In the beginning of the year 1792, a worthy priest requested a private
interview with me. He had learned the existence of a new libel by Madame
de Lamotte. He told me that the people who came from London to get it
printed in Paris only desired gain, and that they were ready to deliver
the manuscript to him for a thousand louis, if he could find any friend of
the Queen disposed to make that sacrifice for her peace; that he had
thought of me, and if her Majesty would give him the twenty-four thousand
francs, he would hand the manuscript to me.
I communicated this proposal to the Queen, who rejected it, and desired me
to answer that at the time when she had power to punish the hawkers of
these libels she deemed them so atrocious and incredible that she despised
them too much to stop them; that if she were imprudent and weak enough to
buy a single one of them, the Jacobins might possibly discover the
circumstance through their espionage; that were this libel brought up, it
would be printed nevertheless, and would be much more dangerous when they
apprised the public of the means she had used to suppress it.
Baron d'Aubier, gentleman-in-ordinary to the King, and my particular
friend, had a good memory and a clear way of communicating the substance
of the debates and decrees of the National Assembly. I went daily to the
Queen's apartments to repeat all this to the King, who used to say, on
seeing me, "Ah! here's the Postillon par Calais,"--a newspaper of the
time.
M. d'Aubier one day said to me: "The Assembly has been much occupied with
an information laid by the workmen of the Sevres manufactory. They
brought to the President's office a bundle of pamphlets which they said
were the life of Marie Antoinette. The director of the manufactory was
ordered up to the bar, and declared he had received orders to burn the
printed sheets in question in the furnaces used for baking his china."
While I was relating this business to the Queen the King coloured and held
his head down over his plate. The Queen said to him, "Do you know
anything about this, Sire?" The King made no answer. Madame Elisabeth
requested him to explain what it meant. Louis was still silent. I
withdrew hastily. A few minutes afterwards the Queen came to my room and
informed me that the King, out of regard for her, had purchased the whole
edition struck off from the manuscript which I had mentioned to her, and
that M. de Laporte had not been able to devise any more secret way of
destroying the work than that of having it burnt at Sevres, among two
hundred workmen, one hundred and eighty of whom must, in all probability,
be Jacobins! She told me she had concealed her vexation from the King;
that he was in consternation, and that she could say nothing, since his
good intentions and his affection for her had been the cause of the
mistake.
[M. de Laporte had by order of the King bought up the whole edition of the
"Memoirs" of the notorious Madame de Lamotte against the Queen. Instead
of destroying them immediately, he shut them up in one of the closets in
his house, The alarming and rapid growth of the rebellion, the arrogance
of the crowd of brigands, who in great measure composed the populace of
Paris, and the fresh excesses daily resulting from it, rendered the
intendant of the civil list apprehensive that some mob might break into
his house, carry off these "Memoirs," and spread them among the public.
In order to prevent this he gave orders to have the "Memoirs" burnt with
every necessary precaution; and the clerk who received the order entrusted
the execution of it to a man named Riston, a dangerous Intriguer, formerly
an advocate of Nancy, who had a twelve-month before escaped the gallows by
favour of the new principles and the patriotism of the new tribunals,
although convicted of forging the great seal, and fabricating decrees of
the council. This Riston, finding himself entrusted with a commission
which concerned her Majesty, and the mystery attending which bespoke
something of importance, was less anxious to execute it faithfully than to
make a parade of this mark of confidence. On the 30th of May, at ten in
the morning, he had the sheets carried to the porcelain manufactory at
Sevres, in a cart which he himself accompanied, and made a large fire of
them before all the workmen, who were expressly forbidden to approach it.
All these precautions, and the suspicions to which they gave rise, under
such critical circumstances, gave so much publicity to this affair that it
was denounced to the Assembly that very night. Brissot, and the whole
Jacobin party, with equal effrontery and vehemence, insisted that the
papers thus secretly burnt could be no other than the registers and
documents of the correspondence of the Austrian committee. M. de Laporte
was ordered to the bar, and there gave the most precise account of the
circumstances. Riston was also called up, and confirmed M. de Laporte's
deposition. But these explanations, however satisfactory, did not calm
the violent ferment raised in the Assembly by this affair.--"Memoirs of
Bertrand de Molleville."]
Some time afterwards the Assembly received a denunciation against M. de
Montmorin. The ex-minister was accused of having neglected forty
despatches from M. Genet, the charge d'affaires from France in Russia, not
having even unsealed them, because M. Genet acted on constitutional
principles. M. de Montmorin appeared at the bar to answer this
accusation. Whatever distress I might feel in obeying the order I had
received from the King to go and give him an account of the sitting, I
thought I ought not to fail in doing so. But instead of giving my brother
his family name, I merely said "your Majesty's charge d'affaires at St.
Petersburg."
The King did me the favour to say that he noticed a reserve in my account,
of which he approved. The Queen condescended to add a few obliging
remarks to those of the King. However, my office of journalist gave me in
this instance so much pain that I took an opportunity, when the King was
expressing his satisfaction to me at the manner in which I gave him this
daily account, to tell him that its merits belonged wholly to M. d'Aubier;
and I ventured to request the King to suffer that excellent man to give
him an account of the sittings himself. I assured the King that if he
would permit it, that gentleman might proceed to the Queen's apartments
through mine unseen; the King consented to the arrangement. Thenceforward
M. d'Aubier gave the King repeated proofs of zeal and attachment.
The Cure of St. Eustache ceased to be the Queen's confessor when he took
the constitutional oath. I do not remember the name of the ecclesiastic
who succeeded him; I only know that he was conducted into her apartments
with the greatest mystery. Their Majesties did not perform their Easter
devotions in public, because they could neither declare for the
constitutional clergy, nor act so as to show that they were against them.
The Queen did perform her Easter devotions in 1792; but she went to the
chapel attended only by myself. She desired me beforehand to request one
of my relations, who was her chaplain, to celebrate a mass for her at five
o'clock in the morning. It was still dark; she gave me her arm, and I
lighted her with a taper. I left her alone at the chapel door. She did
not return to her room until the dawn of day.
Dangers increased daily. The Assembly were strengthened in the eyes of
the people by the hostilities of the foreign armies and the army of the
Princes. The communication with the latter party became more active; the
Queen wrote almost every day. M. de Goguelat possessed her confidence for
all correspondence with the foreign parties, and I was obliged to have him
in my apartments; the Queen asked for him very frequently, and at times
which she could not previously appoint.
All parties were exerting themselves either to ruin or to save the King.
One day I found the Queen extremely agitated; she told me she no longer
knew where she was; that the leaders of the Jacobins offered themselves to
her through the medium of Dumouriez; or that Dumouriez, abandoning the
Jacobins, had come and offered himself to her; that she had granted him an
audience; that when alone with her, he had thrown himself at her feet, and
told her that he had drawn the 'bonnet rouge' over his head to the very
ears; but that he neither was nor could be a Jacobin; that the Revolution
had been suffered to extend even to that rabble of destroyers who,
thinking of nothing but pillage, were ripe for anything, and might furnish
the Assembly with a formidable army, ready to undermine the remains of a
throne already but too much shaken. Whilst speaking with the utmost
ardour he seized the Queen's hand and kissed it with transport,
exclaiming, "Suffer yourself to be saved!" The Queen told me that the
protestations of a traitor were not to be relied on; that the whole of his
conduct was so well known that undoubtedly the wisest course was not to
trust to it;
[The sincerity of General Dumouriez cannot be doubted in this instance.
The second volume of his Memoirs shows how unjust the mistrust and
reproaches of the Queen were. By rejecting his services, Marie Antoinette
deprived herself of her only remaining support. He who saved France in
the defiles of Argonne would perhaps have saved France before the 20th of
June, had he obtained the full confidence of Louis XVI. and the
Queen.--NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
that, moreover, the Princes particularly recommended that no confidence
should be placed in any proposition emanating from within the kingdom;
that the force without became imposing; and that it was better to rely
upon their success, and upon the protection due from Heaven to a sovereign
so virtuous as Louis XVI. and to so just a cause.
The constitutionalists, on their part, saw that there had been nothing
more than a pretence of listening to them. Barnave's last advice was as
to the means of continuing, a few weeks longer, the Constitutional Guard,
which had been denounced to the Assembly, and was to be disbanded. The
denunciation against the Constitutional Guard affected only its staff, and
the Duc de Brissac. Barnave wrote to the Queen that the staff of the
guard was already attacked; that the Assembly was about to pass a decree
to reduce it; and he entreated her to prevail on the King, the very
instant the decree should appear, to form the staff afresh of persons
whose names he sent her. Barnave said that all who were set down in it
passed for decided Jacobins, but were not so in fact; that they, as well
as himself, were in despair at seeing the monarchical government attacked;
that they had learnt to dissemble their sentiments, and that it would be
at least a fortnight before the Assembly could know them well, and
certainly before it could succeed in making them unpopular; that it would
be necessary to take advantage of that short space of time to get away
from Paris, immediately after their nomination. The Queen was of opinion
that she ought not to yield to this advice. The Duc de Brissac was sent
to Orleans, and the guard was disbanded.
Barnave, seeing that the Queen did not follow his counsel in anything, and
convinced that she placed all her reliance on assistance from abroad,
determined to quit Paris. He obtained a last audience. "Your
misfortunes, Madame," said he, "and those which I anticipate for France,
determined me to sacrifice myself to serve you. I see, however, that my
advice does not agree with the views of your Majesties. I augur but
little advantage from the plan you are induced to pursue,--you are too
remote from your succours; you will be lost before they reach you. Most
ardently do I wish I may be mistaken in so lamentable a prediction; but I
am sure to pay with my head for the interest your misfortunes have raised
in me, and the services I have sought to render you. I request, for my
sole reward, the honour of kissing your hand." The Queen, her eyes
suffused with tears, granted him that favour, and remained impressed with
a favourable idea of his sentiments. Madame Elisabeth participated in
this opinion, and the two Princesses frequently spoke of Barnave. The
Queen also received M. Duport several times, but with less mystery. Her
connection with the constitutional deputies transpired. Alexandre de
Lameth was the only one of the three who survived the vengeance of the
Jacobins.
[Barnave was arrested at Grenoble. He remained in prison in that town
fifteen months, and his friends began to hope that he would be forgotten,
when an order arrived that he should be removed to Paris. At first he was
imprisoned in the Abbaye, but transferred to the Conciergerie, and almost
immediately taken before the revolutionary tribunal. He appeared there
with wonderful firmness, summed up the services he had rendered to the
cause of liberty with his usual eloquence, and made such an impression
upon the numerous auditors that, although accustomed to behold only
conspirators worthy of death in all those who appeared before the
tribunal, they themselves considered his acquittal certain. The decree of
death was read amidst the deepest silence; but Barnave'a firmness was
immovable. When he left the court, he cast upon the judges, the jurors,
and the public looks expressive of contempt and indignation. He was led
to his fate with the respected Duport du Tertre, one of the last ministers
of Louis XVI. when he had ascended the scaffold, Barnave stamped, raised
his eyes to heaven, and said: "This, then, is the reward of all that I
have done for liberty!" He fell on the 29th of October, 1793, in the
thirty-second year of his age; his bust was placed in the Grenoble Museum.
The Consular Government placed his statue next to that of Vergniaud, on
the great staircase of the palace of the Senate.--"Biographie de
Bruxelles."]
The National Guard, which succeeded the King's Guard, having occupied the
gates of the Tuileries, all who came to see the Queen were insulted with
impunity. Menacing cries were uttered aloud even in the Tuileries; they
called for the destruction of the throne, and the murder of the sovereign;
the grossest insults were offered by the very lowest of the mob.
About this time the King fell into a despondent state, which amounted
almost to physical helplessness. He passed ten successive days without
uttering a single word, even in the bosom of his family; except, indeed,
when playing at backgammon after dinner with Madame Elisabeth. The Queen
roused him from this state, so fatal at a critical period, by throwing
herself at his feet, urging every alarming idea, and employing every
affectionate expression. She represented also what he owed to his family;
and told him that if they were doomed to fall they ought to fall
honourably, and not wait to be smothered upon the floor of their
apartment.
About the 15th of June, 1792, the King refused his sanction to the two
decrees ordaining the deportation of priests and the formation of a camp
of twenty thousand men under the walls of Paris. He himself wished to
sanction them, and said that the general insurrection only waited for a
pretence to burst forth. The Queen insisted upon the veto, and reproached
herself bitterly when this last act of the constitutional authority had
occasioned the day of the 20th of June.
A few days previously about twenty thousand men had gone to the Commune to
announce that, on the 20th, they would plant the tree of liberty at the
door of the National Assembly, and present a petition to the King
respecting the veto which he had placed upon the decree for the
deportation of the priests. This dreadful army crossed the garden of the
Tuileries, and marched under the Queen's windows; it consisted of people
who called themselves the citizens of the Faubourgs St. Antoine and St.
Marceau. Clothed in filthy rags, they bore a most terrifying appearance,
and even infected the air. People asked each other where such an army
could come from; nothing so disgusting had ever before appeared in Paris.
On the 20th of June this mob thronged about the Tuileries in still greater
numbers, armed with pikes, hatchets, and murderous instruments of all
kinds, decorated with ribbons of the national colours, Shouting, "The
nation for ever! Down with the veto!" The King was without guards. Some
of these desperadoes rushed up to his apartment; the door was about to be
forced in, when the King commanded that it should be opened. Messieurs de
Bougainville, d'Hervilly, de Parois, d'Aubier, Acloque, Gentil, and other
courageous men who were in the apartment of M. de Septeuil, the King's
first valet de chambre, instantly ran to his Majesty's apartment. M. de
Bougainville, seeing the torrent furiously advancing, cried out, "Put the
King in the recess of the window, and place benches before him." Six
royalist grenadiers of the battalion of the Filles Saint Thomas made their
way by an inner staircase, and ranged themselves before the benches. The
order given by M. de Bougainville saved the King from the blades of the
assassins, among whom was a Pole named Lazousky, who was to strike the
first blow. The King's brave defenders said, "Sire, fear nothing." The
King's reply is well known: "Put your hand upon my heart, and you will
perceive whether I am afraid." M. Vanot, commandant of battalion, warded
off a blow aimed by a wretch against the King; a grenadier of the Filles
Saint Thomas parried a sword-thrust made in the same direction. Madame
Elisabeth ran to her brother's apartments; when she reached the door she
heard loud threats of death against the Queen: they called for the head of
the Austrian. "Ah! let them think I am the Queen," she said to those
around her, "that she may have time to escape."
The Queen could not join the King; she was in the council chamber, where
she had been placed behind the great table to protect her, as much as
possible, against the approach of the barbarians. Preserving a noble and
becoming demeanour in this dreadful situation, she held the Dauphin before
her, seated upon the table. Madame was at her side; the Princesse de
Lamballe, the Princesse de Tarente, Madame de la Roche-Aymon, Madame de
Tourzel, and Madame de Mackau surrounded her. She had fixed a tricoloured
cockade, which one of the National Guard had given her, upon her head.
The poor little Dauphin was, like the King, shrouded in an enormous red
cap. The horde passed in files before the table;
[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."--"Memoirs of Bertrand de Molleville."]
the sort of standards which they carried were symbols of the most
atrocious barbarity. There was one representing a gibbet, to which a
dirty doll was suspended; the words "Marie Antoinette a la lanterne" were
written beneath it. Another was a board, to which a bullock's heart was
fastened, with "Heart of Louis XVI." written round it. And a third showed
the horn of an ox, with an obscene inscription.
One of the most furious Jacobin women who marched with these wretches
stopped to give vent to a thousand imprecations against the Queen. Her
Majesty asked whether she had ever seen her. She replied that she had
not. Whether she had done her any, personal wrong? Her answer was the
same; but she added:
"It is you who have caused the misery of the nation."
"You have been told so," answered the Queen; "you are deceived. As the
wife of the King of France, and mother of the Dauphin, I am a
French-woman; I shall never see my own country again, I can be happy or
unhappy only in France; I was happy when you loved me."
The fury began to weep, asked her pardon, and said, "It was because I did
not know you; I see that you are good."
Santerre, the monarch of the faubourgs, made his subjects file off as
quickly as he could; and it was thought at the time that he was ignorant
of the object of this insurrection, which was the murder of the royal
family. However, it was eight o'clock in the evening before the palace
was completely cleared. Twelve deputies, impelled by attachment to the
King's person, ranged themselves near him at the commencement of the
insurrection; but the deputation from the Assembly did not reach the
Tuileries until six in the evening; all the doors of the apartments were
broken. The Queen pointed out to the deputies the state of the King's
palace, and the disgraceful manner in which his asylum had been violated
under the very eyes of the Assembly; she saw that Merlin de Thionville was
so much affected as to shed tears while she spoke.
"You weep, M. Merlin," said she to him, "at seeing the King and his family
so cruelly treated by a people whom he always wished to make happy."
"True, Madame," replied Merlin; "I weep for the misfortunes of a beautiful
and feeling woman, the mother of a family; but do not mistake, not one of
my tears falls for either King or Queen; I hate kings and queens,--it is
my religion."
The Queen could not appreciate this madness, and saw all that was to be
apprehended by persons who evinced it.
All hope was gone, and nothing was thought of but succour from abroad. The
Queen appealed to her family and the King's brothers; her letters probably
became more pressing, and expressed apprehensions upon the tardiness of
relief. Her Majesty read me one to herself from the Archduchess
Christina, Gouvernante of the Low Countries: she reproached the Queen for
some of her expressions, and told her that those out of France were at
least as much alarmed as herself at the King's situation and her own; but
that the manner of attempting to assist her might either save her or
endanger her safety; and that the members of the coalition were bound to
act prudently, entrusted as they were with interests so dear to them.
The 14th of July, 1792, fixed by the constitution as the anniversary of
the independence of the nation drew near. The King and Queen were
compelled to make their appearance on the occasion; aware that the plot of
the 20th of June had their assassination for its object, they had no doubt
but that their death was determined on for the day of this national
festival. The Queen was recommended, in order to give the King's friends
time to defend him if the attack should be made, to guard him against the
first stroke of a dagger by making him wear a breastplate. I was directed
to get one made in my apartments: it was composed of fifteen folds of
Italian taffety, and formed into an under-waistcoat and a wide belt. This
breastplate was tried; it resisted all thrusts of the dagger, and several
balls were turned aside by it. When it was completed the difficulty was
to let the King try it on without running the risk of being surprised. I
wore the immense heavy waistcoat as an under-petticoat for three days
without being able to find a favourable moment. At length the King found
an opportunity one morning to pull off his coat in the Queen's chamber and
try on the breastplate.
The Queen was in bed; the King pulled me gently by the gown, and drew me
as far as he could from the Queen's bed, and said to me, in a very low
tone of voice: "It is to satisfy her that I submit to this inconvenience:
they will not assassinate me; their scheme is changed; they will put me to
death another way." The Queen heard the King whispering to me, and when
he was gone out she asked me what he had said. I hesitated to answer; she
insisted that I should, saying that nothing must be concealed from her,
and that she was resigned upon every point.
When she was informed of the King's remark she told me she had guessed it,
that he had long since observed to her that all which was going forward in
France was an imitation of the revolution in England in the time of
Charles I., and that he was incessantly reading the history of that
unfortunate monarch in order that he might act better than Charles had
done at a similar crisis. "I begin to be fearful of the King's being
brought to trial," continued the Queen; "as to me, I am a foreigner; they
will assassinate me. What will become of my poor children?"
These sad ejaculations were followed by a torrent of tears. I wished to
give her an antispasmodic; she refused it, saying that only happy women
could feel nervous; that the cruel situation to which she was reduced
rendered these remedies useless. In fact, the Queen, who during her
happier days was frequently attacked by hysterical disorders, enjoyed more
uniform health when all the faculties of her soul were called forth to
support her physical strength.
I had prepared a corset for her, for the same purpose as the King's
under-waistcoat, without her knowledge; but she would not make use of it;
all my entreaties, all my tears, were in vain. "If the factions
assassinate me," she replied, "it will be a fortunate event for me; they
will deliver me from a most painful existence." A few days after the King
had tried on his breastplate I met him on a back staircase. I drew back
to let him pass. He stopped and took my hand; I wished to kiss his; he
would not suffer it, but drew me towards him by the hand, and kissed both
my cheeks without saying a single word.
The fear of another attack upon the Tuileries occasioned scrupulous search
among the King's papers
I burnt almost all those belonging to the Queen. She put her family
letters, a great deal of correspondence which she thought it necessary to
preserve for the history of the era of the Revolution, and particularly
Barnave's letters and her answers, of which she had copies, into a
portfolio, which she entrusted to M. de J----. That gentleman was unable
to save this deposit, and it was burnt. The Queen left a few papers in
her secretaire. Among them were instructions to Madame de Tourzel,
respecting the dispositions of her children and the characters and
abilities of the sub-governesses under that lady's orders. This paper,
which the Queen drew up at the time of Madame de Tourzel's appointment,
with several letters from Maria Theresa, filled with the best advice and
instructions, was printed after the 10th of August by order of the
Assembly in the collection of papers found in the secretaires of the King
and Queen.
Her Majesty had still, without reckoning the income of the month, one
hundred and forty thousand francs in gold. She was desirous of depositing
the whole of it with me; but I advised her to retain fifteen hundred
louis, as a sum of rather considerable amount might be suddenly necessary
for her. The King had an immense quantity of papers, and unfortunately
conceived the idea of privately making, with the assistance of a locksmith
who had worked with him above ten years, a place of concealment in an
inner corridor of his apartments. The place of concealment, but for the
man's information, would have been long undiscovered? The wall in which
it was made was painted to imitate large stones, and the opening was
entirely concealed among the brown grooves which formed the shaded part of
these painted stones. But even before this locksmith had denounced what
was afterwards called the iron closet to the Assembly, the Queen was aware
that he had talked of it to some of his friends; and that this man, in
whom the King from long habit placed too much confidence, was a Jacobin.
She warned the King of it, and prevailed on him to fill a very large
portfolio with all the papers he was most interested in preserving, and
entrust it to me. She entreated him in my presence to leave nothing in
this closet; and the King, in order to quiet her, told her that he had
left nothing there. I would have taken the portfolio and carried it to my
apartment, but it was too heavy for me to lift. The King said he would
carry it himself; I went before to open the doors for him. When he placed
the portfolio in my inner closet he merely said, "The Queen will tell you
what it contains." Upon my return to the Queen I put the question to her,
deeming, from what the King had said, that it was necessary I should know.
"They are," the Queen answered me, "such documents as would be most
dangerous to the King should they go so far as to proceed to a trial
against him. But what he wishes me to tell you is, that the portfolio
contains a 'proces-verbal' of a cabinet council, in which the King gave
his opinion against the war. He had it signed by all the ministers, and,
in case of a trial, he trusts that this document will be very useful to
him." I asked the Queen to whom she thought I ought to commit the
portfolio. "To whom you please," answered she; "you alone are answerable
for it. Do not quit the palace even during your vacation months: there
may be circumstances under which it would be very desirable that we should
be able to have it instantly."
At this period M. de La Fayette, who had probably given up the idea of
establishing a republic in France similar to that of the United States,
and was desirous to support the first constitution which he had sworn to
defend, quitted his army and came to the Assembly for the purpose of
supporting by his presence and by an energetic speech a petition signed by
twenty thousand citizens against the late violation of the residence of
the King and his family. The General found the constitutional party
powerless, and saw that he himself had lost his popularity. The Assembly
disapproved of the step he had taken; the King, for whom it, was taken,
showed no satisfaction at it, and he saw himself compelled to return to
his army as quickly as he could. He thought he could rely on the National
Guard; but on the day of his arrival those officers who were in the King's
interest inquired of his Majesty whether they were to forward the views of
Gendral de La Fayette by joining him in such measures as he should pursue
during his stay at Paris. The King enjoined them not to do so. From this
answer M. de La Fayette perceived that he was abandoned by the remainder
of his party in the Paris guard.
On his arrival a plan was presented to the Queen, in which it was proposed
by a junction between La Fayette's army and the King's party to rescue the
royal family and convey them to Rouen. I did not learn the particulars of
this plan; the Queen only said to me upon the subject that M. de La
Fayette was offered to them as a resource; but that it would be better for
them to perish than to owe their safety to the man who had done them the
most mischief, or to place themselves under the necessity of treating with
him.
I passed the whole month of July without going to bed; I was fearful of
some attack by night. There was one plot against the Queen's life which
has never been made known. I was alone by her bedside at one o'clock in
the morning; we heard somebody walking softly down the corridor, which
passes along the whole line of her apartments, and which was then locked
at each end. I went out to fetch the valet de chambre; he entered the
corridor, and the Queen and myself soon heard the noise of two men
fighting. The unfortunate Princess held me locked in her arms, and said
to me, "What a situation! insults by day and assassins by night!" The
valet de chambre cried out to her from the corridor, "Madame, it is a
wretch that I know; I have him!"--"Let him go," said the Queen; "open the
door to him; he came to murder me; the Jacobins would carry him about in
triumph to-morrow." The man was a servant of the King's toilet, who had
taken the key of the corridor out of his Majesty's pocket after he was in
bed, no doubt with the intention of committing the crime suspected. The
valet de chambre, who was a very strong man, held him by the wrists, and
thrust him out at the door. The wretch did not speak a word. The valet
de chambre said, in answer to the Queen, who spoke to him gratefully of
the danger to which he had exposed himself, that he feared nothing, and
that he had always a pair of excellent pistols about him for no other
purpose than to defend her Majesty. The next day M. de Septeuil had all
the locks of the King's inner apartments changed. I did the same by those
of the Queen.
We were every moment told that the Faubourg St. Antoine was preparing to
march against the palace. At four o'clock one morning towards the latter
end of July a person came to give me information to that effect. I
instantly sent off two men, on whom I could rely, with orders to proceed
to the usual places for assembling, and to come back speedily and give me
an account of the state of the city. We knew that at least an hour must
elapse before the populace or the faubourgs assembled on the site of the
Bastille could reach the Tuileries. It seemed to me sufficient for the
Queen's safety that all about her should be awakened. I went softly into
her room; she was asleep; I did not awaken her. I found General de
W----in the great closet; he told me the meeting was, for this once,
dispersing. The General had endeavoured to please the populace by the
same means as M. de La Fayette had employed. He saluted the lowest
poissarde, and lowered his hat down to his very stirrup. But the populace,
who had been flattered for three years, required far different homage to
its power, and the poor man was unnoticed. The King had been awakened,
and so had Madame Elisabeth, who had gone to him. The Queen, yielding to
the weight of her griefs, slept till nine o'clock on that day, which was
very unusual with her. The King had already been to know whether she was
awake; I told him what I had done, and the care I had taken not to disturb
her. He thanked me, and said, "I was awake, and so was the whole palace;
she ran no risk. I am very glad to see her take a little rest. Alas! her
griefs double mine!" What was my chagrin when, upon awaking and learning
what had passed, the Queen burst into tears from regret at not having been
called, and began to upbraid me, on whose friendship she ought to have
been able to rely, for having served her so ill under such circumstances!
In vain did I reiterate that it had been only a false alarm, and that she
required to have her strength recruited. "It is not diminished," said she;
"misfortune gives us additional strength. Elisabeth was with the King,
and I was asleep,--I who am determined to perish by his side! I am his
wife; I will not suffer him to incur the smallest risk without my sharing
it."