summaryrefslogtreecommitdiff
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    <title>
      MARIE ANTOINETTE, By Campan
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    <h2>
      MEMOIRS OF MARIE ANTOINETTE, By Campan
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Memoirs Of The Court Of Marie Antoinette,
Queen Of France, Complete, by Madame Campan

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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.net


Title: Memoirs Of The Court Of Marie Antoinette, Queen Of France, Complete
       Being the Historic Memoirs of Madam Campan, First Lady in Waiting
              to the Queen

Author: Madame Campan


Release Date: October 2, 2006 [EBook #3891]
Last Updated: April 3, 2013

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEMOIRS MADAM CAMPAN ***




Produced by David Widger





</pre>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h1>
      MEMOIRS OF THE COURT OF <br /><br />MARIE ANTOINETTE, <br /><br />QUEEN OF
      FRANCE
    </h1>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      Being the Historic Memoirs of Madam Campan,<br /> First Lady in Waiting to
      the Queen.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="cover.jpg (143K)" src="images/cover.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="titlepage.jpg (58K)" src="images/titlepage.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CONTENTS
    </h2>
    <table summary="">
      <tr>
        <td>
          <h3>
            <a href="#book1">Book I.</a>
          </h3>
          <h3>
            <a href="#book2">Book II.</a>
          </h3>
        </td>
      </tr>
    </table>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <h2>
        LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
      </h2>
      <p>
        <a href="#dubarry">Duchesse du Barry</a><br /><br /> <a href="#p188">Princesse
        de Lamballe</a><br /><br /> <a href="#p204">The Parisian Bonne</a><br /><br />
        <a href="#p254">Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette</a><br /><br /> <a
        href="#p308">Beaumarchais</a><br /><br /> <a href="#p340">The Reveille</a><br /><br />
        <a href="#adelaide">Madame Adelaide as Diana</a><br /><br /> <a
        href="#pb080">The Bastille</a><br /><br /> <a href="#pb144">Opening of The
        States General</a><br /><br /> <a href="#pb242">Louis XVI.</a><br /><br />
        <a href="#pb286">Marie Antoinette on the way to the Guillotine</a><br /><br />
        <a href="#pb310">Madame Campan</a><br /><br />
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      PREFACE BY THE AUTHOR.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="pb310" id="pb310"></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="pb310.jpg (95K)" src="images/pb310.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /> Madame Campan <br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      J. L. H. C.
    </p>
    <p>
      &mdash;When Madame Campan wrote these lines, she did not anticipate that
      the death of her son would precede her own.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="p254" id="p254"></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="p254.jpg (79K)" src="images/p254.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /> <a name="book1" id="book1"></a> <br /><br />
    </p>
    <h1>
      HISTORIC COURT MEMOIRS.
    </h1>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <h1>
      MARIE ANTOINETTE.
    </h1>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      MEMOIR OF MADAME CAMPAN.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.'&mdash;'What are you saying, brother?' cried a
      lady, flying to him; 'would you get yourself arrested?'&mdash;'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 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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.&mdash;MADAME CAMPAN.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      "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
      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.'&mdash;'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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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 &mdash;&mdash;&mdash;, 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?'&mdash;'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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.'&mdash;'He will be exposed with his face bare?'&mdash;'Such is
      the custom.'&mdash;'I command you to go and see him.'&mdash;'Sire, my
      confessor was my friend; it would be very painful to me.'&mdash;'No
      matter; I command you.'&mdash;'Are you really in earnest, Sire?'&mdash;'Quite
      so.'&mdash;'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?'&mdash;'Undoubtedly, Sire.'&mdash;'Well, what did you see?'&mdash;'Faith,
      I saw that your Majesty and I are no great shakes!'
    </p>
    <p>
      "At the death of Queen Maria Leczinska, M. Campan,&mdash;[Her
      father-in-law, afterwards secretary to Marie Antoinette.]&mdash;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 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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "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'&mdash;[In a
      kind of sedan-chair, running on two wheels, and drawn by a chairman.]&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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 assumed his regal
      air, and knocking with his knife on the table twice or thrice, 'Gentlemen;
      said he, 'here is the King!'
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "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 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?'&mdash;'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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?'&mdash;'To
      the village of &mdash;&mdash;&mdash;,' answered the peasant. 'Is it for a
      man or a woman?'&mdash;'For a man.'&mdash;'What did he die of?'&mdash;'Of
      hunger,' bluntly replied the villager. The King spurred on his horse, and
      asked no more questions.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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!'
    </p>
    <p>
      "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
      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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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, 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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&mdash;'At
      length he is in my power.' The change in her Majesty's countenance was so
      obvious that the ladies present at this scene had the greatest difficulty
      to keep theirs.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "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 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&mdash;lower down,
      Madame&mdash;a little to the right&mdash;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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "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
      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.'&mdash;'Ah,
      Madame, we have all been killed in our masters' service!'&mdash;'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,&mdash;as
      soft as a good carriage.'&mdash;'Well,' said her Majesty, 'that's an
      excellent comparison for a first equerry.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "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 been living at that period we
      should not have witnessed such a deplorable day.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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:
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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, 'Marechal, give me a pinch
        of snuff; some of your best, such as you take in the morning with
        Monsieur d'Aigremont, the chairman.'"&mdash;NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.'&mdash;'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.'&mdash;'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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "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 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.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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 immense retinue in Court mourning, the enormous
      shoulder-knots, embroidered with gold and silver spangles, which decorated
      the coats of the pages and footmen,&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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:
    </p>
    <p>
      "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 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.'&mdash;'I know only two, Sire,' I answered, trembling.
      'Which are they?' English and Italian.'&mdash;'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."
    </p>
    <p>
      At the time when the French alliance was proposed by the Duc de Choiseul
      there was at Vienna a doctor named Gassner,&mdash;[Jean Joseph Gassner, a
      pretender to miraculous powers.]&mdash;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,"&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "One day I unintentionally threw this poor lady into a terrible agony. The
      Queen was receiving I know not whom,&mdash;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,&mdash;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.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      Her contempt of the vanities of etiquette became the pretext for the first
      reproaches levelled at the Queen. What misconduct might not be dreaded
      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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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."&mdash;"Yes,
        faith, madame," said the good man, "as far as regards the soup I am
        satisfied."&mdash;LAPLACE's "Collection," vol. ii., p. 350.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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?"
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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 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."
      </p>
      <p>
        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?'"]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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!]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [Madame Murat one day said to Madame Campan: "I am astonished that you
        are not more awed in our presence; you speak to us with as much
        familiarity as when we were your pupils!"&mdash;"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."]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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?"&mdash;"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."&mdash;"Napoleon one day
      interrupted Madame de Stael in the midst of a profound political argument
      to ask her whether she had nursed her children."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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,&mdash;was
      forced to say, "It is all right."
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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."]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      "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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "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 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      M. de Beaumont, chamberlain to the Empress Josephine, one day at Malmaison
      was expressing his regret that M. D&mdash;&mdash;-, 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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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."]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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'&mdash;'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.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "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 conversations with them I have always
      taught them that on domestic management depends the preservation or
      dissipation of their fortunes.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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 alone; let them alone. This may weaken the head, but it strengthens
        the heart.']"
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      After so many troubles Madame Campan sought a peaceful retreat. Paris had
      become odious to her.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.&mdash;[The
      wife of Marechal Ney was a daughter of Madame Auguie, and had been an
      intimate friend of Hortense Beauharnais.]&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br /> <br /><br />
    </p>
    <h1>
      MEMOIRS OF THE COURT OF MARIE ANTOINETTE, <br /><br />QUEEN OF FRANCE
    </h1>
    <h3>
      Being the Historic Memoirs of Madam Campan, <br /><br /> First Lady in
      Waiting to the Queen
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER I.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      I was fifteen years of age when I was appointed reader to Mesdames. I will
      begin by describing the Court at that period.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."&mdash;[In sporting usance (see SOULAIRE, p.
      316).]
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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
      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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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,&mdash;"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.]&mdash;[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.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="dubarry" id="dubarry"></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="dubarry.jpg (129K)" src="images/dubarry.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Louis XV. saw very little of his family. He came every morning by a
      private staircase into the apartment of Madame Adelaide.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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 Versailles in 1752, aged twenty-four; and finally,
        Madame the Duchess of Parma, who also died at the Court.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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',&mdash;[Debotter, meaning the time of unbooting.]&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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
      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.]
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Narbonne had, in a similar way, taken pains to make her intimate
      acquaintance pleasant to Madame Adelaide.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 to our salvation, and I wished to review all the
      historians that had interested me."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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,&mdash;to quit a palace for a cell, and rich
      garments for a stuff gown. She achieved it!
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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 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.&mdash;MADAME
        CAMPAN]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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 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.'&mdash;'Sire,' replied M. de Brissac, 'I possess all kinds
        of courage, except that which can brave shame.'"&mdash;NOTE BY THE
        EDITOR.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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 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.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER II.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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:
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        I lose by your fair daughter's birth <br /> Who prophesied a son; <br />
        But if she share her mother's worth, <br /> Why, all the world has won!
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      The chief governesses, being under no fear of inspection from Maria
      Theresa, aimed at making themselves beloved by their pupils by the 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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, 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.&mdash;[Comte de Brienne,
      later Archbishop of Sens.]
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 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?
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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.&mdash;MADAME CAMPAN.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER III.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 particulars. "Oh, no, no, madame!" replied the Dauphiness;
      "they died by the side of honest people."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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 Louveciennes; he received an annual income of 3,000 francs.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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!"&mdash;"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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.'
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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.&mdash;NOTE BY THE EDITOR]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IV.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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
        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 to humble the
        enemies of his party and to support the favourite who had assisted to
        overcome them.
      </p>
      <p>
        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."&mdash;"By what right," said Cardinal de la
        Roche-Aymon, a complaisant courtier with whom the Bishop was at daggers
        drawn, "do you instruct me?"&mdash;"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."
      </p>
      <p>
        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 about him for some years before
        because he was old and blind. He gave him absolution.
      </p>
      <p>
        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."
      </p>
      <p>
        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.&mdash;SOULAVIE,
        "Historical and Political Memoirs," vol. i.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 mangled by the Comtesse d'Artois, occasioned a
      general burst of laughter; and from that moment they dried their tears.
    </p>
    <p>
      The communication between Choisy and Paris was incessant; never was a
      Court seen in greater agitation. What influence will the royal aunts have,&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 completely to break off her connections
      with State affairs. The possession of Louveciennes and a considerable
      pension were continued to her.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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.&mdash;MADAME CAMPAN.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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, 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."
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER V.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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:
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        "Little Queen, you must not be <br /> So saucy, with your twenty years;
        <br /> Your ill-used courtiers soon will see <br /> You pass, once more,
        the barriers. <br /> Fal lal lal, fal lal la."
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 endeavoured to procure it for herself. The verses
      which appeared on this occasion were entitled "Sunrise."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was on this first journey to Marly that Boehmer, the jeweller, appeared
      at Court,&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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,&mdash;that the
      Queen would be the ruin of all the French ladies.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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 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.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 present, placed the breakfast equipage upon the bed;
      the Princesse de Lamballe frequently performed that office.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="p188" id="p188"></a>
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    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="p188.jpg (113K)" src="images/p188.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
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    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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,&mdash;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
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 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,&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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,&mdash;rightly considering herself bound to
      watch over their morals and conduct.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VI.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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. &mdash;&mdash;- 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 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King gave Marie Antoinette Petit Trianon.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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.&mdash;MADAME CAMPAN.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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,&mdash;a
      concierge and his wife, who served her as femme de chambre, women of the
      wardrobe, footmen, etc.
    </p>
    <p>
      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. 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;and a quarrel involving national prerogatives&mdash;was,
      besides, little calculated to inspire interest. Still young, uninformed,
      and deficient in natural talent, he was always making blunders.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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 the copy of your works
        which my brother forgot."&mdash;NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      It may be supposed that the Parisians were much entertained with this
      answer.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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,&mdash;of that he was incapable,&mdash;but from
      sorrow at her own situation.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      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
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 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?
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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 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.&mdash;SOULAVIE, "Historical and
        Political Memoirs of the Reign of Louis XVI.," vol. ii.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      This Prince combined with his attainments the attributes of a good
      husband, a tender father, and an indulgent master.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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.&mdash;NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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."&mdash;NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;[Afterwards Charles X.]&mdash;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 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.&mdash;[The literal meaning
      of the phrase "coup de boutoir," is a thrust from the snout of a boar.]
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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
      resolution to say, "I prefer the opinion of such a one." Herein originated
      the misfortunes of the State.&mdash;SOULAVIE'S "Historical and Political
      Memoirs Of the Reign Of LOUIS XVI.," VOL ii.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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!"&mdash;NOTE
        BY THE EDITOR.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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
      criticised.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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,&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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,&mdash;an office, the privileges of which were
      confined to the right of entering the Queen's apartment on Sunday. Madame
      de Villers 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      This trick, discovered and punished with prudence and without passion,
      produced no more sensation out of doors than that of the Inspector Goupil.
    </p>
    <p>
      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
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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
      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:
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        "Homere etait aveugle et jouait du hautbois."
      </p>
      <p>
        <br />
      </p>
      <p>
        (Homer was blind and played on the hautboy.)
      </p>
      <p>
        [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.']
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      The Queen found this sort of humour very much to her taste, and said that
      no pedant should ever be her friend.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VIII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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 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!"&mdash;NOTE
        BY THE EDITOR.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="p204" id="p204"></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="p204.jpg (64K)" src="images/p204.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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."&mdash;"And execrable words," coolly observed Marmontel, to
      whom her Majesty had not addressed a single compliment.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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 Tourzel (Paris, Plon), is the last authentic
        portrait of the unhappy Queen. See also the catalogue of portraits made
        by Lord Ronald Gower.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      When Chancellor Maupeou obtained from Louis XV. the destruction of the
      Parliament and the exile of all the ancient magistrates, the 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 "Memoirs" the Duke attaches an importance to his
      present, which proves him utterly unworthy of an honour accorded only to
      his name and rank.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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?"&mdash;"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 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."&mdash;"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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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."&mdash;"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."&mdash;"Sire,"
        answered he, "I am seventy years of age; I have served your Majesty more
        than fifty years, and I am dying for want."&mdash;"Have you a memorial?"
        replied the King. "Yes, Sire, I have."&mdash;"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 return the King made
        Versailles resound with complaints against M. d'Augivillers: "With that
        sum I could have made thirty families happy," he said.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IX.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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,&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      The table was still served by women only, when the Queen dined in private
      with the King, the royal family, or crowned heads.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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 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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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,&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 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,&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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 write of recent times they should be scrupulously exact, and not
      indulge in exaggerations or inventions.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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
        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.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;[The wife of
      Monsieur, the Comte de Provence.]&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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"&mdash;at the word soliciting
      the Queen and Princesses rose hastily and withdrew into Madame's
      apartment.&mdash;[Soulavie has most criminally perverted these two facts.&mdash;MADAME
      CAMPAN.]&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.&mdash;[A large room at Versailles lighted by a
      bull's-eye window, and used as a waiting-room.]&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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.&mdash;MADAME CAMPAN.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.&mdash;[Marie Therese Charlotte (1778-1861), Madame Royale;
      married in 1799 Louis, Duc d'Angouleme, eldest son of the Comte d'Artois.]&mdash;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 upon the furniture for a better sight of the
      Queen, who was placed opposite the fireplace.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;warm water&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Few sovereigns have given their reasons for refusing appointments with the
      fullness and point of the following letter:
    </p>
    <p>
      To a Lady.
    </p>
    <p>
      MADAM.&mdash;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, 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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,&mdash;the name of gentleman.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.&mdash;Your sincere well-wisher, JOSEPH
      LACHSENBURG, 4th August, 1787.
    </p>
    <p>
      The application of another anxious and somewhat covetous mother was
      answered with still more decision and irony:
    </p>
    <p>
      To a Lady.
    </p>
    <p>
      MADAM.&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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?
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      (From the inedited Letters of Joseph IL, published at Paris, by Persan,
      1822.)
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER X.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 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,&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the 22d of October, 1781, the Queen gave birth to a Dauphin.&mdash;[The
      first Dauphin, Louis, born 1781, died 1789.]&mdash;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!"&mdash;"The
      day will come when you will think him great enough, my dear," answered the
      Prince, almost involuntarily.&mdash;[Eldest son of the Comte d'Artois, and
      till the birth of the Dauphin with near prospects of the succession.]
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [M. Merard de Saint Just made a quatrain on the birth of the Dauphin to
        the following effect:
      </p>
      <p>
        "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&mdash;that it may be me!"
      </p>
      <p>
        &mdash;NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      The 'dames de la halle' came to congratulate the Queen, and were received
      with the suitable ceremonies.
    </p>
    <p>
      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,&mdash;wishing
      a distinction to be made between these women and the poissardes, who
      always left a disagreeable impression on her mind.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 discovered. I was not mistaken; a few days afterwards
      the Duchess was appointed governess.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 three louis, in the hope that fortune would favour the handsome
      duchesses who deigned to place them on their cards.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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."&mdash;NOTE By
        THE EDITOR.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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';&mdash;[A
      contemptuous expression, meaning literally "as a scamp" or "rascal"]&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      The personal frugality of the unfortunate Prince who sank beneath the
      weight of the national debts thus favoured the Queen's predilection for
      her Petit Trianon; and for five or six years preceding the Revolution the
      Court very seldom visited Marly.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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 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.&mdash;MONTJOIE, "History of Marie
        Antoinette."]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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.&mdash;MONTJOIE, "History of Marie
        Antoinette."]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 sold under the King's eyes,
      in the exhibition of Sevres porcelain. The legend of this medallion was:
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        "Eripuit coelo fulmen, sceptrumque tyrannis."
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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:
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
         "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."
</pre>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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
        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.&mdash;"Historical Anecdotes of the
        Reign of Louis XVI."]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        ["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."]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Can we be astonished at the part shortly afterwards taken by the deputies
      of the Third Estate, when called to the States General?
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XI.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Queen, who was much prejudiced against the King of Sweden, received
      him very coldly.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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 assassinated in 1792, at a masked
        ball, by Auckarstrum.&mdash;NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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.&mdash;see DYER'S "Modern Europe," 1st
        edition, vol. i., pp. 205-438 and 539.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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!&mdash;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 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 and attachment; and that the Comte d'Artois had hastened to
      bring her intelligence of it.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was, I think, in the summer of 1787, during one of the Trianon
      excursions, that the Queen of Naples&mdash;[Caroline, sister of Marie
      Antoinette.]&mdash;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.&mdash;[He afterwards spent several years shut up in the
      Chateau de l'Oeuf.]&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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,&mdash;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 Spain upon her sister, the Queen of Naples, and the necessity
      she was under of imploring the mediation of the King of France.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 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."
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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.&mdash;MADAME
        CAMPAN.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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,&mdash;making
      only one request of the kind, as a marriage portion for one of her
      attendants, a young woman of good family.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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,&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      The purchase of St. Cloud, a matter very simple in itself, had, on account
      of the prevailing spirit, unfavourable consequences to the Queen.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 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?"&mdash;"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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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,&mdash;the purchase
      confirming him in the intention, which he had entertained for ten years,
      of quitting Versailles.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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.&mdash;MADAME CAMPAN]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 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."
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="p308" id="p308"></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="p308.jpg (69K)" src="images/p308.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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:
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It will not be played, then?" said the Queen.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, certainly," replied Louis XVI.; "you may rely upon that."
    </p>
    <p>
      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,'&mdash;[A 'lettre de cachet' was
      any written order proceeding from the King. The term was not confined
      merely to orders for arrest.]&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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,&mdash;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
      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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        ["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?'&mdash;'Sire, I hope the piece will fail.'&mdash;'And so do
        I,' replied the King.
      </p>
      <p>
        "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.'
      </p>
      <p>
        "Answer of M. de Beaumarchais to &mdash;&mdash;-, who requested the use
        of his private box for some ladies desirous of seeing 'Figaro' without
        being themselves seen.
      </p>
      <p>
        "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 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.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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!"
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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 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."&mdash;"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."&mdash;"Go," said the Queen; "You are
        less sincere than Gil Blas; and I world have been more amenable than the
        Archbishop."&mdash;MADAME CAMPAN.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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."&mdash;"Secret Correspondence of the Court
        of Louis XVI."]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But," said Boehmer, "the answer to the letter I presented to her,&mdash;to
      whom must I apply for that?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "To nobody," answered I; "her Majesty burnt your memorial without even
      comprehending its meaning."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah! madame," exclaimed he, "that is impossible; the Queen knows that she
      has money to pay me!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Money, M. Boehmer? Your last accounts against the Queen were discharged
      long ago."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have you lost your senses?" said I. "For what can the Queen owe you so
      extravagant a sum?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "For my necklace, madame," replied Boehmer, coolly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And the Cardinal told you all this?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, madame, himself."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What a detestable plot!" cried I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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,&mdash;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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King said to him, "You have purchased diamonds of Boehmer?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, Sire."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What have you done with them?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I thought they had been delivered to the Queen."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Who commissioned you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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:
    </p>
    <p>
      "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?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Having glanced over it, the Cardinal said, "I do not remember having
      written it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But what if the original, signed by yourself, were shown to you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "If the letter be signed by myself it is genuine."
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <p>
      "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."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Cardinal then, turning pale, and leaning against the table, said,
      "Sire, I am too much confused to answer your Majesty in a way&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Compose yourself, Cardinal, and go into my cabinet; you will there find
      paper, pens, and ink,&mdash;write what you have to say to me."
    </p>
    <p>
      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
      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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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 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.&mdash;See "Memoirs of Comte de Beugnot," vol
        i., p. 74.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 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."
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [The public, with the exception of the lowest class, were admitted into
        the gallery and larger apartments of Versailles, as they were into the
        park.&mdash;MADAME CAMPAN.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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
      Baehmer told him after having seen me at my country house, was likewise an
      unfortunate document for his Eminence.
    </p>
    <p>
      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."
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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."]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [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.&mdash;NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 in
      thinking him an accomplice in this miserable and criminal scheme, but I
      have faithfully repeated his Majesty's judgment about it.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        [Further particulars will be found in the "Memoirs of the Comte de
        Beugnot" (London: Hurst &amp; 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
        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."&mdash;See "Beugnot," vol. i., p.
        60.]
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="p340" id="p340"></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="p340.jpg (69K)" src="images/p340.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
      <h2>
        CHAPTER XIV.
      </h2>
      <br /><br />
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        "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!&mdash;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."
      </p>
      <blockquote>
        <p>
          [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:
        </p>
        <p>
          "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 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.]
        </p>
      </blockquote>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        "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.'"
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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 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:
      </p>
      <blockquote>
        <p>
          "TO MARIE ANTOINETTE."
        </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">          "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."</pre>
      </blockquote>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <blockquote>
        <p>
          [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. Monsieur, afterwards Louis XVIII., presided over the first
          meeting.
        </p>
        <p>
          "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."&mdash;NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
        </p>
      </blockquote>
      <p>
        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."
      </p>
      <p>
        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 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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 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,&mdash;all these words were incessantly repeated, and seldom
        understood; but they were of fundamental importance to a party which was
        then forming.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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 a little to nourish such mistakes. Everything, in short, tended to
        render the deputies subservient to the schemes of the leaders of the
        rebellion.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <blockquote>
        <p>
          [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.'"&mdash;NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
        </p>
      </blockquote>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        NOTE: As Madame Campan has stated in the foregoing pages that the money
        to foment sedition was furnished from English sources, the decree of 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        Art. i. The National Convention denounces the British Government to
        Europe and the English nation.
      </p>
      <p>
        Art. ii. Every Frenchman that shall place his money in the English funds
        shall be declared a traitor to his country.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        Art. v. The barriers of Paris shall be instantly shut.
      </p>
      <p>
        Art. vi. All good citizens shall be required in the name of the country
        to search for the foreigners concerned in any plot denounced.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        Art. ix. The women, the children, and old men shall be conducted to the
        interior parts of the country.
      </p>
      <p>
        Art. x. The property of the rebels shall be confiscated for the benefit
        of the Republic.
      </p>
      <p>
        Art. xi. A camp shall be formed without delay between Paris and the
        Northern army.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        Art. xiii. Marie Antoinette shall be delivered over to the Revolutionary
        Tribunal, and shall be immediately conducted to the prison of the
        Conciergerie. Louise Elisabeth shall remain in the Temple till after the
        judgment of Marie Antoinette.
      </p>
      <p>
        Art. xiv. All the tombs of the Kings which are at St. Denis and in the
        departments shall be destroyed on August the 10th.
      </p>
      <p>
        Art. xv. The present decree shall be despatched by extraordinary
        couriers to all the departments.
      </p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /> <a name="book2" id="book2"></a> <br /><br />
      <h1>
        MEMOIRS OF THE COURT OF MARIE ANTOINETTE, QUEEN OF FRANCE
      </h1>
      <h3>
        Being the Historic Memoirs of Madam Campan, <br />First Lady in Waiting
        to the Queen.
      </h3>
      <br /><br /> <br /><br />
      <h1>
        BOOK 2.
      </h1>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
      <h2>
        CHAPTER I.
      </h2>
      <br /><br />
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        Soon afterwards the insurrections of the 11th, 12th, and 14th of July&mdash;[The
        Bastille was taken on the 14th July, 1789.]&mdash;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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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 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."&mdash;"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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <blockquote>
        <p>
          [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.&mdash;MADAME
          COMPAN]
        </p>
      </blockquote>
      <p>
        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
        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?"
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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; "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."
      </p>
      <p>
        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?"&mdash;"Don't be afraid," answered the soldiers; "these guns
        shall rather be levelled against the tyrant's palace than against you!"
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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 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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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 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!"
      </p>
      <p>
        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:
      </p>
      <p>
        "Cubieres, the French loved Henri IV., and what king ever better
        deserved to be beloved?"
      </p>
      <blockquote>
        <p>
          [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. 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."&mdash;NOTE
          BY THE EDITOR.]
        </p>
      </blockquote>
      <p>
        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,"&mdash;a determination full of
        humanity, but too openly avowed in such factious times!
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        M. Foulon, adjoint to the administration while M. de Broglie was
        commanding the army assembled at Versailles, had concealed himself at
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <blockquote>
        <p>
          [Cahiers, the memorials or lists of complaints, grievances, and
          requirements of the electors drawn up by the primary assemblies and
          sent with the deputies.]
        </p>
      </blockquote>
      <p>
        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.
      </p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="adelaide" id="adelaide"></a>
      <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
        <img alt="adelaide.jpg (110K)" src="images/adelaide.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
      </div>
        <p>
          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.
        </p>
        <br /><br /><br /><br />
        <h2>
          CHAPTER II.
        </h2>
        <br /><br />
        <p>
          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.
        </p>
        <p>
          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.
        </p>
        <p>
          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.
        </p>
        <p>
          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 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.
        </p>
        <p>
          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."
        </p>
        <p>
          After the fatal 10th of August, 1792,&mdash;[The day of the attack on
          the Tuileries, slaughter of the Swiss guard, and suspension of the
          King from his functions.]&mdash;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 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.
        </p>
        <p>
          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.
        </p>
        <p>
          The decrees of the 4th of August, by which all privileges were
          abolished, are well known.
        </p>
        <blockquote>
          <p>
            ["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 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'."&mdash;NOTE BY THE
            EDITOR.]
          </p>
        </blockquote>
        <p>
          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.
        </p>
        <p>
          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.
        </p>
        <p>
          The King had the Flanders regiment removed to Versailles;
          unfortunately the idea of the officers of that regiment fraternising
          with the Body Guards 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.
        </p>
        <p>
          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.
        </p>
        <p>
          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 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.
        </p>
        <p>
          I returned home, delighted with all that I had seen.
        </p>
        <p>
          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.
        </p>
        <p>
          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 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.
        </p>
        <p>
          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.
        </p>
        <p>
          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.
        </p>
        <p>
          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.
        </p>
        <p>
          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.
        </p>
        <p>
          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.
        </p>
        <blockquote>
          <p>
            [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:
          </p>
          <p>
            "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.
          </p>
          <p>
            "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."]
          </p>
        </blockquote>
        <p>
          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.
        </p>
        <p>
          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.
        </p>
        <p>
          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 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.
        </p>
        <p>
          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.
        </p>
        <p>
          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 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.
        </p>
        <p>
          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.
        </p>
        <blockquote>
          <p>
            [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.)]
          </p>
        </blockquote>
        <p>
          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
          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!"
        </p>
        <p>
          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.
        </p>
        <p>
          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,&mdash;[Madame, here, the wife of Monsieur le Comte
          de Provence.]&mdash;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.
        </p>
        <p>
          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
          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.
        </p>
        <blockquote>
          <p>
            [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,&mdash;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, 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.&mdash;"Memoirs of
            Bertrand de Molleville."]
          </p>
        </blockquote>
        <p>
          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.
        </p>
        <p>
          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.
        </p>
        <p>
          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."
        </p>
        <p>
          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.
        </p>
        <p>
          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 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!"
        </p>
        <p>
          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.
        </p>
        <p>
          Their Majesties found some consolation in their private life: from
          Madame's&mdash;[Madame, here, the Princesse Marie Therese, daughter of
          Marie Antoinette.]&mdash;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.
        </p>
        <blockquote>
          <p>
            [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 gentleman is not
            chevalier, he is the eldest of the family."&mdash;NOTE BY THE
            EDITOR.]
          </p>
        </blockquote>
        <p>
          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."
        </p>
        <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="pb144" id="pb144"></a>
        <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
          <img alt="pb144.jpg (97K)" src="images/pb144.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
        </div>
          <p>
            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?"
          </p>
          <p>
            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."
          </p>
          <p>
            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 her life as a sacrifice;&mdash;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.
          </p>
          <p>
            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.
          </p>
          <p>
            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.
          </p>
          <blockquote>
            <p>
              [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&mdash;MADAME CAMPAN.]
            </p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>
            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 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.
          </p>
          <p>
            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.
          </p>
          <p>
            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."
          </p>
          <p>
            "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.
          </p>
          <p>
            "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
            right; and because you provided for a few dependents, you are most
            unjustly reported to have disposed of all offices, civil and
            military."
          </p>
          <p>
            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.
          </p>
          <br /><br /><br /><br />
          <h2>
            CHAPTER III.
          </h2>
          <br /><br />
          <p>
            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.
          </p>
          <p>
            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.
          </p>
          <blockquote>
            <p>
              [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 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."&mdash;"Biographic
              Universelle"]
            </p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>
            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 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.
          </p>
          <p>
            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.
          </p>
          <p>
            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 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.
          </p>
          <p>
            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?"&mdash;"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."
          </p>
          <p>
            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."
          </p>
          <p>
            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 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."
          </p>
          <blockquote>
            <p>
              [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."&mdash;"Anecdotes of the Reign of Louis
              XVI."]
            </p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>
            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.
          </p>
          <p>
            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 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:
          </p>
          <p>
            "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.
          </p>
          <p>
            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,&mdash;[The
            Princes and the chief of the emigrant nobility assembled at
            Coblentz, and the name was used to designate the reactionary party.]&mdash;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.
          </p>
          <p>
            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; 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.
          </p>
          <p>
            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.
          </p>
          <p>
            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.
          </p>
          <p>
            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 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."
          </p>
          <p>
            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.
          </p>
          <p>
            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.
          </p>
          <p>
            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.
          </p>
          <p>
            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 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.
          </p>
          <p>
            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.
          </p>
          <p>
            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.
          </p>
          <br /><br /><br /><br />
          <h2>
            CHAPTER IV.
          </h2>
          <br /><br />
          <p>
            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.
          </p>
          <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="pb080" id="pb080"></a>
          <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
            <img alt="pb080.jpg (89K)" src="images/pb080.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
          </div>
            <p>
              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 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              A few days afterwards the insurrection of Nancy took place.
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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.]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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
              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,&mdash;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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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:
            </p>
            <p>
              "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 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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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. Mirabeau forgot that
              it was more easy to do harm than good, and thought himself the
              political Atlas of the whole world.
            </p>
            <p>
              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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              M. de J&mdash;&mdash;-, 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              [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.&mdash;MADAME CAMPAN.]
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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."&mdash;NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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 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.)]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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.]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <br /><br /><br /><br />
            <h2>
              CHAPTER V.
            </h2>
            <br /><br />
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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,&mdash;a
              widow living at Arras, by virtue of an unlimited leave of absence,&mdash;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 lady had
              landed property in Austrian Flanders, and could at any time quit
              Arras unobserved.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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.
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [After the return from Varennes M. Bailly put this woman's
                deposition into the Queen's hands.&mdash;MADAME CAMPAN.]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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,&mdash;[This
              unfortunate man, after having emigrated for some time, returned to
              France, and perished upon the scaffold.&mdash;NOTE BY EDITOR]&mdash;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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.&mdash;[The date of the sack of the Tuileries and
              slaughter of the Swiss Guard]&mdash;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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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. &mdash;&mdash;&mdash; 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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,&mdash;and
              sovereigns are all their lives importuned with complaints upon the
              rights of places,&mdash;she believed that my own dissatisfaction
              had much to do with the step I was taking; and she did not
              sufficiently fear the 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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!"
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              On the 28th I received a note written in a hand which I recognised
              as that of M. Diet,&mdash;[This officer was slain in the Queen's
              chamber on the 10th of August]&mdash;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!
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              The two chief women about the Dauphin, who had accompanied the
              Queen to Varennes, Diet, her usher, and Camot, her garcon de
              toilette,&mdash;the women on account of the journey, and the men
              in consequence of the denunciation of the woman belonging to the
              wardrobe,&mdash;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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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 about to
              repeat, and of which I have seen various details, of tolerable
              exactness, in papers of the time.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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 alarm.&mdash;[Varennes lies between Verdun
              and Montmedy, and not far from the French frontier.]
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              "Popularity, Madame."
            </p>
            <p>
              "And how could I use that," replied her Majesty, "of which I have
              been deprived?"
            </p>
            <p>
              "Ah! Madame, it was much more easy for you to regain it, than for
              me to acquire it."
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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.]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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?"&mdash;"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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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 words of explanation and
              kindness to the man; he instantly became one of her most devoted
              partisans.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <br /><br /><br /><br />
            <h2>
              CHAPTER VI.
            </h2>
            <br /><br />
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              "We still hold the wire by which this popular mass is moved," said
              Barnave to M. de J&mdash;&mdash;- 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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&mdash;[Minister
              of Austria]&mdash;was of the same opinion. Malouet wished the King
              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.
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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.]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              The King answered the speech addressed to him, and concluded by
              saying to the Assembly that a decree of that morning, which had
              abolished 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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!"&mdash;"Sire,"
              said he, "how important in our eyes, and how dear to our hearts&mdash;how
              sublime a feature in our history&mdash;must be the epoch of that
              regeneration which gives citizens to France, and a country to
              Frenchmen,&mdash;to you, as a king, a new title of greatness and
              glory, and, as a man, a source 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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&mdash;" 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,&mdash;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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              "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?"
            </p>
            <p>
              "I know it, Count," replied I; "but you are not ignorant that you
              lie under the imputation of having adopted revolutionary ideas."
            </p>
            <p>
              "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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              "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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              "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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.&mdash;[At this time none but the
              Jacobins had discontinued the use of hairpowder.&mdash;MADAME
              CAMPAN.]&mdash;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!
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              At this period M. M&mdash;&mdash;-, 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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."
            </p>
            <p>
              "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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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 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."
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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 danger a mere nothing may
                save life or destroy it.&mdash;MADAME CAMPAN]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.&mdash;&mdash;-
              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. "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?"
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <br /><br /><br /><br />
            <h2>
              CHAPTER VII.
            </h2>
            <br /><br />
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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,"&mdash;a newspaper of the time.
            </p>
            <p>
              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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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.
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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 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.&mdash;"Memoirs
                of Bertrand de Molleville."]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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. Thenceforward M. d'Aubier gave the King repeated
              proofs of zeal and attachment.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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.
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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.&mdash;NOTE
                BY THE EDITOR.]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              Barnave, seeing that the Queen did not follow his counsel in
              anything, and convinced that she placed all her reliance on
              assistance from abroad, 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,&mdash;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.
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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 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.&mdash;"Biographie de
                Bruxelles."]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [One of the circumstances of the 20th of June which most vexed
                the King's friends being that of his wearing the bonnet 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."&mdash;"Memoirs of Bertrand de
                Molleville."]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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 she had not. Whether she had done her any, personal
              wrong? Her answer was the same; but she added:
            </p>
            <p>
              "It is you who have caused the misery of the nation."
            </p>
            <p>
              "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."
            </p>
            <p>
              The fury began to weep, asked her pardon, and said, "It was
              because I did not know you; I see that you are good."
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              "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."
            </p>
            <p>
              "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,&mdash;it is my religion."
            </p>
            <p>
              The Queen could not appreciate this madness, and saw all that was
              to be apprehended by persons who evinced it.
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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 trial,"
              continued the Queen; "as to me, I am a foreigner; they will
              assassinate me. What will become of my poor children?"
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              The fear of another attack upon the Tuileries occasioned
              scrupulous search among the King's papers.
            </p>
            <p>
              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&mdash;&mdash;. 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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!"&mdash;"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 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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&mdash;&mdash; 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,&mdash;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."
            </p>
            <br /><br /><br /><br />
            <h2>
              CHAPTER VIII.
            </h2>
            <br /><br />
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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.&mdash;"Memoirs of Bertrand de Molleville," vol. ii., p.
                12.]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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-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&mdash;&mdash;-,
              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.&mdash;"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.
            </p>
            <p>
              "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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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 the fortunes of such
                faithful subjects as herself and her husband, but declined her
                offer.&mdash;MADAME CAMPAN.]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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."&mdash;"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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              "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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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?"]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [Petion was the Mayor of Paris, and Mandat on this day was
                commandant of the National Guard. Mandat was assassinated that
                night.&mdash;"Thiers," vol. i., p. 260.]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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&mdash;&mdash;-, an officer of the staff, of
              the plan of defence laid down by General Viomenil. M. de J&mdash;&mdash;-
              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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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."&mdash;"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."
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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, Madame de Montmorin, her relation, declaring that
                her cousin was enceinte.-MADAME CAMPAN.]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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."
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                ["The King hesitated, the Queen manifested the highest
                dissatisfaction. 'What!' said she,' are we alone; is there
                nobody who can act?'&mdash;'Yes, Madame, alone; action is
                useless&mdash;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.' . . .
              </p>
              <p>
                "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.' The Queen was
                persuaded. Her first anxiety was for the King, the second for
                her son; the King had none. 'M. Roederer&mdash;gentlemen,' said
                the Queen, 'you answer for the person of the King; you answer
                for that of my son.'&mdash;'Madame,' replied M. Roederer, 'we
                pledge ourselves to die at your side; that is all we can engage
                for.'"&mdash;MONTJOIE, "History of Marie Antoinette."]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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 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.]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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!&mdash;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."&mdash;"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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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!"
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              I borrowed clothes, and went with my sister to the Feuillans&mdash;[A
              former monastery near the Tuileries, so called from the
              Bernardines, one of the Cistercian orders; later a revolutionary
              club.]&mdash;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 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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?"&mdash;"He is here," said I;
              "he is following me. I perceive that even scenes of death do not
              banish jealousy from among you."
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [M. Thierry, who never ceased to give his sovereign proofs of
                unalterable attachment, was one of the victims of the 2d of
                September.&mdash;MADAME CAMPAN.]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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."&mdash;"Not
              at all," said another.
            </p>
            <p>
              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
              emigrant party have their intrigues and schemes; foreigners seek
              to profit by the dissensions of France; every one has a share in
              our misfortunes."
            </p>
            <p>
              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."
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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."&mdash;MADAME CAMPAN.]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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, 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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!&mdash;I!
              the mother of a Dauphin who will reign over this noble country!&mdash;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!"
            </p>
            <p>
              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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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!"&mdash;"Ah! the fine lad!" said the Queen; "what a
              happiness it would have been for us if such men had never left off
              crying, 'Vive de Roi!'"
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <br /><br /><br /><br />
            <h2>
              CHAPTER IX.
            </h2>
            <br /><br />
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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.&mdash;MADAME
                CAMPAN.]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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.
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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.&mdash;MADAME CAMPAN.]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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:
            </p>
            <p>
              "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.
            </p>
            <br /><br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /><br /><br />
            <h2>
              SUPPLEMENT TO CHAPTER IX.
            </h2>
            <br /><br />
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <br /><br />
            <h3>
              The Royal Family in the Temple.
            </h3>
            <br />
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              The Temple, formerly the headquarters of the Knights Templars in
              Paris, consisted of two buildings,&mdash;the Palace, facing the
              Rue de Temple, usually occupied by one of the Princes of the
              blood; and the Tower, standing behind the Palace.
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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 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."
                &mdash;"Journal," p. 96.]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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&mdash;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 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&mdash;[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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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."
            </p>
            <p>
              At length the immense mob that surrounded the Temple gradually
              withdrew, "to follow the head of the Princess de Lamballe to the
              Palais Royal."
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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.&mdash;DE MOLLEVILLE'S
                "Annals of the French Revolution," vol. vii., p. 398.]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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,&mdash;the Queen never.
            </p>
            <p>
              "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 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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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."]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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."
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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."]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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, 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              "What a contrast!" he exclaimed, looking at her tenderly. "You
              wanted nothing in your pretty house at Montreuil."
            </p>
            <p>
              "Ah, brother," she answered, "how can I have any regret when I
              partake your misfortunes?"
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              "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?"
            </p>
            <p>
              "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?"&mdash;[Alison's "History of
              Europe," vol. ii., p. 299.]
            </p>
            <p>
              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.'"
            </p>
            <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="pb242" id="pb242"></a>
            <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
              <img alt="pb242.jpg (47K)" src="images/pb242.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
            </div>
            <br /><br /><br /><br />
            <p>
              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 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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."
            </p>
            <br /><br /><br /><br />
            <h3>
              Trial of the King.&mdash;Parting of the Royal Family.&mdash;Execution.
            </h3>
            <br /><br />
            <p>
              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 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              "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,
              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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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.]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              "Ask aloud for what you want," said Chaumette, retreating as
              though he feared being suspected of pity.
            </p>
            <p>
              "I asked for a piece of your bread," replied the King.
            </p>
            <p>
              "Divide it with me," said Chaumette. "It is a Spartan breakfast.
              If I had a root I would give you half."&mdash;[Lamartine's
              "History of the Girondists," edit. 1870, vol. ii., p. 313.]
            </p>
            <p>
              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 business which then occupied him would not
              allow of his attending altogether to his son, and that his
              daughter could not leave her mother."
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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."]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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."
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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.]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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.&mdash;BERTRAND DE MOLLEVILLE,
                "Annals," edit. 1802, vol, viii., p. 254.]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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."
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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.'"]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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 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."
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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,&mdash;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.]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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&mdash;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.
            </p>
            <p>
              "On Christmas Day," Says Clery, "the King wrote his will."
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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."&mdash;"Royal
                Memoirs," p. 196.]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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."&mdash;LACRETELLE.]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              No sooner had the King left the hall of the Convention than a
              violent tumult arose there. Some were for opening the discussion.
              Others, 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!"&mdash;"To
              the Abbaye!"&mdash;"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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              The speech of Vergniaud produced a deep impression on all his
              hearers. Robespierre was thunderstruck by his earnest and,
              persuasive eloquence. 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&mdash;of
              facts, of laws, and of policy&mdash;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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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."
            </p>
            <p>
              On the 14th of January the Convention called for the order of the
              day, being the final judgment of Louis XVI.
            </p>
            <p>
              "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.
            </p>
            <p>
              "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&mdash;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,&mdash;all this had the
              appearance rather of a hideous dream than of a reality."
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              The President having examined the register, the result of the
              scrutiny was proclaimed as follows
            </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">

     Against an appeal to the people........... 480
     For an appeal to the people............... 283

     Majority for final judgment............... 197

</pre>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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!"
            </p>
            <p>
              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.]
            </p>
            <p>
              M. de Malesherbes, according to his promise to the King, went to
              the Temple at nine o'clock on the morning of the 17th.
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [Louis was fully prepared for his fate. During the calling of
                the votes he asked M. de Malesherbes, "Have you not met near the
                Temple the White Lady?"&mdash;"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.&mdash;ALISON.]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              "All is lost," he said to Clery. "The King is condemned." The
              King, who saw him arrive, rose to receive him.
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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.]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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.&mdash;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, 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.
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                ["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."]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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 packet, hair, and various trinkets, with
              directions to deliver these articles to them.
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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."&mdash;CLERY.]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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.
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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.&mdash;ALLISON.]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <br /><br /><br /><br />
            <h3>
              The Royal Prisoners.&mdash;Separation of the Dauphin from His
              Family. <br />&mdash;Removal of the Queen.
            </h3>
            <br /><br />
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              "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."
            </p>
            <p>
              The Council of the Commune, becoming aware of the interest which
              these sad promenades excited, and the sympathy with which they
              were 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,&mdash;[Toulan, Lepitre, Vincent, Bruno, and others.]&mdash;who
              were executed, the royal prisoners being subjected to a close
              examination.
            </p>
            <p>
              "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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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.&mdash;LAMARTINE, "History of the
                Girondists," vol. iii., p.140.]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              No woman took her place, and the Princesses themselves made their
              beds, swept their rooms, and waited upon the Queen.
            </p>
            <p>
              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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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."
            </p>
            <p>
              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,
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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.]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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."]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              The officers asked whether she had hurt herself. 'No,' she
              replied, 'nothing can hurt me now."
            </p>
            <br /><br /><br /><br />
            <h3>
              The Last Moments of Marie Antoinette.
            </h3>
            <br /><br />
            <p>
              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,"&mdash;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.
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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,&mdash;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 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.&mdash;DU BROCA.]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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&mdash;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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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.
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [Can there be a more infernal invention than that made against
                the. Queen by Hdbert,&mdash;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.&mdash;PRUDHOMME.]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              He nevertheless persisted in supporting them.
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [Hebert did not long survive her in whose sufferings he had
                taken such an infamous part. He was executed on 26th March,
                1794.]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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 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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <blockquote>
              <p>
                [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 any excuse or pretest for putting
                her to death.&mdash;WEBER'S "Memoirs of Marie Antoinette."]
              </p>
            </blockquote>
            <p>
              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.
            </p>
            <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="pb286" id="pb286"></a>
            <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
              <img alt="pb286.jpg (89K)" src="images/pb286.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
            </div>
              <p>
                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.
              </p>
              <blockquote>
                <p>
                  [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. "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."&mdash;LAMARTINE.]
                </p>
              </blockquote>
              <p>
                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.
              </p>
              <blockquote>
                <p>
                  [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.&mdash;LACRETELLE.]
                </p>
              </blockquote>
              <p>
                The infamous wretch exhibited her head to the people, as he was
                accustomed to do when he had sacrificed an illustrious victim.
              </p>
              <br /><br /><br /><br />
              <h3>
                The Last Separation.&mdash;Execution of Madame Elisabeth. <br />&mdash;Death
                of the Dauphin.
              </h3>
              <p>
                The two Princesses left in the Temple were now almost
                inconsolable; they spent days and nights in tears, whose only
                alleviation was that they 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."&mdash;[when the head of the
                Princesse de Lamballe was carried to the Temple.]
              </p>
              <p>
                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&mdash;notwithstanding the gratings!&mdash;they
                should escape from the windows."
              </p>
              <p>
                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.&mdash;[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.
              </p>
              <p>
                "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
                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."
              </p>
              <p>
                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.
              </p>
              <blockquote>
                <p>
                  [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.&mdash;ALLISON, vol. iii., p. 172.]
                </p>
              </blockquote>
              <p>
                It was the only piece of news that reached us during the whole
                winter."
              </p>
              <p>
                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.
              </p>
              <p>
                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.'&mdash;'And
                my niece?'&mdash;'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."
              </p>
              <p>
                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.
              </p>
              <p>
                "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."
              </p>
              <p>
                "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!"
              </p>
              <p>
                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."
              </p>
              <p>
                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.
              </p>
              <blockquote>
                <p>
                  [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.&mdash;D'HEZECQUES's "Recollections," pp. 72-75.]
                </p>
              </blockquote>
              <p>
                "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,
                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."
              </p>
              <p>
                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:
              </p>
              <blockquote>
                <p>
                  [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.]
                </p>
              </blockquote>
              <p>
                "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."
              </p>
              <blockquote>
                <p>
                  [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.'&mdash;'You are not ill?'&mdash;'No, monsieur,
                  but the cruellest illness is that of the heart'&mdash;' We can
                  do nothing for you. Be patient, and submit to the justice and
                  goodness of the French people: I had nothing more to say."&mdash;DUCHESSE
                  D'ANGOULEME, "Royal Memoirs," p. 273.]
                </p>
              </blockquote>
              <p>
                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.
              </p>
              <p>
                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."&mdash;[Lamartine]&mdash;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.
              </p>
              <p>
                "What does the Convention intend to do with him?" asked Simon,
                when the innocent victim was placed in his clutches. "Transport
                him?"
              </p>
              <p>
                "No."
              </p>
              <p>
                "Kill him?"
              </p>
              <p>
                "No."
              </p>
              <p>
                "Poison him?"
              </p>
              <p>
                "No."
              </p>
              <p>
                "What, then?"
              </p>
              <p>
                "Why, get rid of him."
              </p>
              <p>
                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 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.'&mdash;'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.'"&mdash;[THIERS]
              </p>
              <p>
                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,&mdash;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."
              </p>
              <blockquote>
                <p>
                  [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.]
                </p>
              </blockquote>
              <p>
                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,&mdash;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 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]
              </p>
              <p>
                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.
              </p>
              <p>
                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 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,&mdash;and the sparrows were
                always there. He delighted in their chirping, and he must have
                envied them their wings.
              </p>
              <p>
                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."
              </p>
              <p>
                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&mdash;sent for form's sake to attend the dying child,
                as an advocate is given by law to a criminal condemned
                beforehand&mdash;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."
              </p>
              <p>
                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,&mdash;his last night,&mdash;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 pillow. When Gomin went up to
                the child's room on the morning of 8th June, he said, seeing him
                calm, motionless, and mute:
              </p>
              <p>
                "I hope you are not in pain just now?"
              </p>
              <p>
                "Oh, yes, I am still in pain, but not nearly so much,&mdash;the
                music is so beautiful!"
              </p>
              <p>
                Now there was no music to be heard, either in the Tower or
                anywhere near.
              </p>
              <p>
                Gomin, astonished, said to him, "From what direction do you hear
                this music?"
              </p>
              <p>
                "From above!"
              </p>
              <p>
                "Have you heard it long?"
              </p>
              <p>
                "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.
              </p>
              <p>
                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!"
              </p>
              <p>
                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,&mdash;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,&mdash;doors which had remained closed ever since the
                Revolution had seized on a child, then full of vigour and grace
                and life and health!
              </p>
              <p>
                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 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.
              </p>
              <p>
                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.
              </p>
              <p>
                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 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.
              </p>
              <p>
                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,&mdash;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.
              </p>
              <br /><br /><br /><br />
              <h3>
                Release of Madame Royale.&mdash;Her Marriage to the Duc
                d'Angouleme. <br />&mdash;Return to France.&mdash;Death.
              </h3>
              <br /><br />
              <p>
                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,&mdash;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.
              </p>
              <p>
                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,&mdash;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
                also in attendance; and the Princess took with her a dog named
                Coco, which had belonged to Louis XVI.
              </p>
              <blockquote>
                <p>
                  [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.&mdash;D'HEZECQUES, p. 49.]
                </p>
              </blockquote>
              <p>
                She was frequently recognised on her way through France, and
                always with marks of pleasure and respect.
              </p>
              <p>
                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.
              </p>
              <p>
                Her quiet determination entailed anger and opposition amounting
                to persecution. Every effort was made to alienate her from her
                French 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."
              </p>
              <p>
                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&mdash;[which
                the Emperor wished her to claim from her uncle Louis XVIII.]&mdash;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.
              </p>
              <p>
                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 been followed by war. Accordingly, in May,
                1799, Madame Royale was allowed to leave the capital which she
                had found so uncongenial an asylum.
              </p>
              <p>
                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.
              </p>
              <blockquote>
                <p>
                  [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.&mdash;DOCTOR
                  DORAN.]
                </p>
              </blockquote>
              <p>
                With them were two men of humbler position, who must have been
                even more welcome to Madame Royale,&mdash;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,&mdash;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.
              </p>
              <blockquote>
                <p>
                  [The Queen was too ill to travel. The Duc d'Angouleme took
                  another route to join a body of French gentlemen in arms for
                  the Legitimist cause.]
                </p>
              </blockquote>
              <p>
                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."
              </p>
              <p>
                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.
              </p>
              <p>
                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 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,&mdash;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,&mdash;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.
              </p>
              <blockquote>
                <p>
                  ["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."&mdash;"Fillia Dolorosa,"
                  vol. vii., p. 131.]
                </p>
              </blockquote>
              <p>
                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 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.
              </p>
              <blockquote>
                <p>
                  [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."&mdash;See "Filia Dolorosa," vol. ii., p. 239.]
                </p>
              </blockquote>
              <p>
                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."
              </p>
              <p>
                The claims of three pretended Dauphins&mdash;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 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.&mdash;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.
              </p>
              <p>
                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.
              </p>
              <p>
                "Who commands that vessel?" she inquired.
              </p>
              <p>
                "Captain Thibault."
              </p>
              <p>
                And what are his orders?"
              </p>
              <p>
                "To fire into and sink the vessels in which we sail, should any
                attempt be made to return to France."
              </p>
              <p>
                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."
              </p>
              <p>
                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,&mdash;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.
              </p>
              <br /><br /><br /><br />
              <h3>
                The Ceremony of Expiation.
              </h3>
              <br /><br />
              <p>
                "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.
              </p>
              <p>
                "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."
              </p>
              <br /><br /><br /><br />
              <h3>
                NOTE.
              </h3>
              <br />
              <p>
                The following titles have the signification given below during
                the period covered by this work:
              </p>
              <p>
                MONSEIGNEUR........... The Dauphin.
              </p>
              <p>
                MONSIEUR.............. The eldest brother of the King, Comte de
                Provence, afterwards Louis XVIII.
              </p>
              <p>
                MONSIEUR LE PRINCE.... The Prince de Conde, head of the House of
                Conde.
              </p>
              <p>
                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).
              </p>
              <p>
                MONSIEUR LE GRAND..... The Grand Equerry under the ancien
                regime.
              </p>
              <p>
                MONSIEUR LE PREMIER... The First Equerry under the ancien
                regime.
              </p>
              <p>
                ENFANS DE FRANCE...... The royal children.
              </p>
              <p>
                MADAME &amp; 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.)
              </p>
              <p>
                MADAME ELISABETH...... The Princesse Elisabeth, sister of Louis
                XVI.
              </p>
              <p>
                MADAME ROYALE......... The Princesse Marie Therese, daughter of
                Louis XVI., afterwards Duchesse d'Angouleme.
              </p>
              <p>
                MADEMOISELLE.......... The daughter of Monsieur, the brother of
                the King.
              </p>
              <br /><br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /><br /><br />
              <h3>
                THE ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:
              </h3>
<pre xml:space="preserve">

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
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?&mdash;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

</pre>
              <br /> <br />
              <hr />
              <br /><br />
<pre xml:space="preserve">





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