antoinette had slept for the last
time. In the morning she was brought before the tribunal, with twenty-four
other prisoners, of varying ages and both sexes, some of whom had once
been frequently seen at Court.
“Of what has Elisabeth to complain?” Fouquier-Tinville satirically asked.
“At the foot of the guillotine, surrounded by faithful nobility, she may
imagine herself again at Versailles.”
“You call my brother a tyrant,” the Princess replied to her accuser; “if he
had been what you say, you would not be where you are, nor I before you!”
She was sentenced to death, and showed neither surprise nor grief. “I am
ready to die,” she said, “happy in the prospect of rejoining in a better world
those whom I loved on earth.”
detail of their life. The officers who guarded them took away their
chessmen and cards because some of them were named kings and queens,
and all the books with coats of arms on them; they refused to get ointment
for a gathering on Madame Elisabeth’s arm; they, would not allow her to
make a herb-tea which she thought would strengthen her niece; they
declined to supply fish or eggs on fast-days or during Lent, bringing only
coarse fat meat, and brutally replying to all remonstances, “None but fools
believe in that stuff nowadays.” Madame Elisabeth never made the officials
another request, but reserved some of the bread and cafe-au-lait from her
breakfast for her second meal. The time during which she could be thus
tormented was growing short.
On 9th May, 1794, as the Princesses were going to bed, the outside bolts
of the door were unfastened and a loud knocking was heard. “When my
aunt was dressed,” says Madame Royale, “she opened the door, and they
said to her, ‘Citoyenne, come down.’—‘And my niece?’—‘We shall take
care of her afterwards.’ She embraced me, and to calm my agitation
promised to return. ‘No, citoyenne,’ said the men, ‘bring your bonnet; you
shall not return.’ They overwhelmed her with abuse, but she bore it
patiently, embracing me, and exhorting me to trust in Heaven, and never to
forget the last commands of my father and mother.”
Madame Elisabeth was then taken to the Conciergerie, where she was
interrogated by the vice-president at midnight, and then allowed to take
some hours rest on the bed on which Marie Antoinette had slept for the last
time. In the morning she was brought before the tribunal, with twenty-four
other prisoners, of varying ages and both sexes, some of whom had once
been frequently seen at Court.
“Of what has Elisabeth to complain?” Fouquier-Tinville satirically asked.
“At the foot of the guillotine, surrounded by faithful nobility, she may
imagine herself again at Versailles.”
“You call my brother a tyrant,” the Princess replied to her accuser; “if he
had been what you say, you would not be where you are, nor I before you!”
She was sentenced to death, and showed neither surprise nor grief. “I am
ready to die,” she said, “happy in the prospect of rejoining in a better world
those whom I loved on earth.”
Page 398
On being taken to the room where those condemned to suffer at the same
time as herself were assembled, she spoke to them with so much piety and
resignation that they were encouraged by her example to show calmness
and courage like her own. The women, on leaving the cart, begged to
embrace her, and she said some words of comfort to each in turn as they
mounted the scaffold, which she was not allowed to ascend till all her
companions had been executed before her eyes.
[Madame Elisabeth was one of those rare personages
only seen at distant intervals during the course of ages; she
set an example of steadfast piety in the palace of kings, she
lived amid her family the favourite of all and the admiration
of the world .... When I went to Versailles Madame Elisabeth
was twenty-two years of age. Her plump figure and pretty
pink colour must have attracted notice, and her air of
calmness and contentment even more than her beauty. She
was fond of billiards, and her elegance and courage in
riding were remarkable. But she never allowed these
amusements to interfere with her religious observances. At
that time her wish to take the veil at St. Cyr was much talked
of, but the King was too fond of his sister to endure the
separation. There were also rumours of a marriage between
Madame Elisabeth and the Emperor Joseph. The Queen was
sincerely attached to her brother, and loved her sister-in-law
most tenderly; she ardently desired this marriage as a means
of raising the Princess to one of the first thrones in Europe,
and as a possible means of turning the Emperor from his
innovations. She had been very carefully educated, had
talent in music and painting, spoke Italian and a little Latin,
and understood mathematics.... Her last moments were
worthy of her courage and virtue.—D’HEZECQUES’s
“Recollections,” pp. 72-75.]
“It is impossible to imagine my distress at finding myself separated from
my aunt,” says Madame Royale. “Since I had been able to appreciate her
merits, I saw in her nothing but religion, gentleness, meekness, modesty,
and a devoted attachment to her family; she sacrificed her life for them,
time as herself were assembled, she spoke to them with so much piety and
resignation that they were encouraged by her example to show calmness
and courage like her own. The women, on leaving the cart, begged to
embrace her, and she said some words of comfort to each in turn as they
mounted the scaffold, which she was not allowed to ascend till all her
companions had been executed before her eyes.
[Madame Elisabeth was one of those rare personages
only seen at distant intervals during the course of ages; she
set an example of steadfast piety in the palace of kings, she
lived amid her family the favourite of all and the admiration
of the world .... When I went to Versailles Madame Elisabeth
was twenty-two years of age. Her plump figure and pretty
pink colour must have attracted notice, and her air of
calmness and contentment even more than her beauty. She
was fond of billiards, and her elegance and courage in
riding were remarkable. But she never allowed these
amusements to interfere with her religious observances. At
that time her wish to take the veil at St. Cyr was much talked
of, but the King was too fond of his sister to endure the
separation. There were also rumours of a marriage between
Madame Elisabeth and the Emperor Joseph. The Queen was
sincerely attached to her brother, and loved her sister-in-law
most tenderly; she ardently desired this marriage as a means
of raising the Princess to one of the first thrones in Europe,
and as a possible means of turning the Emperor from his
innovations. She had been very carefully educated, had
talent in music and painting, spoke Italian and a little Latin,
and understood mathematics.... Her last moments were
worthy of her courage and virtue.—D’HEZECQUES’s
“Recollections,” pp. 72-75.]
“It is impossible to imagine my distress at finding myself separated from
my aunt,” says Madame Royale. “Since I had been able to appreciate her
merits, I saw in her nothing but religion, gentleness, meekness, modesty,
and a devoted attachment to her family; she sacrificed her life for them,
Page 399
since nothing could persuade her to leave the King and Queen. I never can
be sufficiently grateful to her for her goodness to me, which ended only
with her life. She looked on me as her child, and I honoured and loved her
as a second mother. I was thought to be very like her in countenance, and I
feel conscious that I have something of her character. Would to God I might
imitate her virtues, and hope that I may hereafter deserve to meet her, as
well as my dear parents, in the bosom of our Creator, where I cannot doubt
that they enjoy the reward of their virtuous lives and meritorious deaths.”
Madame Royale vainly begged to be allowed to rejoin her mother or her
aunt, or at least to know their fate. The municipal officers would tell her
nothing, and rudely refused her request to have a woman placed with her. “I
asked nothing but what seemed indispensable, though it was often harshly
refused,” she says. “But I at least could keep myself clean. I had soap and
water, and carefully swept out my room every day. I had no light, but in the
long days I did not feel this privation much . . . . I had some religious works
and travels, which I had read over and over. I had also some knitting, ‘qui
m’ennuyait beaucoup’.” Once, she believes, Robespierre visited her prison:
[It has been said that Robespierre vainly tried to obtain
the hand of Mademoiselle d’Orleans. It was also rumoured
that Madame Royale herself owed her life to his matrimonial
ambition.]
“The officers showed him great respect; the people in the Tower did not
know him, or at least would not tell me who he was. He stared insolently at
me, glanced at my books, and, after joining the municipal officers in a
search, retired.”
[On another occasion “three men in scarfs,” who entered
the Princess’s room, told her that they did not see why she
should wish to be released, as she seemed very comfortable!
“It is dreadful,’ I replied, ‘to be separated for more than a
year from one’s mother, without even hearing what has
become of her or of my aunt.’—‘You are not ill?’—‘No,
monsieur, but the cruellest illness is that of the heart’—’ We
can do nothing for you. Be patient, and submit to the justice
and goodness of the French people: I had nothing more to
be sufficiently grateful to her for her goodness to me, which ended only
with her life. She looked on me as her child, and I honoured and loved her
as a second mother. I was thought to be very like her in countenance, and I
feel conscious that I have something of her character. Would to God I might
imitate her virtues, and hope that I may hereafter deserve to meet her, as
well as my dear parents, in the bosom of our Creator, where I cannot doubt
that they enjoy the reward of their virtuous lives and meritorious deaths.”
Madame Royale vainly begged to be allowed to rejoin her mother or her
aunt, or at least to know their fate. The municipal officers would tell her
nothing, and rudely refused her request to have a woman placed with her. “I
asked nothing but what seemed indispensable, though it was often harshly
refused,” she says. “But I at least could keep myself clean. I had soap and
water, and carefully swept out my room every day. I had no light, but in the
long days I did not feel this privation much . . . . I had some religious works
and travels, which I had read over and over. I had also some knitting, ‘qui
m’ennuyait beaucoup’.” Once, she believes, Robespierre visited her prison:
[It has been said that Robespierre vainly tried to obtain
the hand of Mademoiselle d’Orleans. It was also rumoured
that Madame Royale herself owed her life to his matrimonial
ambition.]
“The officers showed him great respect; the people in the Tower did not
know him, or at least would not tell me who he was. He stared insolently at
me, glanced at my books, and, after joining the municipal officers in a
search, retired.”
[On another occasion “three men in scarfs,” who entered
the Princess’s room, told her that they did not see why she
should wish to be released, as she seemed very comfortable!
“It is dreadful,’ I replied, ‘to be separated for more than a
year from one’s mother, without even hearing what has
become of her or of my aunt.’—‘You are not ill?’—‘No,
monsieur, but the cruellest illness is that of the heart’—’ We
can do nothing for you. Be patient, and submit to the justice
and goodness of the French people: I had nothing more to
Page 400
say.”—DUCHESSE D’ANGOULEME, “Royal Memoirs,” p.
273.]
When Laurent was appointed by the Convention to the charge of the
young prisoners, Madame Royale was treated with more consideration. “He
was always courteous,” she says; he restored her tinderbox, gave her fresh
books, and allowed her candles and as much firewood as she wanted,
“which pleased me greatly.” This simple expression of relief gives a clearer
idea of what the delicate girl must have suffered than a volume of
complaints.
But however hard Madame Royale’s lot might be, that of the Dauphin
was infinitely harder. Though only eight years old when he entered the
Temple, he was by nature and education extremely precocious; “his
memory retained everything, and his sensitiveness comprehended
everything.” His features “recalled the somewhat effeminate look of Louis
XV., and the Austrian hauteur of Maria Theresa; his blue eyes, aquiline
nose, elevated nostrils, well-defined mouth, pouting lips, chestnut hair
parted in the middle and falling in thick curls on his shoulders, resembled
his mother before her years of tears and torture. All the beauty of his race,
by both descents, seemed to reappear in him.”—[Lamartine]—For some
time the care of his parents preserved his health and cheerfulness even in
the Temple; but his constitution was weakened by the fever recorded by his
sister, and his gaolers were determined that he should never regain strength.
“What does the Convention intend to do with him?” asked Simon, when
the innocent victim was placed in his clutches. “Transport him?”
“No.”
“Kill him?”
“No.”
“Poison him?”
“No.”
“What, then?”
“Why, get rid of him.”
For such a purpose they could not have chosen their instruments better.
“Simon and his wife, cut off all those fair locks that had been his youthful
glory and his mother’s pride. This worthy pair stripped him of the mourning
273.]
When Laurent was appointed by the Convention to the charge of the
young prisoners, Madame Royale was treated with more consideration. “He
was always courteous,” she says; he restored her tinderbox, gave her fresh
books, and allowed her candles and as much firewood as she wanted,
“which pleased me greatly.” This simple expression of relief gives a clearer
idea of what the delicate girl must have suffered than a volume of
complaints.
But however hard Madame Royale’s lot might be, that of the Dauphin
was infinitely harder. Though only eight years old when he entered the
Temple, he was by nature and education extremely precocious; “his
memory retained everything, and his sensitiveness comprehended
everything.” His features “recalled the somewhat effeminate look of Louis
XV., and the Austrian hauteur of Maria Theresa; his blue eyes, aquiline
nose, elevated nostrils, well-defined mouth, pouting lips, chestnut hair
parted in the middle and falling in thick curls on his shoulders, resembled
his mother before her years of tears and torture. All the beauty of his race,
by both descents, seemed to reappear in him.”—[Lamartine]—For some
time the care of his parents preserved his health and cheerfulness even in
the Temple; but his constitution was weakened by the fever recorded by his
sister, and his gaolers were determined that he should never regain strength.
“What does the Convention intend to do with him?” asked Simon, when
the innocent victim was placed in his clutches. “Transport him?”
“No.”
“Kill him?”
“No.”
“Poison him?”
“No.”
“What, then?”
“Why, get rid of him.”
For such a purpose they could not have chosen their instruments better.
“Simon and his wife, cut off all those fair locks that had been his youthful
glory and his mother’s pride. This worthy pair stripped him of the mourning
Page 401
he wore for his father; and as they did so, they called it ‘playing at the game
of the spoiled king.’ They alternately induced him to commit excesses, and
then half starved him. They beat him mercilessly; nor was the treatment by
night less brutal than that by day. As soon as the weary boy had sunk into
his first profound sleep, they would loudly call him by name, ‘Capet!
Capet!’ Startled, nervous, bathed in perspiration, or sometimes trembling
with cold, he would spring up, rush through the dark, and present himself at
Simon’s bedside, murmuring, tremblingly, ‘I am here, citizen.’—‘Come
nearer; let me feel you.’ He would approach the bed as he was ordered,
although he knew the treatment that awaited him. Simon would buffet him
on the head, or kick him away, adding the remark, ‘Get to bed again, wolfs
cub; I only wanted to know that you were safe.’ On one of these occasions,
when the child had fallen half stunned upon his own miserable couch, and
lay there groaning and faint with pain, Simon roared out with a laugh,
‘Suppose you were king, Capet, what would you do to me?’ The child
thought of his father’s dying words, and said, ‘I would forgive you.’”—
[THIERS]
The change in the young Prince’s mode of life, and the cruelties and
caprices to which he was subjected, soon made him fall ill, says his sister.
“Simon forced him to eat to excess, and to drink large quantities of wine,
which he detested . . . . He grew extremely fat without increasing in height
or strength.” His aunt and sister, deprived of the pleasure of tending him,
had the pain of hearing his childish voice raised in the abominable songs his
gaolers taught him. The brutality of Simon “depraved at once the body and
soul of his pupil. He called him the young wolf of the Temple. He treated
him as the young of wild animals are treated when taken from the mother
and reduced to captivity,—at once intimidated by blows and enervated by
taming. He punished for sensibility; he rewarded meanness; he encouraged
vice; he made the child wait on him at table, sometimes striking him on the
face with a knotted towel, sometimes raising the poker and threatening to
strike him with it.”
[Simon left the Temple to become a municipal officer. He
was involved in the overthrow of Robespierre, and
guillotined the day after him, 29th July, 1794.]
of the spoiled king.’ They alternately induced him to commit excesses, and
then half starved him. They beat him mercilessly; nor was the treatment by
night less brutal than that by day. As soon as the weary boy had sunk into
his first profound sleep, they would loudly call him by name, ‘Capet!
Capet!’ Startled, nervous, bathed in perspiration, or sometimes trembling
with cold, he would spring up, rush through the dark, and present himself at
Simon’s bedside, murmuring, tremblingly, ‘I am here, citizen.’—‘Come
nearer; let me feel you.’ He would approach the bed as he was ordered,
although he knew the treatment that awaited him. Simon would buffet him
on the head, or kick him away, adding the remark, ‘Get to bed again, wolfs
cub; I only wanted to know that you were safe.’ On one of these occasions,
when the child had fallen half stunned upon his own miserable couch, and
lay there groaning and faint with pain, Simon roared out with a laugh,
‘Suppose you were king, Capet, what would you do to me?’ The child
thought of his father’s dying words, and said, ‘I would forgive you.’”—
[THIERS]
The change in the young Prince’s mode of life, and the cruelties and
caprices to which he was subjected, soon made him fall ill, says his sister.
“Simon forced him to eat to excess, and to drink large quantities of wine,
which he detested . . . . He grew extremely fat without increasing in height
or strength.” His aunt and sister, deprived of the pleasure of tending him,
had the pain of hearing his childish voice raised in the abominable songs his
gaolers taught him. The brutality of Simon “depraved at once the body and
soul of his pupil. He called him the young wolf of the Temple. He treated
him as the young of wild animals are treated when taken from the mother
and reduced to captivity,—at once intimidated by blows and enervated by
taming. He punished for sensibility; he rewarded meanness; he encouraged
vice; he made the child wait on him at table, sometimes striking him on the
face with a knotted towel, sometimes raising the poker and threatening to
strike him with it.”
[Simon left the Temple to become a municipal officer. He
was involved in the overthrow of Robespierre, and
guillotined the day after him, 29th July, 1794.]
Page 402
Yet when Simon was removed the poor young Prince’s condition became
even worse. His horrible loneliness induced an apathetic stupor to which
any suffering would have been preferable. “He passed his days without any
kind of occupation; they did not allow him light in the evening. His keepers
never approached him but to give him food;” and on the rare occasions
when they took him to the platform of the Tower, he was unable or
unwilling to move about. When, in November, 1794, a commissary named
Gomin arrived at the Temple, disposed to treat the little prisoner with
kindness, it was too late. “He took extreme care of my brother,” says
Madame Royale. “For a long time the unhappy child had been shut up in
darkness, and he was dying of fright. He was very grateful for the attentions
of Gomin, and became much attached to him.” But his physical condition
was alarming, and, owing to Gomin’s representations, a commission was
instituted to examine him. “The commissioners appointed were Harmond,
Mathieu, and Reverchon, who visited ‘Louis Charles,’ as he was now
called, in the month of February, 1795. They found the young Prince seated
at a square deal table, at which he was playing with some dirty cards,
making card houses and the like,—the materials having been furnished him,
probably, that they might figure in the report as evidences of indulgence. He
did not look up from the table as the commissioners entered. He was in a
slate-coloured dress, bareheaded; the room was reported as clean, the bed in
good condition, the linen fresh; his clothes were also reported as new; but,
in spite of all these assertions, it is well known that his bed had not been
made for months, that he had not left his room, nor was permitted to leave
it, for any purpose whatever, that it was consequently uninhabitable, and
that he was covered with vermin and with sores. The swellings at his knees
alone were sufficient to disable him from walking. One of the
commissioners approached the young Prince respectfully. The latter did not
raise his head. Harmond in a kind voice begged him to speak to them. The
eyes of the boy remained fixed on the table before him. They told him of
the kindly intentions of the Government, of their hopes that he would yet be
happy, and their desire that he would speak unreservedly to the medical
man that was to visit him. He seemed to listen with profound attention, but
not a single word passed his lips. It was an heroic principle that impelled
that poor young heart to maintain the silence of a mute in presence of these
men. He remembered too well the days when three other commissaries
waited on him, regaled him with pastry and wine, and obtained from him
even worse. His horrible loneliness induced an apathetic stupor to which
any suffering would have been preferable. “He passed his days without any
kind of occupation; they did not allow him light in the evening. His keepers
never approached him but to give him food;” and on the rare occasions
when they took him to the platform of the Tower, he was unable or
unwilling to move about. When, in November, 1794, a commissary named
Gomin arrived at the Temple, disposed to treat the little prisoner with
kindness, it was too late. “He took extreme care of my brother,” says
Madame Royale. “For a long time the unhappy child had been shut up in
darkness, and he was dying of fright. He was very grateful for the attentions
of Gomin, and became much attached to him.” But his physical condition
was alarming, and, owing to Gomin’s representations, a commission was
instituted to examine him. “The commissioners appointed were Harmond,
Mathieu, and Reverchon, who visited ‘Louis Charles,’ as he was now
called, in the month of February, 1795. They found the young Prince seated
at a square deal table, at which he was playing with some dirty cards,
making card houses and the like,—the materials having been furnished him,
probably, that they might figure in the report as evidences of indulgence. He
did not look up from the table as the commissioners entered. He was in a
slate-coloured dress, bareheaded; the room was reported as clean, the bed in
good condition, the linen fresh; his clothes were also reported as new; but,
in spite of all these assertions, it is well known that his bed had not been
made for months, that he had not left his room, nor was permitted to leave
it, for any purpose whatever, that it was consequently uninhabitable, and
that he was covered with vermin and with sores. The swellings at his knees
alone were sufficient to disable him from walking. One of the
commissioners approached the young Prince respectfully. The latter did not
raise his head. Harmond in a kind voice begged him to speak to them. The
eyes of the boy remained fixed on the table before him. They told him of
the kindly intentions of the Government, of their hopes that he would yet be
happy, and their desire that he would speak unreservedly to the medical
man that was to visit him. He seemed to listen with profound attention, but
not a single word passed his lips. It was an heroic principle that impelled
that poor young heart to maintain the silence of a mute in presence of these
men. He remembered too well the days when three other commissaries
waited on him, regaled him with pastry and wine, and obtained from him
Page 403
that hellish accusation against the mother that he loved. He had learnt by
some means the import of the act, so far as it was an injury to his mother.
He now dreaded seeing again three commissaries, hearing again kind
words, and being treated again with fine promises. Dumb as death itself he
sat before them, and remained motionless as stone, and as mute.” [THIERS]
His disease now made rapid progress, and Gomin and Lasne,
superintendents of the Temple, thinking it necessary to inform the
Government of the melancholy condition of their prisoner, wrote on the
register: “Little Capet is unwell.” No notice was taken of this account,
which was renewed next day in more urgent terms: “Little Capet is
dangerously ill.” Still there was no word from beyond the walls. “We must
knock harder,” said the keepers to each other, and they added, “It is feared
he will not live,” to the words “dangerously ill.” At length, on Wednesday,
6th May, 1795, three days after the first report, the authorities appointed M.
Desault to give the invalid the assistance of his art. After having written
down his name on the register he was admitted to see the Prince. He made a
long and very attentive examination of the unfortunate child, asked him
many questions without being able to obtain an answer, and contented
himself with prescribing a decoction of hops, to be taken by spoonfuls
every half-hour, from six o’clock in the morning till eight in the evening.
On the first day the Prince steadily refused to take it. In vain Gomin several
times drank off a glass of the potion in his presence; his example proved as
ineffectual as his words. Next day Lasne renewed his solicitations.
“Monsieur knows very well that I desire nothing but the good of his health,
and he distresses me deeply by thus refusing to take what might contribute
to it. I entreat him as a favour not to give me this cause of grief.” And as
Lasne, while speaking, began to taste the potion in a glass, the child took
what he offered him out of his hands. “You have, then, taken an oath that I
should drink it,” said he, firmly; “well, give it me, I will drink it.” From that
moment he conformed with docility to whatever was required of him, but
the policy of the Commune had attained its object; help had been withheld
till it was almost a mockery to supply it.
The Prince’s weakness was excessive; his keepers could scarcely drag
him to the, top of the Tower; walking hurt his tender feet, and at every step
he stopped to press the arm of Lasne with both hands upon his breast. At
last he suffered so much that it was no longer possible for him to walk, and
his keeper carried him about, sometimes on the platform, and sometimes in
some means the import of the act, so far as it was an injury to his mother.
He now dreaded seeing again three commissaries, hearing again kind
words, and being treated again with fine promises. Dumb as death itself he
sat before them, and remained motionless as stone, and as mute.” [THIERS]
His disease now made rapid progress, and Gomin and Lasne,
superintendents of the Temple, thinking it necessary to inform the
Government of the melancholy condition of their prisoner, wrote on the
register: “Little Capet is unwell.” No notice was taken of this account,
which was renewed next day in more urgent terms: “Little Capet is
dangerously ill.” Still there was no word from beyond the walls. “We must
knock harder,” said the keepers to each other, and they added, “It is feared
he will not live,” to the words “dangerously ill.” At length, on Wednesday,
6th May, 1795, three days after the first report, the authorities appointed M.
Desault to give the invalid the assistance of his art. After having written
down his name on the register he was admitted to see the Prince. He made a
long and very attentive examination of the unfortunate child, asked him
many questions without being able to obtain an answer, and contented
himself with prescribing a decoction of hops, to be taken by spoonfuls
every half-hour, from six o’clock in the morning till eight in the evening.
On the first day the Prince steadily refused to take it. In vain Gomin several
times drank off a glass of the potion in his presence; his example proved as
ineffectual as his words. Next day Lasne renewed his solicitations.
“Monsieur knows very well that I desire nothing but the good of his health,
and he distresses me deeply by thus refusing to take what might contribute
to it. I entreat him as a favour not to give me this cause of grief.” And as
Lasne, while speaking, began to taste the potion in a glass, the child took
what he offered him out of his hands. “You have, then, taken an oath that I
should drink it,” said he, firmly; “well, give it me, I will drink it.” From that
moment he conformed with docility to whatever was required of him, but
the policy of the Commune had attained its object; help had been withheld
till it was almost a mockery to supply it.
The Prince’s weakness was excessive; his keepers could scarcely drag
him to the, top of the Tower; walking hurt his tender feet, and at every step
he stopped to press the arm of Lasne with both hands upon his breast. At
last he suffered so much that it was no longer possible for him to walk, and
his keeper carried him about, sometimes on the platform, and sometimes in
Page 404
the little tower, where the royal family had lived at first. But the slight
improvement to his health occasioned by the change of air scarcely
compensated for the pain which his fatigue gave him. On the battlement of
the platform nearest the left turret, the rain had, by perseverance through
ages, hollowed out a kind of basin. The water that fell remained there for
several days; and as, during the spring of 1795, storms were of frequent
occurrence, this little sheet of water was kept constantly supplied.
Whenever the child was brought out upon the platform, he saw a little troop
of sparrows, which used to come to drink and bathe in this reservoir. At first
they flew away at his approach, but from being accustomed to see him
walking quietly there every day, they at last grew more familiar, and did not
spread their wings for flight till he came up close to them. They were
always the same, he knew them by sight, and perhaps like himself they
were inhabitants of that ancient pile. He called them his birds; and his first
action, when the door into the terrace was opened, was to look towards that
side,—and the sparrows were always there. He delighted in their chirping,
and he must have envied them their wings.
Though so little could be done to alleviate his sufferings, a moral
improvement was taking place in him. He was touched by the lively interest
displayed by his physician, who never failed to visit him at nine o’clock
every morning. He seemed pleased with the attention paid him, and ended
by placing entire confidence in M. Desault. Gratitude loosened his tongue;
brutality and insult had failed to extort a murmur, but kind treatment
restored his speech he had no words for anger, but he found them to express
his thanks. M. Desault prolonged his visits as long as the officers of the
municipality would permit. When they announced the close of the visit, the
child, unwilling to beg them to allow a longer time, held back M. Desault
by the skirt of his coat. Suddenly M. Desault’s visits ceased. Several days
passed and nothing was heard of him. The keepers wondered at his absence,
and the poor little invalid was much distressed at it. The commissary on
duty (M. Benoist) suggested that it would be proper to send to the
physician’s house to make inquiries as to the cause of so long an absence.
Gomin and Larne had not yet ventured to follow this advice, when next day
M. Benoist was relieved by M. Bidault, who, hearing M. Desault’s name
mentioned as he came in, immediately said, “You must not expect to see
him any more; he died yesterday.”
improvement to his health occasioned by the change of air scarcely
compensated for the pain which his fatigue gave him. On the battlement of
the platform nearest the left turret, the rain had, by perseverance through
ages, hollowed out a kind of basin. The water that fell remained there for
several days; and as, during the spring of 1795, storms were of frequent
occurrence, this little sheet of water was kept constantly supplied.
Whenever the child was brought out upon the platform, he saw a little troop
of sparrows, which used to come to drink and bathe in this reservoir. At first
they flew away at his approach, but from being accustomed to see him
walking quietly there every day, they at last grew more familiar, and did not
spread their wings for flight till he came up close to them. They were
always the same, he knew them by sight, and perhaps like himself they
were inhabitants of that ancient pile. He called them his birds; and his first
action, when the door into the terrace was opened, was to look towards that
side,—and the sparrows were always there. He delighted in their chirping,
and he must have envied them their wings.
Though so little could be done to alleviate his sufferings, a moral
improvement was taking place in him. He was touched by the lively interest
displayed by his physician, who never failed to visit him at nine o’clock
every morning. He seemed pleased with the attention paid him, and ended
by placing entire confidence in M. Desault. Gratitude loosened his tongue;
brutality and insult had failed to extort a murmur, but kind treatment
restored his speech he had no words for anger, but he found them to express
his thanks. M. Desault prolonged his visits as long as the officers of the
municipality would permit. When they announced the close of the visit, the
child, unwilling to beg them to allow a longer time, held back M. Desault
by the skirt of his coat. Suddenly M. Desault’s visits ceased. Several days
passed and nothing was heard of him. The keepers wondered at his absence,
and the poor little invalid was much distressed at it. The commissary on
duty (M. Benoist) suggested that it would be proper to send to the
physician’s house to make inquiries as to the cause of so long an absence.
Gomin and Larne had not yet ventured to follow this advice, when next day
M. Benoist was relieved by M. Bidault, who, hearing M. Desault’s name
mentioned as he came in, immediately said, “You must not expect to see
him any more; he died yesterday.”
Page 405
M. Pelletan, head surgeon of the Grand Hospice de l’Humanite, was next
directed to attend the prisoner, and in June he found him in so alarming a
state that he at once asked for a coadjutor, fearing to undertake the
responsibility alone. The physician—sent for form’s sake to attend the
dying child, as an advocate is given by law to a criminal condemned
beforehand—blamed the officers of the municipality for not having
removed the blind, which obstructed the light, and the numerous bolts, the
noise of which never failed to remind the victim of his captivity. That
sound, which always caused him an involuntary shudder, disturbed him in
the last mournful scene of his unparalleled tortures. M. Pelletan said
authoritatively to the municipal on duty, “If you will not take these bolts
and casings away at once, at least you can make no objection to our
carrying the child into another room, for I suppose we are sent here to take
charge of him.” The Prince, being disturbed by these words, spoken as they
were with great animation, made a sign to the physician to come nearer.
“Speak lower, I beg of you,” said he; “I am afraid they will hear you up-
stairs, and I should be very sorry for them to know that I am ill, as it would
give them much uneasiness.”
At first the change to a cheerful and airy room revived the Prince and
gave him evident pleasure, but the improvement did not last. Next day M.
Pelletan learned that the Government had acceded to his request for a
colleague. M. Dumangin, head physician of the Hospice de l’Unite, made
his appearance at his house on the morning of Sunday, 7th June, with the
official despatch sent him by the committee of public safety. They repaired
together immediately to the Tower. On their arrival they heard that the
child, whose weakness was excessive, had had a fainting fit, which had
occasioned fears to be entertained that his end was approaching. He had
revived a little, however, when the physicians went up at about nine
o’clock. Unable to contend with increasing exhaustion, they perceived there
was no longer any hope of prolonging an existence worn out by so much
suffering, and that all their art could effect would be to soften the last stage
of this lamentable disease. While standing by the Prince’s bed, Gomin
noticed that he was quietly crying, and asked him. kindly what was the
matter. “I am always alone,” he said. “My dear mother remains in the other
tower.” Night came,—his last night,—which the regulations of the prison
condemned him to pass once more in solitude, with suffering, his old
companion, only at his side. This time, however, death, too, stood at his
directed to attend the prisoner, and in June he found him in so alarming a
state that he at once asked for a coadjutor, fearing to undertake the
responsibility alone. The physician—sent for form’s sake to attend the
dying child, as an advocate is given by law to a criminal condemned
beforehand—blamed the officers of the municipality for not having
removed the blind, which obstructed the light, and the numerous bolts, the
noise of which never failed to remind the victim of his captivity. That
sound, which always caused him an involuntary shudder, disturbed him in
the last mournful scene of his unparalleled tortures. M. Pelletan said
authoritatively to the municipal on duty, “If you will not take these bolts
and casings away at once, at least you can make no objection to our
carrying the child into another room, for I suppose we are sent here to take
charge of him.” The Prince, being disturbed by these words, spoken as they
were with great animation, made a sign to the physician to come nearer.
“Speak lower, I beg of you,” said he; “I am afraid they will hear you up-
stairs, and I should be very sorry for them to know that I am ill, as it would
give them much uneasiness.”
At first the change to a cheerful and airy room revived the Prince and
gave him evident pleasure, but the improvement did not last. Next day M.
Pelletan learned that the Government had acceded to his request for a
colleague. M. Dumangin, head physician of the Hospice de l’Unite, made
his appearance at his house on the morning of Sunday, 7th June, with the
official despatch sent him by the committee of public safety. They repaired
together immediately to the Tower. On their arrival they heard that the
child, whose weakness was excessive, had had a fainting fit, which had
occasioned fears to be entertained that his end was approaching. He had
revived a little, however, when the physicians went up at about nine
o’clock. Unable to contend with increasing exhaustion, they perceived there
was no longer any hope of prolonging an existence worn out by so much
suffering, and that all their art could effect would be to soften the last stage
of this lamentable disease. While standing by the Prince’s bed, Gomin
noticed that he was quietly crying, and asked him. kindly what was the
matter. “I am always alone,” he said. “My dear mother remains in the other
tower.” Night came,—his last night,—which the regulations of the prison
condemned him to pass once more in solitude, with suffering, his old
companion, only at his side. This time, however, death, too, stood at his
Page 406
pillow. When Gomin went up to the child’s room on the morning of 8th
June, he said, seeing him calm, motionless, and mute:
“I hope you are not in pain just now?”
“Oh, yes, I am still in pain, but not nearly so much,—the music is so
beautiful!”
Now there was no music to be heard, either in the Tower or anywhere
near.
Gomin, astonished, said to him, “From what direction do you hear this
music?”
“From above!”
“Have you heard it long?”
“Since you knelt down. Do you not hear it? Listen! Listen!” And the
child, with a nervous motion, raised his faltering hand, as he opened his
large eyes illuminated by delight. His poor keeper, unwilling to destroy this
last sweet illusion, appeared to listen also.
After a few minutes of attention the child again started, and cried out, in
intense rapture, “Amongst all the voices I have distinguished that of my
mother!”
These were almost his last words. At a quarter past two he died, Lasne
only being in the room at the time. Lasne acquainted Gomin and Damont,
the commissary on duty, with the event, and they repaired to the chamber of
death. The poor little royal corpse was carried from the room into that
where he had suffered so long,—where for two years he had never ceased to
suffer. From this apartment the father had gone to the scaffold, and thence
the son must pass to the burial-ground. The remains were laid out on the
bed, and the doors of the apartment were set open,—doors which had
remained closed ever since the Revolution had seized on a child, then full
of vigour and grace and life and health!
At eight o’clock next morning (9th June) four members of the committee
of general safety came to the Tower to make sure that the Prince was really
dead. When they were admitted to the death-chamber by Lasne and Damont
they affected the greatest indifference. “The event is not of the least
importance,” they repeated, several times over; “the police commissary of
the section will come and receive the declaration of the decease; he will
acknowledge it, and proceed to the interment without any ceremony; and
June, he said, seeing him calm, motionless, and mute:
“I hope you are not in pain just now?”
“Oh, yes, I am still in pain, but not nearly so much,—the music is so
beautiful!”
Now there was no music to be heard, either in the Tower or anywhere
near.
Gomin, astonished, said to him, “From what direction do you hear this
music?”
“From above!”
“Have you heard it long?”
“Since you knelt down. Do you not hear it? Listen! Listen!” And the
child, with a nervous motion, raised his faltering hand, as he opened his
large eyes illuminated by delight. His poor keeper, unwilling to destroy this
last sweet illusion, appeared to listen also.
After a few minutes of attention the child again started, and cried out, in
intense rapture, “Amongst all the voices I have distinguished that of my
mother!”
These were almost his last words. At a quarter past two he died, Lasne
only being in the room at the time. Lasne acquainted Gomin and Damont,
the commissary on duty, with the event, and they repaired to the chamber of
death. The poor little royal corpse was carried from the room into that
where he had suffered so long,—where for two years he had never ceased to
suffer. From this apartment the father had gone to the scaffold, and thence
the son must pass to the burial-ground. The remains were laid out on the
bed, and the doors of the apartment were set open,—doors which had
remained closed ever since the Revolution had seized on a child, then full
of vigour and grace and life and health!
At eight o’clock next morning (9th June) four members of the committee
of general safety came to the Tower to make sure that the Prince was really
dead. When they were admitted to the death-chamber by Lasne and Damont
they affected the greatest indifference. “The event is not of the least
importance,” they repeated, several times over; “the police commissary of
the section will come and receive the declaration of the decease; he will
acknowledge it, and proceed to the interment without any ceremony; and
Page 407
the committee will give the necessary directions.” As they withdrew, some
officers of the Temple guard asked to see the remains of little Capet.
Damont having observed that the guard would not permit the bier to pass
without its being opened, the deputies decided that the officers and non-
commissioned officers of the guard going off duty, together with those
coming on, should be all invited to assure themselves of the child’s death.
All having assembled in the room where the body lay, he asked them if they
recognised it as that of the ex-Dauphin, son of the last King of France.
Those who had seen the young Prince at the Tuileries, or at the Temple (and
most of them had), bore witness to its being the body of Louis XVII. When
they were come down into the council-room, Darlot drew up the minutes of
this attestation, which was signed by a score of persons. These minutes
were inserted in the journal of the Temple tower, which was afterwards
deposited in the office of the Minister of the Interior.
During this visit the surgeons entrusted with the autopsy arrived at the
outer gate of the Temple. These were Dumangin, head physician of the
Hospice de l’Unite; Pelletan, head surgeon of the Grand Hospice de
l’Humanite; Jeanroy, professor in the medical schools of Paris; and Laasus,
professor of legal medicine at the Ecole de Sante of Paris. The last two were
selected by Dumangin and Pelletan because of the former connection of M.
Lassus with Mesdames de France, and of M. Jeanroy with the House of
Lorraine, which gave a peculiar weight to their signatures. Gomin received
them in the council-room, and detained them until the National Guard,
descending from the second floor, entered to sign the minutes prepared by
Darlot. This done, Lasne, Darlot, and Bouquet went up again with the
surgeons, and introduced them into the apartment of Louis XVII., whom
they at first examined as he lay on his death-bed; but M. Jeanroy observing
that the dim light of this room was but little favourable to the
accomplishment of their mission, the commissaries prepared a table in the
first room, near the window, on which the corpse was laid, and the surgeons
began their melancholy operation.
At seven o’clock the police commissary ordered the body to be taken up,
and that they should proceed to the cemetery. It was the season of the
longest days, and therefore the interment did not take place in secrecy and
at night, as some misinformed narrators have said or written; it took place
in broad daylight, and attracted a great concourse of people before the gates
of the Temple palace. One of the municipals wished to have the coffin
officers of the Temple guard asked to see the remains of little Capet.
Damont having observed that the guard would not permit the bier to pass
without its being opened, the deputies decided that the officers and non-
commissioned officers of the guard going off duty, together with those
coming on, should be all invited to assure themselves of the child’s death.
All having assembled in the room where the body lay, he asked them if they
recognised it as that of the ex-Dauphin, son of the last King of France.
Those who had seen the young Prince at the Tuileries, or at the Temple (and
most of them had), bore witness to its being the body of Louis XVII. When
they were come down into the council-room, Darlot drew up the minutes of
this attestation, which was signed by a score of persons. These minutes
were inserted in the journal of the Temple tower, which was afterwards
deposited in the office of the Minister of the Interior.
During this visit the surgeons entrusted with the autopsy arrived at the
outer gate of the Temple. These were Dumangin, head physician of the
Hospice de l’Unite; Pelletan, head surgeon of the Grand Hospice de
l’Humanite; Jeanroy, professor in the medical schools of Paris; and Laasus,
professor of legal medicine at the Ecole de Sante of Paris. The last two were
selected by Dumangin and Pelletan because of the former connection of M.
Lassus with Mesdames de France, and of M. Jeanroy with the House of
Lorraine, which gave a peculiar weight to their signatures. Gomin received
them in the council-room, and detained them until the National Guard,
descending from the second floor, entered to sign the minutes prepared by
Darlot. This done, Lasne, Darlot, and Bouquet went up again with the
surgeons, and introduced them into the apartment of Louis XVII., whom
they at first examined as he lay on his death-bed; but M. Jeanroy observing
that the dim light of this room was but little favourable to the
accomplishment of their mission, the commissaries prepared a table in the
first room, near the window, on which the corpse was laid, and the surgeons
began their melancholy operation.
At seven o’clock the police commissary ordered the body to be taken up,
and that they should proceed to the cemetery. It was the season of the
longest days, and therefore the interment did not take place in secrecy and
at night, as some misinformed narrators have said or written; it took place
in broad daylight, and attracted a great concourse of people before the gates
of the Temple palace. One of the municipals wished to have the coffin
Page 408
carried out secretly by the door opening into the chapel enclosure; but M.
Duaser, police commiasary, who was specially entrusted with the
arrangement of the ceremony, opposed this indecorous measure, and the
procession passed out through the great gate. The crowd that was pressing
round was kept back, and compelled to keep a line, by a tricoloured ribbon,
held at short distances by gendarmes. Compassion and sorrow were
impressed on every countenance.
A small detachment of the troops of the line from the garrison of Paris,
sent by the authorities, was waiting to serve as an escort. The bier, still
covered with the pall, was carried on a litter on the shoulders of four men,
who relieved each other two at a time; it was preceded by six or eight men,
headed by a sergeant. The procession was accompanied a long way by the
crowd, and a great number of persona followed it even to the cemetery. The
name of “Little Capet,” and the more popular title of Dauphin, spread from
lip to lip, with exclamations of pity and compassion. The funeral entered the
cemetery of Ste. Marguerite, not by the church, as some accounts assert, but
by the old gate of the cemetery. The interment was made in the corner, on
the left, at a distance of eight or nine feet from the enclosure wall, and at an
equal distance from a small house, which subsequently served as a school.
The grave was filled up,—no mound marked its place, and not even a trace
remained of the interment! Not till then did the commissaries of police and
the municipality withdraw, and enter the house opposite the church to draw
up the declaration of interment. It was nearly nine o’clock, and still
daylight.
Release of Madame Royale.—Her Marriage to the Duc
d’Angouleme.
—Return to France.—Death.
Duaser, police commiasary, who was specially entrusted with the
arrangement of the ceremony, opposed this indecorous measure, and the
procession passed out through the great gate. The crowd that was pressing
round was kept back, and compelled to keep a line, by a tricoloured ribbon,
held at short distances by gendarmes. Compassion and sorrow were
impressed on every countenance.
A small detachment of the troops of the line from the garrison of Paris,
sent by the authorities, was waiting to serve as an escort. The bier, still
covered with the pall, was carried on a litter on the shoulders of four men,
who relieved each other two at a time; it was preceded by six or eight men,
headed by a sergeant. The procession was accompanied a long way by the
crowd, and a great number of persona followed it even to the cemetery. The
name of “Little Capet,” and the more popular title of Dauphin, spread from
lip to lip, with exclamations of pity and compassion. The funeral entered the
cemetery of Ste. Marguerite, not by the church, as some accounts assert, but
by the old gate of the cemetery. The interment was made in the corner, on
the left, at a distance of eight or nine feet from the enclosure wall, and at an
equal distance from a small house, which subsequently served as a school.
The grave was filled up,—no mound marked its place, and not even a trace
remained of the interment! Not till then did the commissaries of police and
the municipality withdraw, and enter the house opposite the church to draw
up the declaration of interment. It was nearly nine o’clock, and still
daylight.
Release of Madame Royale.—Her Marriage to the Duc
d’Angouleme.
—Return to France.—Death.
Page 409
The last person to hear of the sad events in the Temple was the one for
whom they had the deepest and most painful interest. After her brother’s
death the captivity of Madame Royale was much lightened. She was
allowed to walk in the Temple gardens, and to receive visits from some
ladies of the old Court, and from Madame de Chantereine, who at last, after
several times evading her questions, ventured cautiously to tell her of the
deaths of her mother, aunt, and brother. Madame Royale wept bitterly, but
had much difficulty in expressing her feelings. “She spoke so confusedly,”
says Madame de la Ramiere in a letter to Madame de Verneuil, “that it was
difficult to understand her. It took her more than a month’s reading aloud,
with careful study of pronunciation, to make herself intelligible,—so much
had she lost the power of expression.” She was dressed with plainness
amounting to poverty, and her hands were disfigured by exposure to cold
and by the menial work she had been so long accustomed to do for herself,
and which it was difficult to persuade her to leave off. When urged to
accept the services of an attendant, she replied, with a sad prevision of the
vicissitudes of her future life, that she did not like to form a habit which she
might have again to abandon. She suffered herself, however, to be
persuaded gradually to modify her recluse and ascetic habits. It was well
she did so, as a preparation for the great changes about to follow.
Nine days after the death of her brother, the city of Orleans interceded for
the daughter of Louis XVI., and sent deputies to the Convention to pray for
her deliverance and restoration to her family. Names followed this example;
and Charette, on the part of the Vendeans, demanded, as a condition of the
pacification of La Vendee, that the Princess should be allowed to join her
relations. At length the Convention decreed that Madame Royale should be
exchanged with Austria for the representatives and ministers whom
Dumouriez had given up to the Prince of Cobourg,—Drouet, Semonville,
Maret, and other prisoners of importance. At midnight on 19th December,
1795, which was her birthday, the Princess was released from prison, the
Minister of the Interior, M. Benezech, to avoid attracting public attention
and possible disturbance, conducting her on foot from the Temple to a
neighbouring street, where his carriage awaited her. She made it her
particular request that Gomin, who had been so devoted to her brother,
should be the commissary appointed to accompany her to the frontier;
Madame de Soucy, formerly under-governess to the children of France, was
whom they had the deepest and most painful interest. After her brother’s
death the captivity of Madame Royale was much lightened. She was
allowed to walk in the Temple gardens, and to receive visits from some
ladies of the old Court, and from Madame de Chantereine, who at last, after
several times evading her questions, ventured cautiously to tell her of the
deaths of her mother, aunt, and brother. Madame Royale wept bitterly, but
had much difficulty in expressing her feelings. “She spoke so confusedly,”
says Madame de la Ramiere in a letter to Madame de Verneuil, “that it was
difficult to understand her. It took her more than a month’s reading aloud,
with careful study of pronunciation, to make herself intelligible,—so much
had she lost the power of expression.” She was dressed with plainness
amounting to poverty, and her hands were disfigured by exposure to cold
and by the menial work she had been so long accustomed to do for herself,
and which it was difficult to persuade her to leave off. When urged to
accept the services of an attendant, she replied, with a sad prevision of the
vicissitudes of her future life, that she did not like to form a habit which she
might have again to abandon. She suffered herself, however, to be
persuaded gradually to modify her recluse and ascetic habits. It was well
she did so, as a preparation for the great changes about to follow.
Nine days after the death of her brother, the city of Orleans interceded for
the daughter of Louis XVI., and sent deputies to the Convention to pray for
her deliverance and restoration to her family. Names followed this example;
and Charette, on the part of the Vendeans, demanded, as a condition of the
pacification of La Vendee, that the Princess should be allowed to join her
relations. At length the Convention decreed that Madame Royale should be
exchanged with Austria for the representatives and ministers whom
Dumouriez had given up to the Prince of Cobourg,—Drouet, Semonville,
Maret, and other prisoners of importance. At midnight on 19th December,
1795, which was her birthday, the Princess was released from prison, the
Minister of the Interior, M. Benezech, to avoid attracting public attention
and possible disturbance, conducting her on foot from the Temple to a
neighbouring street, where his carriage awaited her. She made it her
particular request that Gomin, who had been so devoted to her brother,
should be the commissary appointed to accompany her to the frontier;
Madame de Soucy, formerly under-governess to the children of France, was
Page 410
also in attendance; and the Princess took with her a dog named Coco, which
had belonged to Louis XVI.
[The mention of the little dog taken from the Temple by
Madame Royale reminds me how fond all the family were of
these creatures. Each Princess kept a different kind.
Mesdames had beautiful spaniels; little grayhounds were
preferred by Madame Elisabeth. Louis XVI. was the only one
of all his family who had no dogs in his room. I remember
one day waiting in the great gallery for the King’s retiring,
when he entered with all his family and the whole pack, who
were escorting him. All at once all the dogs began to bark,
one louder than another, and ran away, passing like ghosts
along those great dark rooms, which rang with their hoarse
cries. The Princesses shouting, calling them, running
everywhere after them, completed a ridiculous spectacle,
which made those august persons very merry.—
D’HEZECQUES, p. 49.]
She was frequently recognised on her way through France, and always
with marks of pleasure and respect.
It might have been supposed that the Princess would rejoice to leave
behind her the country which had been the scene of so many horrors and
such bitter suffering. But it was her birthplace, and it held the graves of all
she loved; and as she crossed the frontier she said to those around her, “I
leave France with regret, for I shall never cease to consider it my country.”
She arrived in Vienna on 9th January, 1796, and her first care was to attend
a memorial service for her murdered relatives. After many weeks of close
retirement she occasionally began to appear in public, and people looked
with interest at the pale, grave, slender girl of seventeen, dressed in the
deepest mourning, over whose young head such terrible storms had swept.
The Emperor wished her to marry the Archduke Charles of Austria, but her
father and mother had, even in the cradle, destined her hand for her cousin,
the Duc d’Angouleme, son of the Comte d’Artois, and the memory of their
lightest wish was law to her.
Her quiet determination entailed anger and opposition amounting to
persecution. Every effort was made to alienate her from her French
had belonged to Louis XVI.
[The mention of the little dog taken from the Temple by
Madame Royale reminds me how fond all the family were of
these creatures. Each Princess kept a different kind.
Mesdames had beautiful spaniels; little grayhounds were
preferred by Madame Elisabeth. Louis XVI. was the only one
of all his family who had no dogs in his room. I remember
one day waiting in the great gallery for the King’s retiring,
when he entered with all his family and the whole pack, who
were escorting him. All at once all the dogs began to bark,
one louder than another, and ran away, passing like ghosts
along those great dark rooms, which rang with their hoarse
cries. The Princesses shouting, calling them, running
everywhere after them, completed a ridiculous spectacle,
which made those august persons very merry.—
D’HEZECQUES, p. 49.]
She was frequently recognised on her way through France, and always
with marks of pleasure and respect.
It might have been supposed that the Princess would rejoice to leave
behind her the country which had been the scene of so many horrors and
such bitter suffering. But it was her birthplace, and it held the graves of all
she loved; and as she crossed the frontier she said to those around her, “I
leave France with regret, for I shall never cease to consider it my country.”
She arrived in Vienna on 9th January, 1796, and her first care was to attend
a memorial service for her murdered relatives. After many weeks of close
retirement she occasionally began to appear in public, and people looked
with interest at the pale, grave, slender girl of seventeen, dressed in the
deepest mourning, over whose young head such terrible storms had swept.
The Emperor wished her to marry the Archduke Charles of Austria, but her
father and mother had, even in the cradle, destined her hand for her cousin,
the Duc d’Angouleme, son of the Comte d’Artois, and the memory of their
lightest wish was law to her.
Her quiet determination entailed anger and opposition amounting to
persecution. Every effort was made to alienate her from her French
Page 411
relations. She was urged to claim Provence, which had become her own if
Louis XVIII. was to be considered King of France. A pressure of opinion
was brought to bear upon her which might well have overawed so young a
girl. “I was sent for to the Emperor’s cabinet,” she writes, “where I found
the imperial family assembled. The ministers and chief imperial counsellors
were also present . . . . When the Emperor invited me to express my
opinion, I answered that to be able to treat fittingly of such interests I
thought, I ought to be surrounded not only by my mother’s relatives, but
also by those of my father . . . . Besides, I said, I was above all things
French, and in entire subjection to the laws of France, which had rendered
me alternately the subject of the King my father, the King my brother, and
the King my uncle, and that I would yield obedience to the latter, whatever
might be his commands. This declaration appeared very much to dissatisfy
all who were present, and when they observed that I was not to be shaken,
they declared that my right being independent of my will, my resistance
would not be the slightest obstacle to the measures they might deem it
necessary to adopt for the preservation of my interests.”
In their anxiety to make a German princess of Marie Therese, her
imperial relations suppressed her French title as much as possible. When,
with some difficulty, the Duc de Grammont succeeded in obtaining an
audience of her, and used the familiar form of address, she smiled faintly,
and bade him beware. “Call me Madame de Bretagne, or de Bourgogne, or
de Lorraine,” she said, “for here I am so identified with these provinces—
[which the Emperor wished her to claim from her uncle Louis XVIII.]—
that I shall end in believing in my own transformation.” After these
discussions she was so closely watched, and so many restraints were
imposed upon her, that she was scarcely less a prisoner than in the old days
of the Temple, though her cage was this time gilded. Rescue, however, was
at hand.
In 1798 Louis XVIII. accepted a refuge offered to him at Mittau by the
Czar Paul, who had promised that he would grant his guest’s first request,
whatever it might be. Louis begged the Czar to use his influence with the
Court of Vienna to allow his niece to join him. “Monsieur, my brother,” was
Paul’s answer, “Madame Royale shall be restored to you, or I shall cease to
be Paul I.” Next morning the Czar despatched a courier to Vienna with a
demand for the Princess, so energetically worded that refusal must have
Louis XVIII. was to be considered King of France. A pressure of opinion
was brought to bear upon her which might well have overawed so young a
girl. “I was sent for to the Emperor’s cabinet,” she writes, “where I found
the imperial family assembled. The ministers and chief imperial counsellors
were also present . . . . When the Emperor invited me to express my
opinion, I answered that to be able to treat fittingly of such interests I
thought, I ought to be surrounded not only by my mother’s relatives, but
also by those of my father . . . . Besides, I said, I was above all things
French, and in entire subjection to the laws of France, which had rendered
me alternately the subject of the King my father, the King my brother, and
the King my uncle, and that I would yield obedience to the latter, whatever
might be his commands. This declaration appeared very much to dissatisfy
all who were present, and when they observed that I was not to be shaken,
they declared that my right being independent of my will, my resistance
would not be the slightest obstacle to the measures they might deem it
necessary to adopt for the preservation of my interests.”
In their anxiety to make a German princess of Marie Therese, her
imperial relations suppressed her French title as much as possible. When,
with some difficulty, the Duc de Grammont succeeded in obtaining an
audience of her, and used the familiar form of address, she smiled faintly,
and bade him beware. “Call me Madame de Bretagne, or de Bourgogne, or
de Lorraine,” she said, “for here I am so identified with these provinces—
[which the Emperor wished her to claim from her uncle Louis XVIII.]—
that I shall end in believing in my own transformation.” After these
discussions she was so closely watched, and so many restraints were
imposed upon her, that she was scarcely less a prisoner than in the old days
of the Temple, though her cage was this time gilded. Rescue, however, was
at hand.
In 1798 Louis XVIII. accepted a refuge offered to him at Mittau by the
Czar Paul, who had promised that he would grant his guest’s first request,
whatever it might be. Louis begged the Czar to use his influence with the
Court of Vienna to allow his niece to join him. “Monsieur, my brother,” was
Paul’s answer, “Madame Royale shall be restored to you, or I shall cease to
be Paul I.” Next morning the Czar despatched a courier to Vienna with a
demand for the Princess, so energetically worded that refusal must have
Page 412
been followed by war. Accordingly, in May, 1799, Madame Royale was
allowed to leave the capital which she had found so uncongenial an asylum.
In the old ducal castle of Mittau, the capital of Courland, Louis XVIII.
and his wife, with their nephews, the Ducs d’Angouleme and de Berri, were
awaiting her, attended by the Abbe Edgeworth, as chief ecclesiastic, and a
little Court of refugee nobles and officers.
[The Duc d’Angonleme was quiet and reserved. He loved
hunting as means of killing time; was given to early hours
and innocent pleasures. He was a gentleman, and brave as
became one. He had not the “gentlemanly vices” of his
brother, and was all the better for it. He was ill educated,
but had natural good sense, and would have passed for
having more than that had he cared to put forth pretensions.
Of all his family he was the one most ill spoken of, and least
deserving of it.—DOCTOR DORAN.]
With them were two men of humbler position, who must have been even
more welcome to Madame Royale,—De Malden, who had acted as courier
to Louis XVI. during the flight to Varennes, and Turgi, who had waited on
the Princesses in the Temple. It was a sad meeting, though so long
anxiously desired, and it was followed on 10th June, 1799, by an equally
sad wedding,—exiles, pensioners on the bounty of the Russian monarch,
fulfilling an engagement founded, not on personal preference, but on family
policy and reverence for the wishes of the dead, the bride and bridegroom
had small cause for rejoicing. During the eighteen months of tranquil
seclusion which followed her marriage, the favourite occupation of the
Duchess was visiting and relieving the poor. In January, 1801, the Czar
Paul, in compliance with the demand of Napoleon, who was just then the
object of his capricious enthusiasm, ordered the French royal family to
leave Mittau. Their wanderings commenced on the 21st, a day of bitter
memories; and the young Duchess led the King to his carriage through a
crowd of men, women, and children, whose tears and blessings attended
them on their way.
[The Queen was too ill to travel. The Duc d’Angouleme
took another route to join a body of French gentlemen in
allowed to leave the capital which she had found so uncongenial an asylum.
In the old ducal castle of Mittau, the capital of Courland, Louis XVIII.
and his wife, with their nephews, the Ducs d’Angouleme and de Berri, were
awaiting her, attended by the Abbe Edgeworth, as chief ecclesiastic, and a
little Court of refugee nobles and officers.
[The Duc d’Angonleme was quiet and reserved. He loved
hunting as means of killing time; was given to early hours
and innocent pleasures. He was a gentleman, and brave as
became one. He had not the “gentlemanly vices” of his
brother, and was all the better for it. He was ill educated,
but had natural good sense, and would have passed for
having more than that had he cared to put forth pretensions.
Of all his family he was the one most ill spoken of, and least
deserving of it.—DOCTOR DORAN.]
With them were two men of humbler position, who must have been even
more welcome to Madame Royale,—De Malden, who had acted as courier
to Louis XVI. during the flight to Varennes, and Turgi, who had waited on
the Princesses in the Temple. It was a sad meeting, though so long
anxiously desired, and it was followed on 10th June, 1799, by an equally
sad wedding,—exiles, pensioners on the bounty of the Russian monarch,
fulfilling an engagement founded, not on personal preference, but on family
policy and reverence for the wishes of the dead, the bride and bridegroom
had small cause for rejoicing. During the eighteen months of tranquil
seclusion which followed her marriage, the favourite occupation of the
Duchess was visiting and relieving the poor. In January, 1801, the Czar
Paul, in compliance with the demand of Napoleon, who was just then the
object of his capricious enthusiasm, ordered the French royal family to
leave Mittau. Their wanderings commenced on the 21st, a day of bitter
memories; and the young Duchess led the King to his carriage through a
crowd of men, women, and children, whose tears and blessings attended
them on their way.
[The Queen was too ill to travel. The Duc d’Angouleme
took another route to join a body of French gentlemen in
Page 413
arms for the Legitimist cause.]
The exiles asked permission from the King of Prussia to settle in his
dominions, and while awaiting his answer at Munich they were painfully
surprised by the entrance of five old soldiers of noble birth, part of the
body-guard they had left behind at Mittau, relying on the protection of Paul.
The “mad Czar” had decreed their immediate expulsion, and, penniless and
almost starving, they made their way to Louis XVIII. All the money the
royal family possessed was bestowed on these faithful servants, who came
to them in detachments for relief, and then the Duchess offered her
diamonds to the Danish consul for an advance of two thousand ducats,
saying she pledged her property “that in our common distress it may be
rendered of real use to my uncle, his faithful servants, and myself.” The
Duchess’s consistent and unselfish kindness procured her from the King,
and those about him who knew her best, the name of “our angel.”
Warsaw was for a brief time the resting-place of the wanderers, but there
they were disturbed in 1803 by Napoleon’s attempt to threaten and bribe
Louis XVIII. into abdication. It was suggested that refusal might bring upon
them expulsion from Prussia. “We are accustomed to suffering,” was the
King’s answer, “and we do not dread poverty. I would, trusting in God, seek
another asylum.” In 1808, after many changes of scene, this asylum was
sought in England, Gosfield Hall, Essex, being placed at their disposal by
the Marquis of Buckingham. From Gosfield, the King moved to Hartwell
Hall, a fine old Elizabethan mansion rented from Sir George Lee for L 500
a year. A yearly grant of L 24,000 was made to the exiled family by the
British Government, out of which a hundred and forty persons were
supported, the royal dinner-party generally numbering two dozen.
At Hartwell, as in her other homes, the Duchess was most popular
amongst the poor. In general society she was cold and reserved, and she
disliked the notice of strangers. In March, 1814, the royalist successes at
Bordeaux paved the way for the restoration of royalty in France, and amidst
general sympathy and congratulation, with the Prince Regent himself to
wish them good fortune, the King, the Duchess, and their suite left Hartwell
in April, 1814. The return to France was as triumphant as a somewhat half-
hearted and doubtful enthusiasm could make it, and most of such cordiality
as there was fell to the share of the Duchess. As she passed to Notre-Dame
in May, 1814, on entering Paris, she was vociferously greeted. The feeling
The exiles asked permission from the King of Prussia to settle in his
dominions, and while awaiting his answer at Munich they were painfully
surprised by the entrance of five old soldiers of noble birth, part of the
body-guard they had left behind at Mittau, relying on the protection of Paul.
The “mad Czar” had decreed their immediate expulsion, and, penniless and
almost starving, they made their way to Louis XVIII. All the money the
royal family possessed was bestowed on these faithful servants, who came
to them in detachments for relief, and then the Duchess offered her
diamonds to the Danish consul for an advance of two thousand ducats,
saying she pledged her property “that in our common distress it may be
rendered of real use to my uncle, his faithful servants, and myself.” The
Duchess’s consistent and unselfish kindness procured her from the King,
and those about him who knew her best, the name of “our angel.”
Warsaw was for a brief time the resting-place of the wanderers, but there
they were disturbed in 1803 by Napoleon’s attempt to threaten and bribe
Louis XVIII. into abdication. It was suggested that refusal might bring upon
them expulsion from Prussia. “We are accustomed to suffering,” was the
King’s answer, “and we do not dread poverty. I would, trusting in God, seek
another asylum.” In 1808, after many changes of scene, this asylum was
sought in England, Gosfield Hall, Essex, being placed at their disposal by
the Marquis of Buckingham. From Gosfield, the King moved to Hartwell
Hall, a fine old Elizabethan mansion rented from Sir George Lee for L 500
a year. A yearly grant of L 24,000 was made to the exiled family by the
British Government, out of which a hundred and forty persons were
supported, the royal dinner-party generally numbering two dozen.
At Hartwell, as in her other homes, the Duchess was most popular
amongst the poor. In general society she was cold and reserved, and she
disliked the notice of strangers. In March, 1814, the royalist successes at
Bordeaux paved the way for the restoration of royalty in France, and amidst
general sympathy and congratulation, with the Prince Regent himself to
wish them good fortune, the King, the Duchess, and their suite left Hartwell
in April, 1814. The return to France was as triumphant as a somewhat half-
hearted and doubtful enthusiasm could make it, and most of such cordiality
as there was fell to the share of the Duchess. As she passed to Notre-Dame
in May, 1814, on entering Paris, she was vociferously greeted. The feeling
Page 414
of loyalty, however, was not much longer-lived than the applause by which
it was expressed; the Duchess had scarcely effected one of the strongest
wishes of her heart,—the identification of what remained of her parents’
bodies, and the magnificent ceremony with which they were removed from
the cemetery of the Madeleine to the Abbey of St. Denis,—when the escape
of Napoleon from Elba in February,1815, scattered the royal family and
their followers like chaff before the wind. The Duc d’Angouleme,
compelled to capitulate at Toulouse, sailed from Cette in a Swedish vessel.
The Comte d’Artois, the Duc de Berri, and the Prince de Conde withdrew
beyond the frontier. The King fled from the capital. The Duchesse
d’Angouleme, then at Bordeaux celebrating the anniversary of the
Proclamation of Louis XVIII., alone of all her family made any stand
against the general panic. Day after day she mounted her horse and
reviewed the National Guard. She made personal and even passionate
appeals to the officers and men, standing firm, and prevailing on a handful
of soldiers to remain by her, even when the imperialist troops were on the
other side of the river and their cannon were directed against the square
where the Duchess was reviewing her scanty followers.
[“It was the Duchesse d’Angouleme who saved you,” said
the gallant General Clauzel, after these events, to a royalist
volunteer; “I could not bring myself to order such a woman
to be fired upon, at the moment when she was providing
material for the noblest page in her history.”—“Fillia
Dolorosa,” vol. vii., p. 131.]
With pain and difficulty she was convinced that resistance was vain;
Napoleon’s banner soon floated over Bordeaux; the Duchess issued a
farewell proclamation to her “brave Bordelais,” and on the 1st April, 1815,
she started for Pouillac, whence she embarked for Spain. During a brief
visit to England she heard that the reign of a hundred days was over, and the
27th of July, 1815, saw her second triumphal return to the Tuileries. She did
not take up her abode there with any wish for State ceremonies or Court
gaieties. Her life was as secluded as her position would allow. Her favourite
retreat was the Pavilion, which had been inhabited by her mother, and in her
little oratory she collected relics of her family, over which on the
anniversaries of their deaths she wept and prayed. In her daily drives
it was expressed; the Duchess had scarcely effected one of the strongest
wishes of her heart,—the identification of what remained of her parents’
bodies, and the magnificent ceremony with which they were removed from
the cemetery of the Madeleine to the Abbey of St. Denis,—when the escape
of Napoleon from Elba in February,1815, scattered the royal family and
their followers like chaff before the wind. The Duc d’Angouleme,
compelled to capitulate at Toulouse, sailed from Cette in a Swedish vessel.
The Comte d’Artois, the Duc de Berri, and the Prince de Conde withdrew
beyond the frontier. The King fled from the capital. The Duchesse
d’Angouleme, then at Bordeaux celebrating the anniversary of the
Proclamation of Louis XVIII., alone of all her family made any stand
against the general panic. Day after day she mounted her horse and
reviewed the National Guard. She made personal and even passionate
appeals to the officers and men, standing firm, and prevailing on a handful
of soldiers to remain by her, even when the imperialist troops were on the
other side of the river and their cannon were directed against the square
where the Duchess was reviewing her scanty followers.
[“It was the Duchesse d’Angouleme who saved you,” said
the gallant General Clauzel, after these events, to a royalist
volunteer; “I could not bring myself to order such a woman
to be fired upon, at the moment when she was providing
material for the noblest page in her history.”—“Fillia
Dolorosa,” vol. vii., p. 131.]
With pain and difficulty she was convinced that resistance was vain;
Napoleon’s banner soon floated over Bordeaux; the Duchess issued a
farewell proclamation to her “brave Bordelais,” and on the 1st April, 1815,
she started for Pouillac, whence she embarked for Spain. During a brief
visit to England she heard that the reign of a hundred days was over, and the
27th of July, 1815, saw her second triumphal return to the Tuileries. She did
not take up her abode there with any wish for State ceremonies or Court
gaieties. Her life was as secluded as her position would allow. Her favourite
retreat was the Pavilion, which had been inhabited by her mother, and in her
little oratory she collected relics of her family, over which on the
anniversaries of their deaths she wept and prayed. In her daily drives
Page 415
through Paris she scrupulously avoided the spot on which they had suffered;
and the memory of the past seemed to rule all her sad and self-denying life,
both in what she did and what she refrained from doing.
[She was so methodical and economical, though liberal in
her charities, that one of her regular evening occupations
was to tear off the seals from the letters she had received
during the day, in order that the wax might be melted down
and sold; the produce made one poor family “passing rich
with forty pounds a year.”—See “Filia Dolorosa,” vol. ii., p.
239.]
Her somewhat austere goodness was not of a nature to make her popular.
The few who really understood her loved her, but the majority of her
pleasure-seeking subjects regarded her either with ridicule or dread. She is
said to have taken no part in politics, and to have exerted no influence in
public affairs, but her sympathies were well known, and “the very word
liberty made her shudder;” like Madame Roland, she had seen “so many
crimes perpetrated under that name.”
The claims of three pretended Dauphins—Hervagault, the son of the
tailor of St. Lo; Bruneau, son of the shoemaker of Vergin; and Naundorf or
Norndorff, the watchmaker somewhat troubled her peace, but never for a
moment obtained her sanction. Of the many other pseudo-Dauphins (said to
number a dozen and a half) not even the names remain. In February,1820, a
fresh tragedy befell the royal family in the assassination of the Duc de
Berri, brother-in-law of the Duchesse d’Angouleme, as he was seeing his
wife into her carriage at the door of the Opera-house. He was carried into
the theatre, and there the dying Prince and his wife were joined by the
Duchess, who remained till he breathed his last, and was present when he,
too, was laid in the Abbey of St. Denis. She was present also when his son,
the Duc de Bordeaux, was born, and hoped that she saw in him a guarantee
for the stability of royalty in France. In September, 1824, she stood by the
death-bed of Louis XVIII., and thenceforward her chief occupation was
directing the education of the little Duc de Bordeaux, who generally resided
with her at Villeneuve l’Etang, her country house near St. Cloud. Thence
she went in July, 1830, to the Baths of Vichy, stopping at Dijon on her way
to Paris, and visiting the theatre on the evening of the 27th. She was
and the memory of the past seemed to rule all her sad and self-denying life,
both in what she did and what she refrained from doing.
[She was so methodical and economical, though liberal in
her charities, that one of her regular evening occupations
was to tear off the seals from the letters she had received
during the day, in order that the wax might be melted down
and sold; the produce made one poor family “passing rich
with forty pounds a year.”—See “Filia Dolorosa,” vol. ii., p.
239.]
Her somewhat austere goodness was not of a nature to make her popular.
The few who really understood her loved her, but the majority of her
pleasure-seeking subjects regarded her either with ridicule or dread. She is
said to have taken no part in politics, and to have exerted no influence in
public affairs, but her sympathies were well known, and “the very word
liberty made her shudder;” like Madame Roland, she had seen “so many
crimes perpetrated under that name.”
The claims of three pretended Dauphins—Hervagault, the son of the
tailor of St. Lo; Bruneau, son of the shoemaker of Vergin; and Naundorf or
Norndorff, the watchmaker somewhat troubled her peace, but never for a
moment obtained her sanction. Of the many other pseudo-Dauphins (said to
number a dozen and a half) not even the names remain. In February,1820, a
fresh tragedy befell the royal family in the assassination of the Duc de
Berri, brother-in-law of the Duchesse d’Angouleme, as he was seeing his
wife into her carriage at the door of the Opera-house. He was carried into
the theatre, and there the dying Prince and his wife were joined by the
Duchess, who remained till he breathed his last, and was present when he,
too, was laid in the Abbey of St. Denis. She was present also when his son,
the Duc de Bordeaux, was born, and hoped that she saw in him a guarantee
for the stability of royalty in France. In September, 1824, she stood by the
death-bed of Louis XVIII., and thenceforward her chief occupation was
directing the education of the little Duc de Bordeaux, who generally resided
with her at Villeneuve l’Etang, her country house near St. Cloud. Thence
she went in July, 1830, to the Baths of Vichy, stopping at Dijon on her way
to Paris, and visiting the theatre on the evening of the 27th. She was
Page 416
received with “a roar of execrations and seditious cries,” and knew only too
well what they signified. She instantly left the theatre and proceeded to
Tonnere, where she received news of the rising in Paris, and, quitting the
town by night, was driven to Joigny with three attendants. Soon after
leaving that place it was thought more prudent that the party should
separate and proceed on foot, and the Duchess and M. de Foucigny,
disguised as peasants, entered Versailles arm-in-arm, to obtain tidings of the
King. The Duchess found him at Rambouillet with her husband, the
Dauphin, and the King met her with a request for “pardon,” being fully
conscious, too late, that his unwise decrees and his headlong flight had
destroyed the last hopes of his family. The act of abdication followed, by
which the prospect of royalty passed from the Dauphin and his wife, as well
as from Charles X.—Henri V. being proclaimed King, and the Duc
d’Orleans (who refused to take the boy monarch under his personal
protection) lieutenant-general of the kingdom.
Then began the Duchess’s third expatriation. At Cherbourg the royal
family, accompanied by the little King without a kingdom, embarked in the
‘Great Britain’, which stood out to sea. The Duchess, remaining on deck for
a last look at the coast of France, noticed a brig which kept, she thought,
suspiciously near them.
“Who commands that vessel?” she inquired.
“Captain Thibault.”
And what are his orders?”
“To fire into and sink the vessels in which we sail, should any attempt be
made to return to France.”
Such was the farewell of their subjects to the House of Bourbon. The
fugitives landed at Weymouth; the Duchesse d’Angouleme under the title of
Comtesse de Marne, the Duchesse de Berri as Comtesse de Rosny, and her
son, Henri de Bordeaux, as Comte de Chambord, the title he retained till his
death, originally taken from the estate presented to him in infancy by his
enthusiastic people. Holyrood, with its royal and gloomy associations, was
their appointed dwelling. The Duc and Duchesse d’Angouleme, and the
daughter of the Duc de Berri, travelled thither by land, the King and the
young Comte de Chambord by sea. “I prefer my route to that of my sister,”
observed the latter, “because I shall see the coast of France again, and she
will not.”
well what they signified. She instantly left the theatre and proceeded to
Tonnere, where she received news of the rising in Paris, and, quitting the
town by night, was driven to Joigny with three attendants. Soon after
leaving that place it was thought more prudent that the party should
separate and proceed on foot, and the Duchess and M. de Foucigny,
disguised as peasants, entered Versailles arm-in-arm, to obtain tidings of the
King. The Duchess found him at Rambouillet with her husband, the
Dauphin, and the King met her with a request for “pardon,” being fully
conscious, too late, that his unwise decrees and his headlong flight had
destroyed the last hopes of his family. The act of abdication followed, by
which the prospect of royalty passed from the Dauphin and his wife, as well
as from Charles X.—Henri V. being proclaimed King, and the Duc
d’Orleans (who refused to take the boy monarch under his personal
protection) lieutenant-general of the kingdom.
Then began the Duchess’s third expatriation. At Cherbourg the royal
family, accompanied by the little King without a kingdom, embarked in the
‘Great Britain’, which stood out to sea. The Duchess, remaining on deck for
a last look at the coast of France, noticed a brig which kept, she thought,
suspiciously near them.
“Who commands that vessel?” she inquired.
“Captain Thibault.”
And what are his orders?”
“To fire into and sink the vessels in which we sail, should any attempt be
made to return to France.”
Such was the farewell of their subjects to the House of Bourbon. The
fugitives landed at Weymouth; the Duchesse d’Angouleme under the title of
Comtesse de Marne, the Duchesse de Berri as Comtesse de Rosny, and her
son, Henri de Bordeaux, as Comte de Chambord, the title he retained till his
death, originally taken from the estate presented to him in infancy by his
enthusiastic people. Holyrood, with its royal and gloomy associations, was
their appointed dwelling. The Duc and Duchesse d’Angouleme, and the
daughter of the Duc de Berri, travelled thither by land, the King and the
young Comte de Chambord by sea. “I prefer my route to that of my sister,”
observed the latter, “because I shall see the coast of France again, and she
will not.”
Page 417
The French Government soon complained that at Holyrood the exiles
were still too near their native land, and accordingly, in 1832, Charles X.,
with his son and grandson, left Scotland for Hamburg, while the Duchesse
d’Angouleme and her niece repaired to Vienna. The family were reunited at
Prague in 1833, where the birthday of the Comte de Chambord was
celebrated with some pomp and rejoicing, many Legitimists flocking thither
to congratulate him on attaining the age of thirteen, which the old law of
monarchical France had fixed as the majority of her princes. Three years
later the wanderings of the unfortunate family recommenced; the Emperor
Francis II. was dead, and his successor, Ferdinand, must visit Prague to be
crowned, and Charles X. feared that the presence of a discrowned monarch
might be embarrassing on such an occasion. Illness and sorrow attended the
exiles on their new journey, and a few months after they were established in
the Chateau of Graffenburg at Goritz, Charles X. died of cholera, in his
eightieth year. At Goritz, also, on the 31st May, 1844, the Duchesse
d’Angouleme, who had sat beside so many death-beds, watched over that of
her husband. Theirs had not been a marriage of affection in youth, but they
respected each other’s virtues, and to a great extent shared each other’s
tastes; banishment and suffering had united them very closely, and of late
years they had been almost inseparable,—walking, riding, and reading
together. When the Duchesse d’Angouleme had seen her husband laid by
his father’s side in the vault of the Franciscan convent, she, accompanied by
her nephew and niece, removed to Frohsdorf, where they spent seven
tranquil years. Here she was addressed as “Queen” by her household for the
first time in her life, but she herself always recognised Henri, Comte de
Chambord, as her sovereign. The Duchess lived to see the overthrow of
Louis Philippe, the usurper of the inheritance of her family. Her last attempt
to exert herself was a characteristic one. She tried to rise from a sick-bed in
order to attend the memorial service held for her mother, Marie Antoinette,
on the 16th October, the anniversary of her execution. But her strength was
not equal to the task; on the 19th she expired, with her hand in that of the
Comte de Chambord, and on 28th October, 1851, Marie Therese Charlotte,
Duchesse d’Angouleme, was buried in the Franciscan convent.
were still too near their native land, and accordingly, in 1832, Charles X.,
with his son and grandson, left Scotland for Hamburg, while the Duchesse
d’Angouleme and her niece repaired to Vienna. The family were reunited at
Prague in 1833, where the birthday of the Comte de Chambord was
celebrated with some pomp and rejoicing, many Legitimists flocking thither
to congratulate him on attaining the age of thirteen, which the old law of
monarchical France had fixed as the majority of her princes. Three years
later the wanderings of the unfortunate family recommenced; the Emperor
Francis II. was dead, and his successor, Ferdinand, must visit Prague to be
crowned, and Charles X. feared that the presence of a discrowned monarch
might be embarrassing on such an occasion. Illness and sorrow attended the
exiles on their new journey, and a few months after they were established in
the Chateau of Graffenburg at Goritz, Charles X. died of cholera, in his
eightieth year. At Goritz, also, on the 31st May, 1844, the Duchesse
d’Angouleme, who had sat beside so many death-beds, watched over that of
her husband. Theirs had not been a marriage of affection in youth, but they
respected each other’s virtues, and to a great extent shared each other’s
tastes; banishment and suffering had united them very closely, and of late
years they had been almost inseparable,—walking, riding, and reading
together. When the Duchesse d’Angouleme had seen her husband laid by
his father’s side in the vault of the Franciscan convent, she, accompanied by
her nephew and niece, removed to Frohsdorf, where they spent seven
tranquil years. Here she was addressed as “Queen” by her household for the
first time in her life, but she herself always recognised Henri, Comte de
Chambord, as her sovereign. The Duchess lived to see the overthrow of
Louis Philippe, the usurper of the inheritance of her family. Her last attempt
to exert herself was a characteristic one. She tried to rise from a sick-bed in
order to attend the memorial service held for her mother, Marie Antoinette,
on the 16th October, the anniversary of her execution. But her strength was
not equal to the task; on the 19th she expired, with her hand in that of the
Comte de Chambord, and on 28th October, 1851, Marie Therese Charlotte,
Duchesse d’Angouleme, was buried in the Franciscan convent.
Page 418
The Ceremony of Expiation.
“In the spring of 1814 a ceremony took place in Paris at which I was
present because there was nothing in it that could be mortifying to a French
heart. The death of Louis XVI. had long been admitted to be one of the
most serious misfortunes of the Revolution. The Emperor Napoleon never
spoke of that sovereign but in terms of the highest respect, and always
prefixed the epithet unfortunate to his name. The ceremony to which I
allude was proposed by the Emperor of Russia and the King of Prussia. It
consisted of a kind of expiation and purification of the spot on which Louis
XVI. and his Queen were beheaded. I went to see the ceremony, and I had a
place at a window in the Hotel of Madame de Remusat, next to the Hotel de
Crillon, and what was termed the Hotel de Courlande.
“The expiation took place on the 10th of April. The weather was
extremely fine and warm for the season. The Emperor of Russia and King
of Prussia, accompanied by Prince Schwartzenberg, took their station at the
entrance of the Rue Royale; the King of Prussia being on the right of the
Emperor Alexander, and Prince Schwartzenberg on his left. There was a
long parade, during which the Russian, Prussian and Austrian military
bands vied with each other in playing the air, ‘Vive Henri IV.!’ The cavalry
defiled past, and then withdrew into the Champs Elysees; but the infantry
ranged themselves round an altar which was raised in the middle of the
Place, and which was elevated on a platform having twelve or fifteen steps.
The Emperor of Russia alighted from his horse, and, followed by the King
of Prussia, the Grand Duke Constantine, Lord Cathcart, and Prince
Schwartzenberg, advanced to the altar. When the Emperor had nearly
reached the altar the “Te Deum” commenced. At the moment of the
benediction, the sovereigns and persons who accompanied them, as well as
the twenty-five thousand troops who covered the Place, all knelt down. The
Greek priest presented the cross to the Emperor Alexander, who kissed it;
his example was followed by the individuals who accompanied him, though
they were not of the Greek faith. On rising, the Grand Duke Constantine
took off his hat, and immediately salvoes of artillery were heard.”
“In the spring of 1814 a ceremony took place in Paris at which I was
present because there was nothing in it that could be mortifying to a French
heart. The death of Louis XVI. had long been admitted to be one of the
most serious misfortunes of the Revolution. The Emperor Napoleon never
spoke of that sovereign but in terms of the highest respect, and always
prefixed the epithet unfortunate to his name. The ceremony to which I
allude was proposed by the Emperor of Russia and the King of Prussia. It
consisted of a kind of expiation and purification of the spot on which Louis
XVI. and his Queen were beheaded. I went to see the ceremony, and I had a
place at a window in the Hotel of Madame de Remusat, next to the Hotel de
Crillon, and what was termed the Hotel de Courlande.
“The expiation took place on the 10th of April. The weather was
extremely fine and warm for the season. The Emperor of Russia and King
of Prussia, accompanied by Prince Schwartzenberg, took their station at the
entrance of the Rue Royale; the King of Prussia being on the right of the
Emperor Alexander, and Prince Schwartzenberg on his left. There was a
long parade, during which the Russian, Prussian and Austrian military
bands vied with each other in playing the air, ‘Vive Henri IV.!’ The cavalry
defiled past, and then withdrew into the Champs Elysees; but the infantry
ranged themselves round an altar which was raised in the middle of the
Place, and which was elevated on a platform having twelve or fifteen steps.
The Emperor of Russia alighted from his horse, and, followed by the King
of Prussia, the Grand Duke Constantine, Lord Cathcart, and Prince
Schwartzenberg, advanced to the altar. When the Emperor had nearly
reached the altar the “Te Deum” commenced. At the moment of the
benediction, the sovereigns and persons who accompanied them, as well as
the twenty-five thousand troops who covered the Place, all knelt down. The
Greek priest presented the cross to the Emperor Alexander, who kissed it;
his example was followed by the individuals who accompanied him, though
they were not of the Greek faith. On rising, the Grand Duke Constantine
took off his hat, and immediately salvoes of artillery were heard.”
Page 419
NOTE.
The following titles have the signification given below during the period
covered by this work:
MONSEIGNEUR........... The Dauphin.
MONSIEUR.............. The eldest brother of the King, Comte de
Provence, afterwards Louis XVIII.
MONSIEUR LE PRINCE.... The Prince de Conde, head of the House of
Conde.
MONSIEUR LE DUC....... The Duc de Bourbon, the eldest son of the
Prince de Condo (and the father of the Duc d’Enghien shot by Napoleon).
MONSIEUR LE GRAND..... The Grand Equerry under the ancien
regime.
MONSIEUR LE PREMIER... The First Equerry under the ancien regime.
ENFANS DE FRANCE...... The royal children.
MADAME & MESDAMES..... Sisters or daughters of the King, or
Princesses near the Throne (sometimes used also for the wife of Monsieur,
the eldest brother of the King, the Princesses Adelaide, Victoire, Sophie,
Louise, daughters of Louis XV., and aunts of Louis XVI.)
MADAME ELISABETH...... The Princesse Elisabeth, sister of Louis
XVI.
MADAME ROYALE......... The Princesse Marie Therese, daughter of
Louis XVI., afterwards Duchesse d’Angouleme.
MADEMOISELLE.......... The daughter of Monsieur, the brother of the
King.
The following titles have the signification given below during the period
covered by this work:
MONSEIGNEUR........... The Dauphin.
MONSIEUR.............. The eldest brother of the King, Comte de
Provence, afterwards Louis XVIII.
MONSIEUR LE PRINCE.... The Prince de Conde, head of the House of
Conde.
MONSIEUR LE DUC....... The Duc de Bourbon, the eldest son of the
Prince de Condo (and the father of the Duc d’Enghien shot by Napoleon).
MONSIEUR LE GRAND..... The Grand Equerry under the ancien
regime.
MONSIEUR LE PREMIER... The First Equerry under the ancien regime.
ENFANS DE FRANCE...... The royal children.
MADAME & MESDAMES..... Sisters or daughters of the King, or
Princesses near the Throne (sometimes used also for the wife of Monsieur,
the eldest brother of the King, the Princesses Adelaide, Victoire, Sophie,
Louise, daughters of Louis XV., and aunts of Louis XVI.)
MADAME ELISABETH...... The Princesse Elisabeth, sister of Louis
XVI.
MADAME ROYALE......... The Princesse Marie Therese, daughter of
Louis XVI., afterwards Duchesse d’Angouleme.
MADEMOISELLE.......... The daughter of Monsieur, the brother of the
King.
Page 420
THE ETEXT EDITOR’S BOOKMARKS:
A man born solely to contradict
Advised the King not to separate himself from his army
Ah, Madame, we have all been killed in our masters’ service!
Alas! her griefs double mine!
Allowed her candles and as much firewood as she wanted
Better to die than to implicate anybody
Brought me her daughter Hortense de Beauharnais
Carried the idea of the prerogative of rank to a high pitch
Common and blamable practice of indulgence
Condescension which renders approbation more offensive
Customs are nearly equal to laws
Difference between brilliant theories and the simplest practice
Dignified tone which alone secures the respect due to power
Displaying her acquirements with rather too much confidence
Duc d’Orleans, when called on to give his vote for death of King
Elegant entertainments were given to Doctor Franklin
Etiquette still existed at Court, dignity alone was wanting
Extreme simplicity was the Queens first and only real mistake
Fashion of wearing a black coat without being in mourning
Favourite of a queen is not, in France, a happy one
Formed rather to endure calamity with patience than to contend
Grand-Dieu, mamma! will it be yesterday over again?
Happiness does not dwell in palaces
He is afraid to command
His ruin was resolved on; they passed to the order of the day
His seraglio in the Parc-aux-Cerfs
History of the man with the iron mask
How can I have any regret when I partake your misfortunes
I hate all that savours of fanaticism
I do not like these rhapsodies
I love the conveniences of life too well
If ever I establish a republic of women....
Indulge in the pleasure of vice and assume the credit of virtue
King (gave) the fatal order to the Swiss to cease firing
La Fayette to rescue the royal family and convey them to Rouen
Leave me in peace; be assured that I can put no heir in danger
Louis Philippe, the usurper of the inheritance of her family
Mirabeau forgot that it was more easy to do harm than good
Most intriguing little Carmelite in the kingdom
My father fortunately found a library which amused him
Never shall a drop of French blood be shed by my order
No one is more dangerous than a man clothed with recent authority
No accounting for the caprices of a woman
No ears that will discover when she (The Princess) is out of tune
None but little minds dreaded little books
Observe the least pretension on account of the rank or fortune
A man born solely to contradict
Advised the King not to separate himself from his army
Ah, Madame, we have all been killed in our masters’ service!
Alas! her griefs double mine!
Allowed her candles and as much firewood as she wanted
Better to die than to implicate anybody
Brought me her daughter Hortense de Beauharnais
Carried the idea of the prerogative of rank to a high pitch
Common and blamable practice of indulgence
Condescension which renders approbation more offensive
Customs are nearly equal to laws
Difference between brilliant theories and the simplest practice
Dignified tone which alone secures the respect due to power
Displaying her acquirements with rather too much confidence
Duc d’Orleans, when called on to give his vote for death of King
Elegant entertainments were given to Doctor Franklin
Etiquette still existed at Court, dignity alone was wanting
Extreme simplicity was the Queens first and only real mistake
Fashion of wearing a black coat without being in mourning
Favourite of a queen is not, in France, a happy one
Formed rather to endure calamity with patience than to contend
Grand-Dieu, mamma! will it be yesterday over again?
Happiness does not dwell in palaces
He is afraid to command
His ruin was resolved on; they passed to the order of the day
His seraglio in the Parc-aux-Cerfs
History of the man with the iron mask
How can I have any regret when I partake your misfortunes
I hate all that savours of fanaticism
I do not like these rhapsodies
I love the conveniences of life too well
If ever I establish a republic of women....
Indulge in the pleasure of vice and assume the credit of virtue
King (gave) the fatal order to the Swiss to cease firing
La Fayette to rescue the royal family and convey them to Rouen
Leave me in peace; be assured that I can put no heir in danger
Louis Philippe, the usurper of the inheritance of her family
Mirabeau forgot that it was more easy to do harm than good
Most intriguing little Carmelite in the kingdom
My father fortunately found a library which amused him
Never shall a drop of French blood be shed by my order
No one is more dangerous than a man clothed with recent authority
No accounting for the caprices of a woman
No ears that will discover when she (The Princess) is out of tune
None but little minds dreaded little books
Observe the least pretension on account of the rank or fortune
Page 421
Of course I shall be either hissed or applauded.
On domestic management depends the preservation of their fortune
Prevent disorder from organising itself
Princes thus accustomed to be treated as divinities
Princess at 12 years was not mistress of the whole alphabet
Rabble, always ready to insult genius, virtue, and misfortune
Saw no other advantage in it than that of saving her own life
She often carried her economy to a degree of parsimony
Shocking to find so little a man in the son of the Marechal
Shun all kinds of confidence
Simplicity of the Queen’s toilet began to be strongly censured
So many crimes perpetrated under that name (liberty)
Spirit of party can degrade the character of a nation
Subjecting the vanquished to be tried by the conquerors
Taken pains only to render himself beloved by his pupil
Tastes may change
That air of truth which always carries conviction
The author (Beaumarchais) was sent to prison soon afterwards
The Jesuits were suppressed
The three ministers, more ambitious than amorous
The charge of extravagance
The emigrant party have their intrigues and schemes
The King delighted to manage the most disgraceful points
The anti-Austrian party, discontented and vindictive
There is not one real patriot among all this infamous horde
They say you live very poorly here, Moliere
Those muskets were immediately embarked and sold to the Americans
Those who did it should not pretend to wish to remedy it
To be formally mistress, a husband had to be found
True nobility, gentlemen, consists in giving proofs of it
Ventured to give such rash advice: inoculation
Was but one brilliant action that she could perform
We must have obedience, and no reasoning
Well, this is royally ill played!
What do young women stand in need of?—Mothers!
When kings become prisoners they are very near death
While the Queen was blamed, she was blindly imitated
Whispered in his mother’s ear, “Was that right?”
“Would be a pity,” she said, “to stop when so fairly on the road”
Young Prince suffered from the rickets
Your swords have rusted in their scabbards
On domestic management depends the preservation of their fortune
Prevent disorder from organising itself
Princes thus accustomed to be treated as divinities
Princess at 12 years was not mistress of the whole alphabet
Rabble, always ready to insult genius, virtue, and misfortune
Saw no other advantage in it than that of saving her own life
She often carried her economy to a degree of parsimony
Shocking to find so little a man in the son of the Marechal
Shun all kinds of confidence
Simplicity of the Queen’s toilet began to be strongly censured
So many crimes perpetrated under that name (liberty)
Spirit of party can degrade the character of a nation
Subjecting the vanquished to be tried by the conquerors
Taken pains only to render himself beloved by his pupil
Tastes may change
That air of truth which always carries conviction
The author (Beaumarchais) was sent to prison soon afterwards
The Jesuits were suppressed
The three ministers, more ambitious than amorous
The charge of extravagance
The emigrant party have their intrigues and schemes
The King delighted to manage the most disgraceful points
The anti-Austrian party, discontented and vindictive
There is not one real patriot among all this infamous horde
They say you live very poorly here, Moliere
Those muskets were immediately embarked and sold to the Americans
Those who did it should not pretend to wish to remedy it
To be formally mistress, a husband had to be found
True nobility, gentlemen, consists in giving proofs of it
Ventured to give such rash advice: inoculation
Was but one brilliant action that she could perform
We must have obedience, and no reasoning
Well, this is royally ill played!
What do young women stand in need of?—Mothers!
When kings become prisoners they are very near death
While the Queen was blamed, she was blindly imitated
Whispered in his mother’s ear, “Was that right?”
“Would be a pity,” she said, “to stop when so fairly on the road”
Young Prince suffered from the rickets
Your swords have rusted in their scabbards
Page 422
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEMOIRS OF
THE COURT OF MARIE ANTOINETTE, QUEEN OF FRANCE,
COMPLETE ***
Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will
be renamed.
Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United
States without permission and without paying copyright royalties.
Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license,
apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic
works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ concept and
trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not
be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following the terms of
the trademark license, including paying royalties for use of the Project
Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for copies of this
eBook, complying with the trademark license is very easy. You may
use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative
works, reports, performances and research. Project Gutenberg eBooks
may be modified and printed and given away—you may do practically
ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected by U.S.
copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark license,
especially commercial redistribution.
START: FULL LICENSE
THE COURT OF MARIE ANTOINETTE, QUEEN OF FRANCE,
COMPLETE ***
Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will
be renamed.
Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United
States without permission and without paying copyright royalties.
Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license,
apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic
works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ concept and
trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not
be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following the terms of
the trademark license, including paying royalties for use of the Project
Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for copies of this
eBook, complying with the trademark license is very easy. You may
use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative
works, reports, performances and research. Project Gutenberg eBooks
may be modified and printed and given away—you may do practically
ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected by U.S.
copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark license,
especially commercial redistribution.
START: FULL LICENSE
Page 423
THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG™ LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work (or
any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
Gutenberg License available with this file or online at
www.gutenberg.org/license.
Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing
Project Gutenberg electronic works
1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg electronic
work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to and accept
all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
all copies of Project Gutenberg electronic works in your possession. If
you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project Gutenberg
electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the terms of this
agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or entity to whom
you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people
who agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg electronic
works. See paragraph 1.E below.
1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the
Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work (or
any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
Gutenberg License available with this file or online at
www.gutenberg.org/license.
Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing
Project Gutenberg electronic works
1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg electronic
work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to and accept
all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
all copies of Project Gutenberg electronic works in your possession. If
you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project Gutenberg
electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the terms of this
agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or entity to whom
you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people
who agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg electronic
works. See paragraph 1.E below.
1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the
Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the
Page 424
collection of Project Gutenberg electronic works. Nearly all the
individual works in the collection are in the public domain in the
United States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in
the United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
that you will support the Project Gutenberg mission of promoting free
access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg works
in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the Project
Gutenberg name associated with the work. You can easily comply with
the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the same format
with its attached full Project Gutenberg License when you share it
without charge with others.
1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
other Project Gutenberg work. The Foundation makes no
representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
country other than the United States.
1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
access to, the full Project Gutenberg License must appear prominently
whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg work (any work on which
the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase
“Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed,
viewed, copied or distributed:
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the
United States and most other parts of the world at no
cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You
may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
individual works in the collection are in the public domain in the
United States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in
the United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
that you will support the Project Gutenberg mission of promoting free
access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg works
in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the Project
Gutenberg name associated with the work. You can easily comply with
the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the same format
with its attached full Project Gutenberg License when you share it
without charge with others.
1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
other Project Gutenberg work. The Foundation makes no
representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
country other than the United States.
1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
access to, the full Project Gutenberg License must appear prominently
whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg work (any work on which
the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase
“Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed,
viewed, copied or distributed:
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the
United States and most other parts of the world at no
cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You
may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
Page 425
the Project Gutenberg™ License included with this
eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not
located in the United States, you will have to check the
laws of the country where you are located before using
this eBook.
1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg electronic work is derived
from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not contain a
notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the copyright
holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in the United
States without paying any fees or charges. If you are redistributing or
providing access to a work with the phrase “Project Gutenberg”
associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply either with
the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or obtain
permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg
trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg License for all works posted
with the permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of
this work.
1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg.
1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg License.
1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide
eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not
located in the United States, you will have to check the
laws of the country where you are located before using
this eBook.
1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg electronic work is derived
from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not contain a
notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the copyright
holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in the United
States without paying any fees or charges. If you are redistributing or
providing access to a work with the phrase “Project Gutenberg”
associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply either with
the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or obtain
permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg
trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg License for all works posted
with the permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of
this work.
1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg.
1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg License.
1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide
Page 426
access to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg work in a format
other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official
version posted on the official Project Gutenberg website
(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of
obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain
Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the
full Project Gutenberg License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg electronic works provided
that:
• You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from the
use of Project Gutenberg works calculated using the method you
already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed to the
owner of the Project Gutenberg trademark, but he has agreed to donate
royalties under this paragraph to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid within 60 days
following each date on which you prepare (or are legally required to
prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty payments should be clearly
marked as such and sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation at the address specified in Section 4, “Information about
donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.”
• You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he does
not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ License. You
must require such a user to return or destroy all copies of the works
possessed in a physical medium and discontinue all use of and all
access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ works.
• You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official
version posted on the official Project Gutenberg website
(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of
obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain
Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the
full Project Gutenberg License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg electronic works provided
that:
• You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from the
use of Project Gutenberg works calculated using the method you
already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed to the
owner of the Project Gutenberg trademark, but he has agreed to donate
royalties under this paragraph to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid within 60 days
following each date on which you prepare (or are legally required to
prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty payments should be clearly
marked as such and sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation at the address specified in Section 4, “Information about
donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.”
• You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he does
not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ License. You
must require such a user to return or destroy all copies of the works
possessed in a physical medium and discontinue all use of and all
access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ works.
• You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
Page 427
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
receipt of the work.
• You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free distribution
of Project Gutenberg™ works.
1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg™
electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set forth
in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from the
Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of the
Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in
Section 3 below.
1.F.
1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend
considerable effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and
proofread works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the
Project Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works, and the medium on which they may be
stored, may contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete,
inaccurate or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
cannot be read by your equipment.
1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES -
Except for the “Right of Replacement or Refund” described in
paragraph 1.F.3, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation,
the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party
distributing a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work under this
agreement, disclaim all liability to you for damages, costs and
expenses, including legal fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO
REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT LIABILITY, BREACH
OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE
FOUNDATION, THE TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY
DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
receipt of the work.
• You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free distribution
of Project Gutenberg™ works.
1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg™
electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set forth
in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from the
Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of the
Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in
Section 3 below.
1.F.
1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend
considerable effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and
proofread works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the
Project Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works, and the medium on which they may be
stored, may contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete,
inaccurate or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
cannot be read by your equipment.
1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES -
Except for the “Right of Replacement or Refund” described in
paragraph 1.F.3, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation,
the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party
distributing a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work under this
agreement, disclaim all liability to you for damages, costs and
expenses, including legal fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO
REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT LIABILITY, BREACH
OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE
FOUNDATION, THE TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY
DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
Page 428
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT,
CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES
EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.
1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you
discover a defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it,
you can receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by
sending a written explanation to the person you received the work
from. If you received the work on a physical medium, you must return
the medium with your written explanation. The person or entity that
provided you with the defective work may elect to provide a
replacement copy in lieu of a refund. If you received the work
electronically, the person or entity providing it to you may choose to
give you a second opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu
of a refund. If the second copy is also defective, you may demand a
refund in writing without further opportunities to fix the problem.
1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth in
paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED,
INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF
MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. If
any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the law
of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any
provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the
Foundation, the trademark owner, any agent or employee of the
Foundation, anyone providing copies of Project Gutenberg™
electronic works in accordance with this agreement, and any
volunteers associated with the production, promotion and distribution
of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, harmless from all liability,
CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES
EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.
1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you
discover a defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it,
you can receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by
sending a written explanation to the person you received the work
from. If you received the work on a physical medium, you must return
the medium with your written explanation. The person or entity that
provided you with the defective work may elect to provide a
replacement copy in lieu of a refund. If you received the work
electronically, the person or entity providing it to you may choose to
give you a second opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu
of a refund. If the second copy is also defective, you may demand a
refund in writing without further opportunities to fix the problem.
1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth in
paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED,
INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF
MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. If
any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the law
of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any
provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the
Foundation, the trademark owner, any agent or employee of the
Foundation, anyone providing copies of Project Gutenberg™
electronic works in accordance with this agreement, and any
volunteers associated with the production, promotion and distribution
of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, harmless from all liability,
Page 429
costs and expenses, including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly
from any of the following which you do or cause to occur: (a)
distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg work, (b) alteration,
modification, or additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg work,
and (c) any Defect you cause.
Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project
Gutenberg
Project Gutenberg is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
from people in all walks of life.
Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg’s goals
and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg collection will remain freely
available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure and
permanent future for Project Gutenberg and future generations. To
learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 and
the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.
Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the state
of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal Revenue
Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification number is
64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by U.S.
federal laws and your state’s laws.
from any of the following which you do or cause to occur: (a)
distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg work, (b) alteration,
modification, or additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg work,
and (c) any Defect you cause.
Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project
Gutenberg
Project Gutenberg is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
from people in all walks of life.
Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg’s goals
and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg collection will remain freely
available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure and
permanent future for Project Gutenberg and future generations. To
learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 and
the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.
Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the state
of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal Revenue
Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification number is
64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by U.S.
federal laws and your state’s laws.
Page 430
The Foundation’s business office is located at 41 Watchung Plaza
#516, Montclair NJ 07042, USA, +1 (862) 621-9288. Email contact
links and up to date contact information can be found at the
Foundation’s website and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without
widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small
donations ($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax
exempt status with the IRS.
The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United States.
Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a considerable
effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up with these
requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations where we have
not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular
state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.
While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
#516, Montclair NJ 07042, USA, +1 (862) 621-9288. Email contact
links and up to date contact information can be found at the
Foundation’s website and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without
widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small
donations ($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax
exempt status with the IRS.
The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United States.
Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a considerable
effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up with these
requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations where we have
not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular
state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.
While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
Page 431
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.
Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg
electronic works
Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg
concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project
Gutenberg eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
edition.
Most people start at our website which has the main PG search facility:
www.gutenberg.org.
This website includes information about Project Gutenberg, including
how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.
Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg
electronic works
Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg
concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project
Gutenberg eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
edition.
Most people start at our website which has the main PG search facility:
www.gutenberg.org.
This website includes information about Project Gutenberg, including
how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.