being entirely given up to the care of a woman whose principles were
absolutely opposed to her own, is astonishing indeed; and perhaps it
is still more so that for many years she did notice the infatuation of
her husband, and the vast influence Mme. de Genlis had over him. But
her eyes had at last been opened, Mme. de Genlis declares, by a Mme.
de Chastellux, who was her enemy, and was jealous of her. However that
might be with regard to the connection between Mme. de Genlis and the
Duc d’Orléans, no enlightenment was necessary about the Bastille, the
Cordeliers Club, and other revolutionary proceedings. That was surely
quite enough; besides which the Duchess had long been awakened to the
fact that the governess about whom she had been so infatuated had
not only carried on an intrigue with and established an all-powerful
influence over her husband, but had extended that influence also over
her children to such an extent that her daughter at any rate, if not
her two elder sons, probably preferred her to their mother.
As to the Comte de Beaujolais, he was fond of her, as all her pupils
were, for she was extremely kind to them, but he hated and abhorred
the principles which his father and she had succeeded in instilling
into his brothers and sister, longed to fight for the King and Queen,
and took the first opportunity when he met the Comte de Provence in
exile to tell him so and make his submission; he had sent him messages
of explanation and loyalty directly he could. For more than a year,
then, there had been coldness and estrangement between the Duchess
and Mme. de Genlis, who, of course, as usual, posed as an injured
saint. What had she done? Why this cruel change in the affection and
confidence of years? Had she not sacrificed herself to her pupils?
Was she not the last person to alienate their affection from their
illustrious and admirable mother? Did not all the virtues of her whole
life forbid her being suspected or distrusted in any way?
She wrote pages and pages to the Duchess, who would not answer the
letters except by a few short lines, and refused to enter into the
matter at all, but declined to receive Mme. de Genlis at the Palais
Royal to dine as usual. Here is an example of what the Duchesse
d’Abrantès and others have said about Mme. de Genlis having nothing
of the dignity that she might have been expected to possess. Her
behaviour contrasts strongly with that of the Duchesse d’Orléans, who,
however foolish and credulous she may have been, showed at any rate
that she was a Princess of France. It was not for her to discuss or
dispute with Mme. de Genlis about her influence with her husband and
children; it was for her to give orders and for the governess of her
children to obey them. But these late proceedings were different and
tangible, and Mme. de Genlis herself owns in her “Mémoires,” written
long after, that the objections of the Duchess, which she then thought
so exaggerated and unjust, were right and well-founded. She declares
that she had no idea how far the Revolution would go, that she was
strongly attached to the Monarchy and to religion, which latter was
certainly true, and there is no reason to suppose she contemplated a
Republic, while the horrors that took place were odious to her.
But that she should have been and still be accused, especially with
regard to the Duke of Orléans, she had no right to complain. After
all, those who wish to play the world’s game must play by the world’s
rules. Certain ways of acting always cause certain conclusions to be
drawn, and what else was likely between a man like Philippe-Égalité
and a fascinating woman he admired, and with whom he was thrown into
constant and intimate association, but the _liaison_ every one might
expect, and which it is impossible not to believe in.
She declared that she would have resigned before had it not been
for the _calumnies_, _injustice_, and _persecution_ (_!_) carried
on against the Duc d’Orléans; she hoped his return would dispel the
clouds; she pictured the grief her pupils would feel, &c., &c.
The Duke was at his wits’ end, there were scenes and interviews and
negotiations without end, but he and Mme. de Genlis were forced to
give way.
The Duchess threatened a separation, the position was impossible;
Mme. de Genlis withdrew, at any rate for a time, intending to go
to England. But Mademoiselle d’Orléans, who was then thirteen, and
devoted to her governess, when she found she was gone, cried and
fretted till she became so ill that every one was alarmed; she was
sent for to come back again, and did so on condition that they should
go to England together as soon as it could be arranged.
She was herself most anxious to get out of France, but in spite of
her representations the journey kept being put off on various excuses
until the autumn, when one day M. de Valence, who had also a post in
the Palais Royal, told her that the Duke was going to England that
night, which he did, leaving her a note saying he would be back in a
month.
However, he stayed a year, much to the surprise of Mme. de Genlis,
in the first place that he should have kept her in ignorance of his
plans, and in the second that he should break his promise to her. His
flight had also the result of preventing their journey, for it had
irritated the mob, who were now, under their brutal and ferocious
leaders, the rulers of France, and they watched with suspicion all
the rest of the Orléans family; it would not have been safe for them
to attempt to travel. Such was the freedom already achieved by the
efforts of their father and his friends.
It was naturally impossible that Mme. de Genlis should be a
conspicuous member of the Orléans household and yet not mix herself up
with intimacies and friendships amongst the Revolutionists, especially
as some of them at that time had not shown themselves in their true
colours. She corresponded with Barèze, who wrote to her about her
books, and whose letters were full of the simple life of the peasants
and the beauties of nature in the Pyrenees, but who soon developed
into one of the monsters of the Terror. She could not be blamed for
that, as she did not know his real character; but the same cannot be
said with regard to her friendship with Pétion, whom she received
in her _salon_ and for whom she declared that up to the time of the
King’s murder she had “a true esteem.” Now Pétion was a vulgar, brutal
ruffian, as any one knows who has read the account of his behaviour
during the miserable affair of the return of the royal family from
Varennes; and yet after that she accepted his escort to England, and
said that she “remained persuaded that he had a most honest, upright
soul, and the most virtuous principles.” There are some people who
make the very names of virtue and duty obnoxious to one, and of this
number was certainly Mme. de Genlis. In spite of her outcries about
the injustice and falsehood of the suspicions and odium attached to
her concerning her conduct at this time, and causing her afterwards
considerable annoyance and difficulties, her friendships with and
praises of such characters as Philippe-Égalité, Pétion, and others,
added to the way in which she displayed her rejoicing in the earlier
excesses of the Revolutionary party, and her constant association with
the authors of the disgraceful libels and attacks upon the Queen and
royal family, amply justified whatever might be said against her.
There can be no doubt that, as always happens in these cases, a great
deal was said that was neither true nor possible. It was inevitable
that it should be so; but her way of going on, both politically and in
other ways, was decidedly suspicious.
At length the Duke of Orléans came back, and in consequence of the
persuasions of Mme. de Genlis he arranged that his daughter should
be ordered by the doctors to take the waters at Bath, and they set
off; Mademoiselle d’Orléans, Mme. de Genlis, Pamela, and Henriette de
Sercey, with their attendants, furnished with a passport permitting
them to stay in England as long as the health of Mademoiselle
d’Orléans required. They started October 11, 1791, slept at Calais,
and remained a few days in London in the house the Duc d’Orléans had
bought there; they went to Bath, where they stayed for two months.
They next made a tour about England, including Portsmouth, the Isle
of Wight, Derbyshire, Cambridge, several visits to different country
houses, and to the Ladies of Llangollen.
FOOTNOTES:
[120] It does not, however, appear why this should have been the
consequence of the marriage, for Madame Royale would not have
succeeded to the throne in any case.
[121] Her father, the Duc de Penthièvre, was the son of the Comte de
Toulouse, illegitimate son of Louis XIV. by Mme. de Montespan.
[122] Talleyrand, “Mémoires,” t. 1, p. 164.
[123] M. Ducrest, however, resigned all his appointments at the Palais
Royal when he realised the excesses into which Philippe-Égalité was
proceeding, gave up his appointment of Chancellor to the House of
Orléans, left France before the worst time had come, and went to
America.
[124] “Mémoires de Louis XVIII,” t. 4, p. 231.
CHAPTER VII
In England—Sheridan—Strange adventure—Raincy—Farewell to
Philippe-Égalité—Proscribed—Tournay—Pamela—Death of the King.
While Mme. de Genlis was safe and enjoying herself in England terrible
events were happening in France. The Duke of Orléans, already infamous
in the eyes of all decent people, was beginning to lose his popularity
with the revolutionists. “He[125] could not doubt the discredit
into which he had fallen, the flight of his son[126] exposed him
to dangerous suspicions; it was decided to get rid of him. He had
demanded that his explanations should be admitted, but he was advised
to ‘ask rather, in the interest of your own safety, for a decree of
banishment for yourself and your family.’
“I have said before, I think, that the Comte de Beaujolais did not
share the opinions of his family, and I have pleasure in quoting a
paragraph on this subject written by Marie Antoinette in a letter to
her sister the Archduchess Christine, governess of the Low Countries.
“‘The young Comte de Beaujolais, in the innocence of his soul,
has always remained a Bourbon, and this amiable boy feels a tender
sympathy for my misfortunes. The other day he sent me in secret a
person named Alexandre, a _valet de chambre_ of good education. This
worthy man, whose open expression impressed me in his favour, knelt
down when he came near me, wiped away some tears and gave me a letter
from the young prince, in which I found the most touching words and
the purest sentiments. The good Alexandre begged me to keep this a
profound secret, and told me that the Comte de Beaujolais often talked
of escaping from his father and dying in arms for the defence of his
King.
“‘How I regret that the death of this young prince deprived me of the
happiness of opening the gates of France to him and rewarding his
noble sentiments.’”[127]
The Duc de Chartres now also looked with disapproval upon his father’s
conduct. In his “Mémoire’s” Louis XVIII. quotes a letter of M. de
Boissy, who says that the only republican amongst the sons of Égalité
was the Duc de Montpensier.[128]
The latter part of the sojourn of Mme. de Genlis in England was
overshadowed by anxieties, annoyances, and fears.
Like all other nations, the English were horror-stricken at the crimes
and cruelties going on in France, and exasperated against their
perpetrators, more especially against the Duke of Orléans, who was
regarded with universal hatred and contempt.
The general indignation was extended to all who had, or were believed
to have, any complicity in the horrors committed, or any connection
with the miscreants who were guilty of them; and now Mme. de Genlis
began to feel the consequences of the line of conduct she had chosen
to adopt.
Anonymous letters filled with abuse and threats poured in upon her;
she was told the house would be set on fire in the night, she heard
her name cried in the streets, and on sending out for the newspaper
being sold, she saw a long story about herself and M. de Calonne,
giving the history of an interview they had at Paris the preceding
evening! She sent it to Sheridan, who was a friend of hers, begging
him to write to the paper saying that she did not know Calonne, and
had not been at Paris for many months, which he did.
Of course she thought all these denunciations most unjust and
astonishing. Why, she asked, should they call her a “savage fury,” and
abuse her in this way?
“I never carried on a single intrigue. I loved the Monarchy, and I
spared no efforts to soften and moderate M. le Duc d’Orléans,” not
realising that the way to escape suspicion was not to try to soften,
but to have nothing to do with him; and that if she loved the Monarchy
she had shown her affection in a very strange manner. But she was
a strange mixture of great talents and many good qualities with
frivolity, inconsistency, and shallowness. For example, when she was
told that the Monarchy (which she says she loved) had fallen, and the
Republic been declared, her first exclamation was—
“Eh! What! Then _Athalie_ will never be played any more; that
masterpiece will be lost to the French stage!”
Seeing in the French papers that a party, with sinister intentions,
were agitating for the trial of the King and Queen, Mme. de Genlis
wrote a letter of six pages to Pétion remonstrating, advising, and
quoting the ancient Romans who did not murder the Tarquins but only
banished them. The letter was published, but of course did no good,
but drew upon her the hatred of the Terrorists.
The King and Queen were doomed. Even so late as between the 20th of
June and the 10th of August, there was a last chance of escape, a plot
for their flight, each one separately. They might, or _some_ of them
might, have escaped. One cannot help fancying that the children at any
rate might have been saved; they could not have been so well known and
might so well have been disguised. This was spoilt by the Queen, who
refused to be separated from the Dauphin. After that there was no hope.
Just after the September massacres Mme. de Genlis received a letter
from the Duc d’Orléans desiring her to bring his daughter back to
France at once, to which she replied that she should do nothing of the
sort, and that it would be absurd to choose such a time for entering
France.
She heard there was a plot to carry off Mademoiselle d’Orléans, which
made her uneasy, and several other things happened which rather
alarmed her.
Early in November the Duc d’Orléans sent M. Maret with a summons to
Mme. de Genlis either to bring Mademoiselle back to France or to give
her into his care as her escort. Mme. de Genlis, not liking to desert
the young girl, though most unwilling to return to France, agreed
to accompany her, and before they left, Sheridan, who had fallen
violently in love with Pamela, proposed to her and was accepted. It
was settled that they should be married in a fortnight, when Mme. de
Genlis expected to be back in England.
It was not a marriage that promised much happiness. Sheridan was
forty-six and a confirmed spendthrift. He was a widower, and the
extraordinary likeness of Pamela to his first wife had struck him. Not
that his first marriage had been altogether successful, for his wife
had, after a time, had a _liaison_ with Lord Edward Fitzgerald.
They started at ten in the morning in two carriages, the first with
six horses, the second, which contained the servants, with four.
They had only two men, one French servant of their own, the other
hired for the occasion, as they had sent four back to Paris. Their
servant, Darnal, observed after a time that they were not going along
the Dover road, by which he had been before, and pointed this out to
Mme. de Genlis, who spoke to the postillions. They made some excuse,
assuring her that they would get back on to the road, but they did
nothing of the kind but went on at a rapid pace, saying they would
soon be at a village called Dartford, which for a time reassured Mme.
de Genlis. However, they did not arrive at Dartford, and presently two
well-dressed men passed on foot and called out in distinct French—
“_Mesdames_, you are being deceived, they are not taking you to Dover.”
It was difficult to make the postillions stop, but after a time
Darnal forced them to do so, assisted by the cries of the terrified
travellers who were then passing through a village. The strange
servant did nothing. They got out, and on asking how far they were
from Dartford they were told twenty-two miles.
Mme. de Genlis hired a man from the village to go with them, and with
his help and that of Darnal forced the postillions, who were very
insolent, to return to London.
Sheridan took the matter up, the postillions were examined, but
all they said was that a strange gentleman had taken them to a
public-house and bribed them to take the road they had followed. The
hired servant had disappeared. Not wishing to spend the time or money
necessary to bring this mysterious affair into a law court, they did
nothing more about it, and never understood why it had happened, or
what was intended, or anything concerning it.
They stayed a month with Sheridan at Isleworth, and then he saw
them off at Dover, and they landed safely in France. Immense crowds
assembled to greet Mademoiselle d’Orléans, but at Chantilly they were
met by a messenger of the Duke, who gave Mme. de Genlis a note saying—
“If you have not crossed yet, stay in England till fresh orders; if my
_courrier_ meets you on the road in France wait wherever you are and
do not come to Paris. A second _courrier_ will instruct you what to
do.”
Paying no attention to this order, Mme. de Genlis continued her
journey to Belle Chasse, where she found her husband, the Duke, and
five or six others.
An air of gloom was over them all. Mademoiselle d’Orléans was crying
bitterly. Mme. de Genlis, as she restored her to her father’s care,
in the presence of the rest, told him that she resigned her post of
governess, and should start for England the next morning.
The Duke with an air of consternation asked her to come into another
room alone with him, and there with much embarrassment told her that
his daughter, who was now fifteen, was by a new law placed in the list
of _emigrées_ for not having returned at the time appointed; that it
was her fault for not bringing her back when he first sent for her;
that he was sure to be able to make it all right by getting her placed
in a list of exceptions to be made, but that meantime she must go and
wait in some neutral country; that he implored Mme. de Genlis to take
her to Tournay; that the decree of exception would certainly be out in
a week, and then he would come himself and fetch his daughter, and she
(Mme. de Genlis) should be free.
She replied that she would go to Tournay on condition that if the
decree was not out in a fortnight, the Duke would send some one else
to take her place with his daughter, which he promised to do.
M. de Sillery (Comte de Genlis) proposed that they should go to his
box at the theatre to cheer their spirits. Among the audience was Lord
Edward Fitzgerald, who, on seeing Pamela, was struck, as Sheridan had
been, with her extraordinary likeness to Mrs. Sheridan, and like him,
fell in love with her, and got a friend to present him in their box.
The next morning they went to Raincy, where the Duke and M. de Sillery
spent the whole of the day with them. The infatuation between the Duke
and Mme. de Genlis seems to have been at an end, if we may trust her
account of that last day.
“He seemed,” she says “_distrait_, gloomy, and preoccupied, with a
strange expression which had something sinister in his face; he walked
up and down from one room to another, as if he dreaded conversation or
questions. The day was fine. I sent Mademoiselle, my niece, and Pamela
into the garden; M. de Sillery followed: I found myself alone with
M. le Duc d’Orléans. Then I said something about his situation, he
hastily interrupted me and said brusquely that he had pledged himself
to the Jacobins. I replied that after all that had happened it was a
crime and a folly; that he would be their victim.... I advised him
to emigrate with his family to America. The Duke smiled disdainfully
and answered as he had often done before, that I was well worth being
consulted and listened to when it was a question of historical or
literary matters, but that I knew nothing about politics.... The
conversation became heated, then angry, and suddenly he left me. In
the evening I had a long interview with M. de Sillery. I entreated
him with tears to leave France; it would have been easy for him to
get away and to take with him at least a hundred thousand francs.
He listened with emotion; told me he abhorred all the excesses of
the Revolution, but that I took too gloomy a view of the outlook.
Robespierre and his party were too mediocre to keep their ascendancy
long; all the talent and capacity was among the moderates, who would
soon re-establish order and morality (they were all put to death soon
afterwards); and that he considered it criminal for an honest man to
leave France at this moment, as he thereby deprived his country of
one more voice for reason and humanity. I insisted, but in vain. He
spoke of the Duke of Orléans, saying that in his opinion he was lost,
because he was placing all his hopes in the Jacobins, who delighted in
degrading him in order to destroy him more easily....”
“We started the next morning; M. le Duc gave me his arm to the
carriage; I was much agitated, Mademoiselle burst into tears, her
father was pale and trembling. When I was in the carriage he stood in
silence by the door with his eyes fixed upon me; his gloomy, sorrowful
look seeming to implore pity.
“‘_Adieu, Madame!_’ he said; and the changed tone of his voice so
increased my agitation that I could not speak. I held out my hand
which he took and pressed tightly in his; then, turning hastily to the
postillions he signed to them, and we started.”
M. de Sillery, M. Ducrest, and the Duc de Chartres went with them to
the frontier of Belgium; and they arrived safely at Tournay, where
they were followed by Lord Edward Fitzgerald, who was eager to marry
Pamela. And now, as before, he was the successful rival of Sheridan,
whom she threw over for his sake. They were married at Tournay and
departed to England, where she was received with great kindness by his
family.
Weeks passed away and still no one came from the Duc d’Orléans; Mme.
de Genlis wrote several times, and he always begged her to wait a few
days longer.
The Duc de Chartres came and joined them at Tournay, where
Mademoiselle d’Orléans was taken dangerously ill with a bilious fever.
She recovered slowly, but in January, 1793, letters from France
brought the news of the execution of Louis XVI., of the infamous
part played by Philippe-Égalité, and of the imminent danger of M. de
Sillery.
The Duc de Chartres was horror-stricken at the crime, at his father’s
share in it, and at the hypocritical letter in which he excused his
baseness, speaking of his lacerated heart, his sacrifice to liberty,
and the welfare of France, &c.
Very different was the letter of M. de Sillery. He, at any rate, if he
had been wrong and mistaken, was ready and willing to pay the penalty.
He sent a number of the printed copies of his “opinion on the King’s
trial,” desiring that some might be forwarded to England. It was as
follows:
“I do not vote for his death; first, because he does not deserve it;
secondly, because we have no right to judge him; thirdly, because
I look upon his condemnation as the greatest political fault that
could be committed.” He ended his letter by saying that he knew quite
well that he had signed his own death-warrant, and, beside himself
with horror and indignation, he actually went to the Abbaye and gave
himself up as a prisoner. It was the act of a madman, for he might
very likely have escaped, and his wife consoled herself with the idea
that as there was nothing against him he would only suffer a short
imprisonment.
Though several members had voted against the murder of the King, he
was the only one who had had the courage of his opinions. Condorcet
gave as a reason that he disapproved of all capital punishment, the
rest made different excuses.
Mme. de Valence, daughter of Mme. de Genlis came to them at Tournay,
but very soon had to hurry back to France as the Austrian army was
coming up.
Like Mme. Le Brun, Mme. de Genlis had no reason to fear poverty in
exile, her writings would always be sufficient to provide for her;
but she was just then short of money; and, unfortunately, in her
haste, though she had brought with her a good many of her valuable
possessions from Belle Chasse, she had left a great deal that she
might have taken. Mme. de Valence went to Belle Chasse and saved her
piano, some pictures, and various other things which her mother gave
to her, the rest were mostly confiscated.
It was very difficult just then to get money from France, and she had
even to advance some for Mademoiselle d’Orléans. Remembering what
had happened to La Fayette, she was very much afraid of falling into
the hands of the Austrians; on the other hand she could not go into
France without a permission, which she was silly enough to ask for,
but luckily for herself, could not get.
The Duc de Chartres wrote to his father saying that he never wished
to return to France, and wanted to get leave from the Convention to
expatriate himself, but the Duke replied that there was no sense in
it, and forbade him to write.
The Duc de Montpensier came to Tournay to see his brother and sister
and then left for Nice.
FOOTNOTES:
[125] “Mémoires de Louis XVIII.,” t. v. p. 326.
[126] The Duc de Chartres.
[127] “Mémoires de Louis XVIII.,” t. v. p. 327-8.
[128] _Ibid._, t. v. p. 287.
CHAPTER VIII
Flight and danger—Mons—Zurich—Zug—The Convent of Bremgarten—Death
of M. de Sillery—Of Égalité—Mademoiselle d’Orléans and the
Princesse de Conti.
Obliged to leave Tournay, they took refuge at a small town called
Saint Amand, but they soon found themselves forced to fly from that
also, and Mme. de Genlis, alarmed at the dangers and privations
evidently before them, began to think that Mademoiselle d’Orléans
would be safer without her, in the care of her brother.
The camp of Dumouriez lay close at hand, and he had been very good
to them; but there would probably be fighting very shortly, and it
was said that he and many of his officers had been proscribed by the
Convention. It would, she thought, be safer for Mademoiselle d’Orléans
to go and give herself up at Valenciennes, when she would most likely
only be exiled, if that; than to be taken with Mme. de Genlis, as they
would then be sent prisoners to Valenciennes and to the scaffold. And
it was a great chance if they could pass the French posts.
However, the tears of Mademoiselle d’Orléans and the entreaties of her
brother prevailed; and at the last moment she got into the carriage
leaving all her luggage behind except her watch and harp. Mme. de
Genlis, however, had got hers so could supply her, for they could not
wait to pack.
In the carriage were Mademoiselle d’Orléans, Mme. de Genlis, her
niece, and M. de Montjoye, a young officer who had escaped from
France, and was very sensibly going to live in Switzerland, where he
had relations. He spoke German very well, and it was agreed that he
should say the others were English ladies he was escorting to Ostende.
They went by lanes and cross-roads which were so bad that the carriage
broke down, and they had to wait for an hour and a half in a tavern
full of volunteers, who cast sinister glances at them, asked many
questions, but finally allowed them to go on. It was very cold, night
was approaching, the roads got worse and worse, and at last they had
to get out and walk.
After going about three miles they were suddenly arrested by a captain
of volunteers whose attention had been attracted by the lantern
carried by their guide.
Dissatisfied with their answers, he said he suspected them of being
_emigrés_ and should take them to Valenciennes. Mme. de Genlis thought
they were lost, but with admirable presence of mind, she put her arm
within his and walked briskly by his side, chaffing him in an almost
unintelligible jargon about his want of politeness, laughing, and
appearing quite fearless and indifferent.
Presently he stopped; said it was evident that she was an
Englishwoman, that he did not wish to cause them any further
inconvenience; they could continue their journey, but he advised them
to put out the lantern as it might be dangerous. He showed them a bye
way by which they could reach the Austrian outposts without meeting
any more French troops.
As she left Belgium, Mme. Genlis who, with her faults had also many
good qualities, began, she says, to reflect upon the horror of her
position.
“I saw for myself personally a future darker than it proved to be;
I felt that party spirit and the misfortune of having been attached
to the house of Orléans would expose me to all kinds of calumnies
and persecutions; I resigned myself in submission to Providence, for
I knew that I deserved it, because if I had kept my promise to my
friend, Mme. de Custine, if I had done my duty and remained with my
second mother, Mme. de Puisieux, instead of entering the Palais Royal,
or if, at the death of the Maréchale d’Etrée, I had left Belle Chasse
as my husband wished, no _emigrée_ could have been more peaceful and
happy than I in foreign countries; with the general popularity of my
books, my literary reputation, and the social talents I possessed.”
The commandant, Baron Vounianski, received them with great kindness,
and suddenly as she raised her veil, exclaimed “Ah, Princess!” At
first she feared he recognised Mademoiselle d’Orléans, but soon
found out that an extraordinary likeness to a Moravian, Princess von
Lansberg, made him suppose her to be that person, and no denial on her
part altered his conviction. He gave them a supper _à la Hongroise_
enough for twenty people, and while it was going on talked of public
affairs with violent expressions of hatred and curses against the Duke
of Orléans. Mademoiselle d’Orléans grew paler and paler, and Mme.
de Genlis was in terror lest she should faint or in any way betray
herself, but she did not.
The next morning the Baron himself brought up the tray with their
breakfast, still declaring Mme. de Genlis was the Princess, and among
the escort he gave them to Mons were two young cadets from Moravia,
who had been pages to the Princess, by whom they had been specially
recommended to the Baron. They both kissed her hand, and recognized
her as Princess von Lansberg.
Mons was full of soldiers, they could only get bad rooms in the inn,
and in the night Mademoiselle d’Orléans, who slept in Mme. de Genlis’s
room, did nothing but cough and moan. Going into the adjoining room to
tell her niece, Mme. de Genlis found her in the same state; the girls
had both got measles.
Here was a terrible position. They had no maid, the manservant was a
new one, the servants of the inn could do nothing to help as the inn
was crowded; they could not get a doctor till the evening, or a nurse
for four days. Mme. de Genlis, however, understood perfectly well how
to treat them, and nursed them till they recovered.
One day, as she was going to fetch the medicine from the doctor,
who luckily lived close by, she met upon the stairs the Prince de
Lambese. Recognising her at once, he looked at her with an indignant,
contemptuous expression, passed on without speaking and went to the
Governor, Baron von Mack, to denounce her, guessing also that the
daughter of Philippe-Égalité was with her.
The Prince de Lambese had every reason to abhor Mme. de Genlis. He
belonged to the house of Lorraine, was related to Marie Antoinette,
and devoted to her. It was he, who, in July, 1789, at the head of the
Royal Allemand Regiment, cleared the mob out of the _place Louis XV._,
and galloped with his troops into the Tuileries Gardens. He emigrated
and entered the Austrian service.
In Mme. de Genlis he recognised the woman who was supposed to have
been concerned in the infamous libels against the Queen; and who, with
the wretched Égalité and his children, was seen watching from the
Palais Royal the procession, which, headed by the disloyal La Fayette,
and surrounded by the drunken, howling ruffians, his followers,
brought the royal family prisoners to Paris.
Baron von Mack came to see them, told Mme. de Genlis they were
recognised, but was very kind, said they might stay as long as they
liked, and when the two girls were well enough to move, gave them
passports to Switzerland.
This journey they made in safety; though for a few hours they skirted
along the French outposts, saw in the distance a village on fire
across the Rhine, and heard the continual roar of the guns.
They were thankful indeed to find themselves at Schaffhausen, where
they were joined by the Duc de Chartres. It was fortunate for his
sister that she did not remain with him; he had been obliged to fly
with Dumouriez two days after she left, through firing and dangers
of all kinds; and what would have become of a girl of sixteen, in a
violent illness, with no one to look after her?
They stayed at Schaffhausen till they were rested, after seven
days’ journey, and then proceeded to Zurich, where they thought of
establishing themselves. But directly the magistrates heard the now
accursed name of Orléans, all negotiations were at an end; besides
which the place was full of _emigrés_, and they could not go out
without being insulted and annoyed.
They, therefore, removed to the little town of Zug, on the lake
of that name, professing to be an Irish family and living in the
strictest retirement. To any one who has seen the little town of Zug,
it must, even now, appear remote and retired, but in those days it had
indeed the aspect of a refuge forgotten by the world. Sheltered by the
mighty Alps, the little town clusters at the foot of the steep slope
covered with grass and trees, along the shores of the blue lake. A
hundred years ago it must have been an ideal hiding place.
They took a little house in a meadow looking down on the lake, and not
even the authorities of the place knew who they were.
Mme. de Genlis, however, found an opportunity of writing to the
Duchess of Orléans in France; the Duke was by this time arrested.
Mme. de Genlis declares that at this time the Duchess was still free,
and insinuates that she displayed indifference to her daughter in not
replying to her letters.
But Louis XVIII. in his Memoirs says:
“A first decree, dated 4 April (1793), ordered the arrest of Madame
la Duchesse d’Orléans, that woman, so virtuous, so worthy of a better
fate; then of Mme. de Montesson, of Mme. de Valence, daughter of Mme.
de Genlis, and her children. A special clause added: The _citoyens_
Égalité and Sillery cannot leave Paris without permission.”[129]
And M. Turquan,[130] in his life of Mme. de Montesson, says:
“Mme. de Montesson was arrested ... in virtue of a decree of the
Convention of 4 April, 1793, ... and on the 17th ... was taken to
the prison of La Force, from there she was transferred to the Maison
d’arrêt Dudreneux, opposite her own _hôtel_. From the windows of her
new prison she had the consolation, if it was one, of contemplating
her own garden, into which she could no longer put her foot. She had
another, less bitter, her _première femme de chambre_ would not be
separated from her, but followed her to prison, and in spite of many
obstacles rendered her many services.... This admirable, devoted woman
(Mme. Naudet) had left her children to follow her mistress to prison.”
It is therefore evident that at the time of which Mme. de Genlis is
writing, the middle of May, the Duchess of Orléans was in prison. Also
that the Marquis de Sillery, her husband, had not been detained in
the Abbaye, as from his letter she had supposed, but was only under
supervision till the 7th of April.
But with regard to dates Mme. de Genlis is exceedingly inaccurate; in
fact her statements are sometimes impossible. For instance, she says
that they left Mons the 13th of April, arriving at Schaffhausen on the
26th of May, and that their journey took seven days! Also that they
arrived at Schaffhausen on the 26th of May, and then that they left
that place for Zurich on May 6th ... and went to Zug May 14. At any
rate they appear to have been there late in May. The Duchess[131] was
then in the prison of the Luxembourg, and the Duke and his two younger
sons were imprisoned at Marseilles.
It was no wonder they got neither money nor letters from the Orléans
family, but Mme. de Genlis began to be uneasy about money matters. She
could not get any remittances either; and although her writings would
certainly ultimately support her, she could take no steps about them
while she was afraid to disclose her name.
The story of her exile is indeed a contrast to that of Mme. Le Brun,
who, with none of her advantages of rank and fortune, nothing but
her own genius, stainless character, and charming personality, was
welcomed, _fêted_, and loved in nearly every court in Europe, whose
exile was one long triumphant progress, and who found friends and a
home wherever she went.
But Mme. de Genlis discovered, when too late, that by her attempts
both to run with the hare and hunt with the hounds, she had succeeded
in making herself detested by both parties; and now she waited in
daily perplexity about money matters, and fear of the recognition
which was not long in coming.
They only went out to church and to take country walks, but after a
time some _emigrés_ arrived at Zug, who, though they did not know them
personally, had seen the Duc de Chartres at Versailles, recognised
him, and spread the news all over the place.
Mme. de Genlis had before pointed out to him this danger, but he
was very anxious to be with his sister, the only one of his nearest
relations left to him, and she did not like to press the matter. But
he soon saw that they must separate. The magistrates at Zug behaved
very well, saying that the little family gave no reason for complaint,
on the contrary were kind to the poor, harmless and popular.
But in a few days there were articles about them in the German papers;
letters from Berne to the authorities of Zug reproached them for
receiving the son and daughter of the infamous Égalité; the people of
Zug disliked the attention so generally drawn upon them, the chief
magistrate became uneasy, and as politely as he could asked them to go
away.
It was time. The day before they left a stone was thrown in at the
window just where Mademoiselle d’Orléans had been sitting; if it had
struck her it might have killed her. It struck her hat which she had
hung on the top of a chair. A shower of stones followed, breaking the
windows and arousing the Duc de Chartres and their only manservant,
who had gone to bed, and who rushed out into the garden, but only in
time to hear the hurrying foot-steps of the escaping rascals.
The next day they left Zug. M. de Chartres went to Coire, in the
Engadine, where for fifteen months he gave lessons in mathematics in
a college under an assumed name, while Mme. de Genlis and her two
charges took refuge in a convent near the little town of Bremgarten,
where they were admitted through M. de Montesquieu, another of the
radical nobles obliged to flee from the tender mercies of his radical
friends, of whom they had heard through M. de Montjoye, now living
with his relations in Bâle, when he had paid them a visit.
In the convent they were safe and at peace, except for another illness
of Mademoiselle d’Orléans, which left her so weak that Mme. de Genlis
was afraid to tell her of the execution of her father in the November
of 1794. She persuaded her not to read the French papers, telling her
they were full of blasphemies and indecencies not fit for her to see.
She had already received news of the execution of her husband, M. de
Sillery, by which she was prostrated for a time.
Philippe-Égalité had wearied Robespierre with his petitions to be
released, and that worthy remarked to Fouquier-Tinville—
“It seems that Égalité is tired of the fish of Marseilles that Milon
appreciated so much. He wants to come to Paris.”
“Why prevent his coming back? his affair will be settled all the
sooner,” was the answer.[132]
It was said that a locksmith, who was executed on the same day, would
not get into the same cart with him, fearing that he “might be thought
the accomplice of such a man.”
Mme. de Genlis put Mademoiselle d’Orléans into mourning, telling her
that it was for the Queen, which she must of course wear, and it was
some time before she discovered the truth.
She had written to ask a refuge of her uncle, the Duke of Modena,
who sent her some money, but said political reasons prevented his
receiving her in his duchy. The poor child, naturally merry and
high-spirited, had grown quiet and sad, though she bore without
complaining the hardships of her lot.
At last they heard that the Princesse de Conti was living near
Fribourg, and it was arranged that she should take charge of her
niece. She wrote an affectionate letter, and sent the Comtesse de
Saint-Maurice-de-Pont to Bremgarten to fetch her.
Mme. de Genlis, dreading the parting, shut herself up in her room on
the morning of her departure, leaving a message that she had gone out
for the day to avoid that grief. She had not told her the night before
that the time had come for their separation.
It was a great sorrow to them both, but was inevitable. Mademoiselle
d’Orléans was rightly placed in the care of her own family, and the
wandering, adventurous life led from this time by Mme. de Genlis was
not desirable for the young princess.
[Illustration:
_E. H. Bearne_
CHILLON]
FOOTNOTES:
[129] “Mémoires de Louis XVIII.,” t. v. p. 326.
[130] “Madame de Montesson,” p. 277 (Joseph Turquan).
[131] After the fall of Robespierre and the Convention, the Duchess
was released by the Directory and exiled to Spain.
[132] “Mémoires de Louis XVIII.,” t. v. p. 329.
CHAPTER IX
A wandering life—“The tyrant is no more”—Marriage of
Henriette—Hamburg—Berlin—Antwerp—Brussels—Returns to
France—Terrible changes—Shattered fortune—Literary success—The
Empire—Napoleon—Mme. de Genlis and her friends—Death of Mme. de
Montesson.
It will not be possible in a biography so short as this, to give a
detailed account of the wandering, adventurous life led by Mme. de
Genlis after the severance of her connection with the Orléans family.
She had now only her niece, Henriette, with her, and they set
out again upon their travels. M. de Valence, after serving the
revolutionists, had been proscribed by them, and was living in exile
at Utrecht. There, accordingly, they joined him, and set up a joint
_ménage_, first there, afterwards at Altona and at Hamburg.
It was whilst Mme. de Genlis was in Altona that she heard of the
fall of Robespierre and the deliverance of her daughter. She was
then living in a boarding-house, or inn, kept by a certain Mme.
Plock, where she spent a good deal of time; and about one o’clock one
morning she was sitting up in her room, writing, when she suddenly
heard a violent knocking at her door, and the voice of M. de Kercy,
a peaceable friendly acquaintance of hers, whose room was close by,
called out—
“Open the door! Open the door! I must embrace you.”
Thinking he must have lost his senses she did nothing of the sort, and
again he cried out—
“It is you who will embrace me! Open the door! Open the door!”
At length she did so, and M. de Kercy, flinging himself upon her neck,
exclaimed—
“The tyrant is no more! Robespierre is dead!”
Mme. de Genlis some time afterwards married her niece, Henriette de
Sercey, to a rich merchant in Hamburg, after which she went to Berlin,
but where she was denounced to the King, accused, without truth, of
receiving the Abbé de Sieyès, then in Berlin, and ordered to leave the
Prussian territory.
Then she went back to Hamburg, where she found her niece happy and
prosperous, and where Lady Edward Fitzgerald, who was always devoted
to her, came to pay her a visit, greatly to her delight.
Next she went to Holstein with M. de Valence who left her in an old
castle, with the owners of which she formed an intimate friendship,
and after staying there some weeks she took rooms in a farm in the
neighbourhood where she lived for a considerable time; she had with
her then as companion a young girl called Jenny, to whom she was much
attached, and who nursed her devotedly through an illness.
Thus she wandered from place to place during the rest of her nine
years of exile, generally under an assumed name; going now and then
to Berlin, after the King’s death, and to Hamburg, which was full of
_emigrés_, but where she met M. de Talleyrand and others of her own
friends. Shunned and denounced by many, welcomed by others, she made
many friends of different grades, from the brother and sister-in-law
of the King of Denmark to worthy Mme. Plock, where she lodged in
Altona, and the good farmer in Holstein, in whose farmhouse she lived.
The storms and troubles of her life did not subdue her spirits; she
was always ready for a new friendship, enjoying society, but able to
do without it; taking an interest in everything, walking about the
country in all weathers, playing the harp, reading, teaching a little
boy she had adopted and called Casimir, and writing books by which she
easily supported herself and increased her literary reputation.
It was in the year 1801 that she received permission to return to
France.
Taking leave of her friends, who implored her not to leave them, she
started for Brussels, accompanied by her niece Henriette and Pamela,
who went part of the way with her. At Antwerp she met her son-in-law,
M. de Lawoestine, who had been to visit her when she was living in
Holstein. With her two sons-in-law she was always on the most friendly
and affectionate terms.
At Brussels she found her nephew, César Ducrest, and, after nine
years’ separation, was reunited to her daughter, who accompanied her
to Paris.
Mme. de Valence, whatever may have been the follies of her youth,
was a woman generally beloved for her kind, affectionate, generous
disposition, she was devoted to her mother and children, and Mme. de
Genlis in her joy at seeing her and France again, to say nothing of
the other relations and friends whose affection made so large a part
of her happiness, was consoled for the sorrows of her past life.
But her first impressions were very painful, notwithstanding her
emotion when first she heard the people around her speaking French,
saw the towers of Notre Dame, passed the _barrière_, and found herself
again driving through the streets of Paris.
It was all so terribly changed, she could hardly believe that this
was indeed the Paris of her youth, the ancient capital of a great
monarchy, the centre of magnificence, elegance, and refinement. The
churches were mostly closed, if not in ruins; the statues of the
saints were replaced by those of infidel philosophers; the names of
the streets were changed into others, often commemorating some odious
individual or theory or deed of the Revolution; as to the convents
the very names of “Jacobin,” “Cordeliers,” and others were associated
with horror and bloodshed. The words _palais_ and _hôtel_ having
been forbidden by the Terrorists, _maison ci-devant Conti_, _maison
ci-devant Bourbon_, &c., were written upon the once splendid dwellings
of those who were now murdered, wandering in exile or, like herself,
just returning to their ruined homes, with shattered fortunes and
sorrowful hearts. Everywhere, on walls and buildings were inscribed
the mocking words _liberté_, _égalité_, _fraternité_, sometimes with
the significant addition, _ou la mort_.
On the other hand things were much better than when, nine years
ago she had driven out of Paris to Raincy on the eve of her long
exile. The powerful arm of Napoleon had swept away the most horrible
government that has ever existed in civilised times or countries;
people now could walk about in safety, and live without fear.
If religious processions, and splendid carriages with six or eight
horses preceded by _piqueurs_, were no longer to be seen in the
streets, neither were mobs of drunken, howling, bloodthirsty ruffians,
who would have been made short work of by the great First Consul who
so firmly held the reins which had dropped from the feeble hands of
Louis XVI.
Unscrupulous, heartless, remorseless, yet he was a saint and angel
compared to the frantic, raving, blood-stained miscreants whom he had
displaced, and whose work he was now occupied in undoing as fast as he
could.
It required time and caution, even with him, in the disturbed state
of the country; but already some of the churches were beginning to
open; Madame Buonaparte held something extremely like a court at the
Tuileries, at which any of the returning _emigrés_ who would go there
were welcomed. And they were now returning in crowds, as fast as they
could get themselves _rayés_.[133]
Mlle. Georgette Ducrest, a cousin of Mme. de Genlis, had emigrated
with her family, who were protected by Mme. de Montesson and
Joséphine, and now applied for _radiation_.
M. Ducrest accordingly went with the usual request to Fouché, then
minister of police, who replied—
“Will you give me your certificate of residence? all the emigrants
have them and prove to me every day that they have never left France.”
“I cannot do that, _citoyen ministre_, I have no papers to show you
except an old passport under another name, which I bought for twelve
francs at Hamburg. I have been away from France eleven years.”
“What! You have no means of proving to me that you have been unjustly
placed on the list?”
“_Mordieu!_ no.”
“Well in that case I will have you _rayé_ immediately for I am
persuaded you have never left your country. All those who emigrated
have given me so many proofs to the contrary that I am sure you are
imposing upon me in an opposite sense, and that you never left Paris.
You will receive your _radiation_ in two days.”
Even the proscribed arms and liveries were beginning here and there to
appear, and the leader in this revival was Mme. de Montesson.
Far from being forced, as formerly, to keep in the background her
marriage with the Duke of Orléans, it was for that very reason that
she was high in the favour of the First Consul and the more _en
évidence_ she made it, the better it was for her.
She did not bear the title, which indeed would not then have been
permissible; but the well-known arms and blue liveries of Orléans
re-appeared on her carriages and in her _hôtel_, the royal arms of
Orléans were embroidered on the fine Saxon linen of her household, the
gold plate and delicate Sèvres china denounced by the Terrorists was
to be seen at the princely entertainments at her _hôtel_ in the _rue
de Provence_, where everything was done with the stately magnificence
of former days, and whither every one of the old and new society was
eager to be presented.
The First Consul had restored her fortune to her, and treated her
with more deference than he showed to any other woman; she assumed
royal prerogatives, never returning visits or rising to receive them,
in fact she was considered and often called in society, the Duchess
Dowager of Orléans.
Mme. de Genlis went with M. de Valence to see her two days after her
return, and was coldly received, but their relations to each other
quickly returned to their usual terms.
Mme. de Genlis had taken rooms close to the Chaussé d’Antin, and began
to look after her affairs, which were in a most dilapidated state.
Nearly all the property she left at Belle Chasse had been confiscated,
she could not get her jointure paid by the persons who had got hold of
it, and though Sillery had been inherited by Mme. de Valence, to whom
she had given up all her own share in it, Mme. de Valence had let her
spendthrift husband waste the fortune and afterwards sell the estate
to a General who married one of his daughters, and who partly pulled
down the _château_ and spoiled the place.
She was therefore very badly off, though her writings were always
quite successful enough to provide for her, but she could not be happy
without perpetually adopting children: even now she had not only
Casimir, who was always like a son to her, but an adopted daughter
called Stéphanie Alyon, and another whom she sent back to Germany.
For more than a year she did not dare to pass the Palais Royal or to
cross the _place Louis XV._, too many phantoms seemed to haunt and
reproach her for the past.
But time and circumstances were obliterating crimes and injuries
by the side of which her faults were as nothing. Though it is
satisfactory to think that numbers of the Revolutionists received the
punishment due to their deeds, there were others who for some reason
or other managed not only to escape but to prosper; and with Fouché in
a place of power and authority, what, might one ask, had become of all
ideas of justice and retribution?
Mme. de Genlis, finding Paris too dear, moved to Versailles where
she lived for a time, during which she had the grief of losing her
nephew, César Ducrest, a promising young officer, who was killed by an
accident.
She grew tired of Versailles, and returned to Paris, where the First
Consul gave her an apartment at the Arsenal and a pension.
A new era of prosperity, though of quite a different kind from the
luxury, excitement, and splendour of her earlier life, now began for
Mme. de Genlis. She opened a _salon_ which was soon the resort of most
of the interesting and influential people of the day. In the society
of the Consulate and Empire her early opinions and proceedings were
not thought about, and her literary reputation was now great; and
besides countless new acquaintances many of her old friends were
delighted to welcome her again.
With Talleyrand she had always been on friendly terms.
Napoleon had insisted upon his marrying Mme. Grandt, his mistress,
who had always received his guests during the loose society lately
prevalent: people said that since he had done so, his _salon_ was
not nearly so amusing. She was a pretty but extremely stupid person,
always making some mistake. On one occasion the celebrated traveller,
M. Denon, was going to dine with them, and Talleyrand told her to be
sure to talk to him about his travels, adding—
“You will find his book on the third shelf in the library; look it
over.”
Mme. de Talleyrand went to look for the book, but had by this time
forgotten the title. Turning over several she came upon “Robinson
Crusoe,” thought that must be it, and read it eagerly; in consequence
of which, during dinner, she began to ask him about his shipwreck and
the desert island, and to inquire after the faithful Friday.
M. Denon, who could not imagine what she meant, looked at her in
astonishment, only saying—
“Madame?”—when Talleyrand heard and interposed.
Like all the other _emigrées_ Mme. de Genlis was horrified at the
strange manners and customs of the new society, largely composed
of vulgar, uneducated persons, often enormously rich, exceedingly
pretentious, and with no idea how to conduct themselves.
Many of them occupied the old _hôtels_ of the ruined families of
the _ancien régime_, in which their rough voices, strange language,
manners and appearance contrasted as much with those of the former
owners, as the new furniture, all gilding, costly stuffs and objects
mixed incongruously together, did with the harmonious tapestries,
ancient heirlooms, and family portraits which they replaced.
In the streets people recognised their own carriages turned into
hackney coaches; the shops were full of their things; books with their
arms, china, furniture, portraits of their relations, who had perhaps
perished on the scaffold. Walking along the boulevard one day soon
after her return to Paris she stopped at a shop, and on leaving her
address, the lad who was serving her exclaimed—
“Eh! you are at home then!”
It was the _hôtel de Genlis_, which for fifteen years had been the
residence of her brother-in-law. She did not recognise it, as all the
ground floor was divided and turned into shops!
Another day she received the visit of a woman who got out of a
carriage the door of which was opened and shut by a negro dwarf, and
who was announced as Mme. de Biras.
Her dress was a caricature of the latest fashion, her manner was
impertinently familiar. She first made a silly exclamation at being
addressed as “_madame_” instead of “_citoyenne_,” then she turned
over the books on the table and when at length Mme. de Genlis politely
explained that being very busy she could not have the honour of
detaining her, the strange visitor explained the object of her visit.
Her husband was a miller, who had, apparently by his manipulation of
contracts given him for the army and by various corrupt practices,
made an enormous fortune. He and his wife wished to enter society, but
not having any idea what to do or how to behave, they wanted Mme. de
Genlis to live with them as chaperon and teach them the usages of the
world, offering her 12,000 francs salary and assuring her that she
would be very happy with them as they had a splendid _hôtel_ in the
_rue St. Dominique_, and had just bought an estate and _château_ in
Burgundy. She added that M. de Biras knew Mme. de Genlis, as he had
lived on her father’s lands. He was their miller![134]
It was no wonder that Napoleon was anxious to get his court and
society civilised, and the person to whom he chiefly turned for help
and counsel in this matter was Mme. de Montesson, who knew all about
the usages of great society and court etiquette.
Neither Napoleon nor any of his family had at all the manners and
customs suitable to the position in which he had placed them, and
he was quite aware of the fact. His mother, as he said, could speak
neither French nor Italian properly, but only a kind of Corsican
_patois_, which he was ashamed to hear. He did everything he could
to win over the _emigrés_ and those of the old _noblesse_ who had
remained in France; his great wish was to mingle the new _noblesse_
he soon began to create with the _faubourg St. Germain_, and his
great disappointment and anger was excited by the non-success of his
attempts. From the time he rose to supreme power he contemplated a
court and a _noblesse_ for the country and a crown for himself. And
that a court formed out of the materials supplied by his generals and
their families would be ridiculous he knew, and meant to avoid.
“Above everything in France ridicule is to be avoided,” he had
remarked.
Therefore he encouraged and promoted the marriages of his officers
with the penniless daughters of the old families; therefore he sent
the only sister who was young enough to the school of Mme. Campan,
formerly _femme de chambre_ to Marie Antoinette, and gave that clever,
astute woman his support and approbation.
For the same reason he had, at the beginning of his career, married
Joséphine, Vicomtesse de Beauharnais; it was true, as he afterwards
declared that he loved her better than he ever loved any woman; but
all the same he had decided that his wife must be of good blood, good
manners, and good society; and although Joséphine was by no means a
_grande dame_, she was in a much better position than himself; and
her children’s name, her social connections, her well-bred son and
daughter, the charming manners and _savoir faire_ of all three were
then and for long afterwards both useful and agreeable to him.
Always eager to marry his officers, he was often very peremptory about
it.
At the time of the expedition to St. Domingo he desired to send
Leclerc, the husband of his second sister, Pauline. Leclerc hesitated,
then said he should be glad to go, but he had a tie which bound him to
France.
“Paulette?” said Napoleon. “But she will follow you. I approve of her
doing so; the air of Paris does not agree with her, it is only fit for
coquettes, a character unbecoming her. She must accompany you, that is
understood.”
It was not Paulette, explained Leclerc, he would be distressed to
leave her, but she would be safe and surrounded by her family. It was
his young sister, now at school at Mme. Campan’s, whom he could not
leave unprotected, perhaps for ever. “I ask you, General, how _can_ I?”
“Of course,” replied Napoleon, “but you should find a marriage for her
at once; to-morrow; and then go.”
“But I have no fortune, and——”
“What of that? Cannot you depend upon me? I desire you to make
immediate preparations for your sister’s marriage to-morrow. I cannot
say yet to whom, but she shall be married, and well married.”
“But——”
“Have I not spoken plainly? Say no more about it.”
Leclerc withdrew, and a few minutes afterwards Davoust came in to
announce his intended marriage.
“With Mlle. Leclerc? I think it a very suitable match.”
“No, General, with Mme. ——”
“With Mlle. Leclerc! I not only find the marriage suitable, I insist
on its taking place immediately!”
“I have long loved Mme. ——, she is now free; nothing shall make me
give her up.”
“Nothing but my will!” said Napoleon sternly. “You will go at once to
Mme. Campan’s school at Saint-Germain; on your arrival you will ask
for your intended bride, to whom you will be presented by her brother,
General Leclerc, who is now with my wife, and will accompany you.
“Mlle. Aimée shall come to Paris to-night. Order the wedding presents,
which must be most costly, as I am to act as the young lady’s father
on the occasion. I shall provide the _dot_ and wedding-dress, and
the wedding will take place as soon as the legal formalities can be
arranged. You now know my wishes, and have only to obey them.”
He rang the bell, and sent for Leclerc.
“Well! Was I wrong? Here is your sister’s husband. Go together to
Saint-Germain, and don’t let me see either of you until everything is
arranged. I hate all talk of money affairs.”
Mute with astonishment they obeyed, and went to Saint-Germain, where
Davoust was presented to Mlle. Leclerc, whom he did not like at all.
The marriage took place a few days afterwards.
It was a change indeed from Louis XVI. Every one trembled before
Napoleon except his brother Lucien; and perhaps his mother, who,
however, never had the slightest influence over him. He required
absolute submission; but if not in opposition to his will, he liked
a high spirit and ready answer in a young man, or woman either, and
detested weakness, cowardice, and indecision.
When he offered posts in the army to two brothers, who belonged to
the old _noblesse_, and they refused, preferring to accept places at
court, he exclaimed angrily—
“I have been deceived! It is impossible that those gentlemen can be
descended from the brave C——”
Another time a certain M. de Comminges, who had been with him at the
_École militaire_, in reply to his question—
“What have you been doing during the Revolution? Have you served?”
“No, Sire.”
“Then you followed the Bourbons into exile?”
“Oh! no, Sire! I stayed at home and cultivated my little estate.”
“The more fool you, monsieur! In these times of trouble every one
ought to give his personal service one way or the other. What do you
want now?”
“Sire, a modest post in the _octroi_ of my little town would——”
“Very well, you shall have it; and stay there! Is it possible that I
have been the comrade of such a man?”
For the Revolution, the royalists themselves could scarcely have
entertained a deeper hatred and contempt. He would speak with disgust
of its early scenes, of the weakness of the authorities, which he
despised, and of the mob, which he abominated.
Young and unknown, he had been present with Bourrienne on the 20th
June, and seen the raving, frantic mob rushing upon the Tuileries. He
followed with Bourrienne in a transport of indignation, and saw with
contempt Louis XVI. at the window with a red cap on. He exclaimed—
“How could they let that _canaille_ pass in! They should sweep away
four or five hundred with cannon; the rest would run.”
He was then twenty-three.
Mme. de Genlis never went to the Imperial court, but led a quiet
literary life; quiet, that is to say, so far as the word can be
applied to one whose _salon_ was the resort of such numbers of people.
Most of the Imperial Family used to go to her, but her chief friend
among them was Julie, Queen of Spain, wife of Joseph Buonaparte,
Napoleon’s eldest brother. She was also very fond of Julie’s sister,
Désirée, wife of Marshal Bernadotte, afterwards Queen of Sweden. For
Bernadotte she had the greatest admiration, saying that his appearance
and manners were those of the old court.
The Princess de Chimay, once Mme. Tallien, was also received by her
with gratitude and friendship; she never forgot that she had saved the
life of Mme. de Valence, and in fact put an end to the Terror.[135]
Mme. Le Brun, speaking of Mme. de Genlis, says, “Her slightest
conversation had a charm of which it is difficult to give an idea....
When she had discoursed for half an hour everybody, friends and
enemies, were enchanted with her brilliant conversation.”
Mme. de Montesson died in February, 1806, leaving the whole of her
fortune to M. de Valence, except one or two trifling legacies and
20,000 francs to Mme. de Genlis, and, as her brother was then not well
off, Mme. de Genlis added her 20,000 francs to his.
FOOTNOTES:
[133] Struck off the proscribed list.
[134] “Salons de Paris,” t. iv. p. 85 (ed. Gamin), Duchesse d’Abrantès.
[135] She said the Princess was still beautiful, extremely
interesting, told thrilling stories of what she had seen in her
strange life, but never spoke against any one.
CHAPTER X
Interesting society—Anecdotes of the past Terror—Casimir—The
Restoration—Madame Royale—Louis XVIII.—The _coiffeur_
of Marie Antoinette—The regicide—Return of the Orléans
family—An astrologer—A faithful servant—Society of the
Restoration—Isabey—Meyerbeer—Conclusion.
All the great artists, musicians, actors, and literary people who had
returned to Paris after the Terror came to the _salon_ of Mme. de
Genlis; and many were the strange and terrible stories they had to
tell of their escapes and adventures.
Talma had, in the kindness of his heart, concealed in his house for
a long time two proscribed men. One was a democrat and terrorist,
who had denounced him and his wife as Girondins. For after the fall
of Robespierre the revolutionary government, forced by the people to
leave off arresting women and children, let the royalists alone and
turned their fury against each other. Besides this democrat who was
hidden in the garret, he had a royalist concealed in the cellar. They
did not know of each other’s presence, and Talma had them to supper
on alternate nights after the house was shut up. At last, as the
terrorist seemed quite softened and touched and polite, Talma and his
wife thought they would venture to have them together. At first all
went well, then after a time they found out who each other were; and
on some discussion arising, their fury broke forth—
“Only a royalist would say that!”
“Only a terrorist could speak so!”
“You speak like a villain!”
“You think like a scoundrel!”
“If ever we get the upper hand!”
“If ever we get our revenge!”
They both sprang up, declaring it was better to die than to stay with
such a monster, and left the room.
After this Talma kept them separate; they were in the house several
weeks unknown to each other until it was safe for them to be let
out.[136]
Even among the revolutionists there was sometimes a strange mixture
of good and evil. The Auvergnat deputy Soubrany was proscribed by his
friends, and met Fréron in the street, who said—
“What are you doing here? We have just proscribed you!”
“Proscribed me?”
“Yes. Save yourself; come to my house, you can hide safely; they won’t
look for you there. Only make haste.”
“I can’t. I must go home.”
“Why? It will be putting your head in the wolf’s mouth.”
“I must go back to my house. An _emigré_ is hidden there. I alone
know the secret of his hiding-place; if I do not let him out he will
be starved to death.”
He returned in time to save the _emigré_, but not himself.[137]
Mme. de Genlis was very happy at the Arsenal with Casimir and a little
boy named Alfred, whom she had adopted.
Casimir was already seventeen, a great comfort, and very popular.
He had been on a visit to London, when, as he returned with Prince
Esterhazy, who had a boat of his own, he had a message at Dover from
Pamela begging him to go to her. Since the arrest and death of Lord
Edward Fitzgerald, she had married Mr. Pitcairn, American Consul at
Hamburg, but was overwhelmed with debts, and for some reason insisted
on coming to Paris. She was hiding from her creditors, and appealed to
Casimir, who gave her fifty louis and hid her on board the boat. She
had with her her daughter by Lord Edward Fitzgerald, and stayed some
time at Paris, in spite of the representations of Mme. de Genlis that
she ought to go back to her husband at Hamburg.
For nine years Mme. de Genlis lived at the Arsenal, and then moved
to another apartment, but was always surrounded with friends and
consideration. Except amongst her immediate relations and adopted
children, she was not so deeply loved as Mme. Le Brun, or even the
eccentric Mme. de Stael, but her acquaintance and friendship was
sought by numbers of persons, French and others, who were attracted
by her books, conversation, musical, and other talents.
With the fall of the Empire departed her pension and all assistance
from the Government.
She had long renounced and repented of her proceedings of former days,
and was now extremely royalist, but the daughter of Marie Antoinette
was not likely to receive one who had been, if not implicated, at any
rate hand-and-glove with the enemies of her mother.
With the deepest reluctance Louis XVIII. yielded to what he was
assured to be an absolute necessity and allowed, as Napoleon had found
it necessary to allow, more than one even of the regicides, who had
survived and were powerful, to hold office during his reign. Their
powerful support was declared to be indispensable to the safety of the
monarchy, and the union of parties which he hoped to achieve.
But, except in cases of absolute political necessity and at the
entreaty of him, who was now not only her uncle and adopted father,
but her king, the Duchesse d’Angoulême would receive no one who had
in any way injured her mother. She would have nothing to do with Mme.
de Stael, and would not even receive Mme. Campan, because she did
not believe she had been always thoroughly loyal to her; though in
that many people said she was mistaken. Mme. Campan, in her memoirs,
professes the greatest affection and respect for her royal mistress,
and during the Empire, she always kept in her room a bust of the
Queen.
On the other hand, any one who had been faithful and loyal to her
parents, now met with their reward.
There was at Versailles a certain Laboullé, _coiffeur_ to Louis XV.,
and to Marie Antoinette when the Dauphine. He invented a perfume which
he called _eau Antoinette_, and which was so much in vogue that he
opened a perfume shop at Versailles, which was patronised by Louis
XVI. and Marie Antoinette when they came to the throne. He married,
and the Queen was very kind to his wife, whom she used to employ in
her various charities; and was devoted to her.
It is satisfactory to know that the brutal, dastardly conduct of the
Versailles populace was at any rate punished, in a way they probably
had not thought of. The departure of the King and court ruined the
place, before so prosperous. The population shrunk to a third of its
former numbers.
The Laboullé moved to Paris, and opened a shop at 83, _rue de la Roi_,
afterwards _rue Richelieu_, which soon became the centre of Royalist
plots.
During the captivity of the Queen, Mme. Laboullé was always trying to
get to her and very often succeeded; when she always took her some
of the perfume. These excellent people saved the lives of numbers
of royalists, and how they themselves escaped the guillotine, only
Providence can tell. When the surviving members of the royal family
returned, the Duchesse d’Angoulême sent for her, expressed her deep
gratitude, and always loved and protected her.
The saintly character of the Duchess, however, made her forgive and
even help those who repented and suffered, even though they had been
the bitterest enemies of her family.[138]
During her exile in England, she was in the habit of visiting and
helping the French who were poor or sick, and one day being in a
hospital, and seeing a French soldier evidently very ill, she spoke to
him with compassion and offered him money, which he refused, with a
strange exclamation, apparently of horror.
“Take it, _mon ami_,” she said, “I am your country-woman, you need not
be ashamed to receive a little help from me.”
“I know you are French, Madame,” he muttered with embarrassment.
“You know me, then?”
“Yes, Madame.”
“Well, then, that is all the more reason why you should not refuse
what I offer you.”
“On the contrary, Madame——” he stammered.
“_Comment!_ on the contrary? What do you mean? Tell me.”
“I cannot explain,” said the man uneasily.
“I entreat you to tell me; have you anything against me?”
The soldier burst into tears.
“You are suffering,” said the Duchess; “come confide in me, we are
both French in a foreign land, and ought to help and comfort each
other.”[139]
“Alas! Madame, the sight of you recalls to me a recollection so
fearful, that I would give my life to blot it out of my memory. I was
one of those who beat the drums in the _place de la Révolution_ on the
27th January.”
The Princess turned pale, trembled, and held out the gold, saying—
“In the name of him who is gone, I bring you this help; he loved all
Frenchmen.”
And she turned away, leaving the soldier in tears.
When Madame Royale was at last released from prison, she did not know
the fate of her brother and her aunt, Madame Elizabeth. On hearing
that they were dead, she declared that she did not wish to live
herself; but her heart soon turned to her French relations, and her
one wish was to get to them.
[Illustration:
_Madame Vigée Le Brun_
MADAME ROYALE]
She was, however, first sent to her mother’s family in Austria, where
she was received, of course, with great affection, but kept as much
as possible from seeing even the French _emigrés_, of whom there were
so many in Austria. The Austrian plan was to marry her to one of the
archdukes, her cousins, and then claim for her the succession to
Burgundy, Franche Comté, and Bretagne; to all of which she would, in
fact, have had a strong claim if France could have been dismembered;
as these provinces all went in the female line, and had thus been
united to the kingdom of France.
Of course the plan was visionary, and the provinces had been so long
incorporated into France, that even if the allies had consented to the
dismemberment, the nation would never have submitted to it.
It would have perhaps been no wonder if, after all she had suffered in
France, she had identified herself with her mother’s family, and in
another home and country forgotten as far as she could the land which
must always have such fearful associations for her. But it was not so.
Her father had told her that she was to marry no one but her cousin,
the Duc d’Angoulême, who, failing her brother, would succeed to the
crown; and had written to the same effect to his brother the Comte de
Provence.
The Princess had therefore, as soon as she could get away from
Austria, joined her uncles and aunts and married the Duc d’Angoulême,
concentrating all her affection upon those remaining members of her
family, who received her with the deepest joy and tenderness.
Louis XVIII. says of her—
“Madame Royale united all the virtues of her own sex with the energy
of ours. She alone would have been able to reconquer our sceptre if,
like her grandmother, Marie Thérèse, she had had the command of an
army....”
Of their entry into Paris, he says—
“I was in an open carriage with Madame Royale by my side,[140] MM.
de Condé were opposite; my brother and the Duc de Berri rode by us
... the Duc d’Angoulême was still in the south.... I saw nothing but
rejoicing and goodwill on all sides; they cried ‘_Vive le Roi!_’ as
if any other cry were impossible.... The more I entreated Madame
Royale to control her emotion, for we were approaching the Tuileries,
the more difficult it was for her to restrain it. It took all her
courage not to faint or burst into tears in the presence of all these
witnesses.... I myself was deeply agitated, the deplorable past rising
before me.... I remembered leaving this town twenty-three years ago,
about the same time of year at which I now returned, a King.... I felt
as if I should have fallen when I saw the Tuileries. I kept my eyes
away from Madame Royale for fear of calling forth an alarming scene.
I trembled lest her firmness should give way at this critical moment.
But arming herself with resignation against all that must overwhelm
her, she entered almost smiling the palace of bitter recollections.
When she could be alone the long repressed feelings overflowed, and it
was with sobs and a deluge of tears that she took possession of the
inheritance, which in the natural course of events must be her own.
“How thankful I was to find myself alone in the room occupied first
by my brother, then by Buonaparte, to which I came back after so long
an absence: absolute solitude was a necessity to my mind. I prayed
and groaned without interruption, which relieved me; then I resolved
irrevocably to act in such a manner as never to expose France or my
family to the Revolution which had just ended.... I lay down in the
bed of Buonaparte, it had also been that of the martyr king, and at
first I could not sleep ... like Richard III. I saw in a vision those
I had lost, and in the distance enveloped in a sanguinary cloud I
seemed to see menacing phantoms.”[141]
With the King returned those that were left of the Orléans family.
The best of the sons of Égalité, the Comte de Beaujolais had died
in exile, so also had the Duc de Montpensier. The Duchess Dowager,
saintly and good as ever, Mademoiselle d’Orléans and the Duc de
Chartres remained. Both the latter had made their submission and
expressed their repentance to the King, who in accepting the excuses
of the Duc de Chartres said—
“Monsieur, you have much to do to repair the crimes of your father. I
have doubtless forgotten them, but my family, but France, but Europe
will find it difficult not to remember them.... In accepting the name
of Égalité you left the family of Bourbon, nevertheless I consent to
recall you into it.... Duc d’Orléans, it is finished, from to-day
alone we will begin to know each other.”
The Duke wished to make his excuses to Madame Royale, but she said it
would be long before she could bear to see him.[142]
Mme. de Genlis was received with affection by her old pupils, and had
a pension from them during the rest of her life.
The Duc d’Orléans, leaving the room when she came to see them,
returned, bringing his young wife, who said graciously, “Madame,
I have always longed to know you, for there are two things I love
passionately, your pupils and your books.”
Mme. de Genlis, though she did not go much into society, being now
exceedingly royalist, was presented at court, and must have recalled
those far off days when she drove down to Versailles with Mme. de
Puisieux to be presented to the magnificent Louis XV.
A curious story is told, that at the time when Louis XIV. was building
the palace of Versailles, his then all-powerful mistress, Mme. de la
Vallière, said to him that he must, according to the custom, have the
horoscope cast of the palace. He laughed at her superstition, but told
her he would leave the matter to her. She accordingly consulted an
astrologer, who said, “After a hundred years the kings of France will
leave Versailles.”
“Will they ever return?” she asked, to which he replied—
“No; the people will not allow it.”
Louis XIV., to whom the idea of the people “allowing” the King to do
anything he chose must have appeared ludicrous, replied that their
love for their King would, indeed, be excessive if they would not bear
him out of their sight, and ended by saying—
“I envy my successors!”
The tone of society was entirely different during the Restoration
from that of the Empire. The lavish expenditure in entertainments,
dress, and daily life was no longer the fashion. An expensive toilette
at any but a very great festivity was no longer correct, and even
at court the extravagant splendour of the costumes of the Imperial
court was not encouraged. The principal people were no longer those
who possessed enormous fortunes which they were eager to spend; the
nobles and gentlemen whose names were the most distinguished at the
court of Louis XVIII. being most of them nearly if not quite ruined.
Their property had been confiscated, their estates seized, and their
_hôtels_ and _châteaux_ either burnt or sold.
In some cases it was possible to recover part, though often only a
fragment of their possessions; in other cases not: it depended to a
great extent what or who the forfeited estates belonged to. Sometimes,
as in the case of the Duchess d’Ayen, people who had not emigrated,
were allowed, even if they were murdered, to leave their estates to
their families; but the whole state of things seemed an inextricable
confusion impossible to explain; especially in a work of this kind.
Many cases there were of romantic devotion and loyalty, by which the
property of a family had been partly saved for the owners by their
faithful servants. Such was the story of the Marquis de ——, whose
castle was burnt, and who with his wife perished in the flames.
Their two boys managed to escape, but not together. One took refuge
in England; the other in Germany, neither of them knowing of the
existence of the other.
When the Revolution was over, they both came back to France and
strange to say, met and recognised each other at the ruins of their
own _château_. While they stood mournfully gazing at them, a regiment
of cavalry passed by. The eyes of the commander fell upon them, and
suddenly he ordered the regiment to halt, and calling the two young
men, said—
“Are you not the MM. ——?”
On hearing that they were, he remarked—
“I am afraid, Messieurs, that you are very badly off.”
They could not deny this; and to their astonishment the officer,
hurriedly saying that he was born on their estate, pressed a purse of
gold into the hand of one and marched off. The country was still in a
state of anarchy and they never could discover who their benefactor
was.
They stood in astonishment looking after the soldiers, and then
turning, walked sorrowfully back to the ruins, where a decently
dressed working man who had been observing them, came up and again
asked them the same question.
“Are you not the MM. de ——?”
“Yes, we are,” replied the brothers.
“Well, I am ——. I was head-gardener at the _château_ in the old time,
and now, Messieurs, if you will honour me by coming to my house and
accepting some refreshment, I will show you something that will
surprise you.”
The young men gladly went in, and after giving them an excellent
_déjeuner_, their host lighted a candle, took a spade, and told them
to follow him. He led them into the garden, cleared away some earth
with his spade, and uncovered a stone. This he lifted up, disclosing
an underground passage through which he led the way. It ended in a
cavern in which lay the whole of their family plate and valuables
which this excellent man had saved and concealed during all these
years.
“Here is the family plate which I was able to secure for you,” said
he. “I always kept it in hope of your return.”
Overcome with joy and gratitude the eldest brother, to whom according
to the custom of their family it all belonged, divided the property,
which was immensely valuable, into three portions, giving one to his
brother, one to the faithful gardener, and keeping one himself, with
the proceeds of which they each bought an estate. The sons of the
gardener, who were educated with their own, became, one a successful
merchant, the other an officer in the French Navy.[143]
There was, of course, a great mixture of new and old, many quarrels
and much ill-feeling: increased by the extreme animosity and
pretensions on both sides.
The _emigrés_ were not likely to forget the murder of those dear to
them, their long years of poverty and exile, and to see with patience
their homes and possessions in the hands of strangers.
The newly risen were uneasy and jealous of the _emigrés_, and not
unnaturally irritated at the provocation they often gave them and the
scorn with which they were not seldom treated.
Louis XVIII. had enough to do to hold the balance between those who
wanted everything put back exactly as it was before ‘89, and those
who were in continued fear of the revival of the old state of things.
However, he managed to do so, and kept his crown, which unfortunately
his successor could not.
It is a singular thing that all the three races, Capétien, Valois, and
Bourbon should have ended with three brothers.
The Marquis de Boissy, a devoted Royalist with a long pedigree, went
to one of the court balls in the dress of a Marquis of the court of
Louis XV. On one of the princes of the blood observing to him—
“That is a curious dress of yours, Monsieur,” he replied, looking
round the ball room:
“It is a dress that belonged to my grandfather, Monseigneur; and I
think that if every one here had got on the dress of his grandfather,
your Highness would not find mine the most curious in the room.”
[Illustration:
_Gérard_
JUDITH PASTA]
Mme. de Genlis had friends amongst old and new, French and foreign.
The Vernets, Mme. Le Brun, Mme. Grollier, Gros, Gerard, Isabey,
Cherubini, Halévy, all the great singers and musicians were among
her friends. She lived to see the first years of the brilliant, too
short career of Malibran. Pasta, Grassini, Talma, Garat, and numbers
of other artistic celebrities mingled with her literary friends.
The household of Isabey was like an idyl. He had met his wife in the
Luxembourg gardens, a beautiful girl who went there to lead about her
blind father. They married and were always happy though for a long
time poor. But the fame of Isabey rose; he was professor of painting
at the great school of Mme. Campan, where every one under the Empire
sent their daughters. He painted Joséphine and all the people of rank
and fashion, and received them all at his parties in his own _hôtel_.
Mme. Isabey lived to be eighty-eight, always pretty and charming. Her
hair was white, she always dressed in white lace and muslin, and had
everything white in her _salon_, even to an ivory spinning wheel.
They went a great deal into society and to the court balls under
Napoleon; and Isabey used to design her dresses and make them up on
her in this way: when her hair was done and she was all ready except
her dress, he would come with a great heap of flowers, ribbons, gauze,
crêpe, &c., and with scissors and pins cut out and fasten on the
drapery according to his taste so skilfully that it never came off,
and looked lovely. On one occasion when they were not well off he cut
out flowers of gold and silver paper and stuck them with gum upon
tulle; it was pronounced the prettiest dress in the room.
Before the coronation of Napoleon, the latter said to him, “Make
two large water-colour sketches of the procession with correct
costumes, every one in their right place. I will send them to study
your designs, which will be exhibited in the great gallery of the
Tuileries, so that there may be no confusion.”
“Sire, when are these two pictures to be exhibited?”
“The day after to-morrow.”
Isabey bought boxes full of little dolls, masses of materials and
pins; dressed them all from the Empress to the last page, and after
working two days and nights went to the Tuileries.
“Ah! there you are, Isabey. You have brought me the designs I ordered?”
“_A peu près, Sire_,” and he pointed to a heap of enormous cases in
the courtyard, which in about an hour he had arranged in the gallery
in perfect order, much to the delight of the Emperor, who burst into a
fit of laughter when he saw them.
After the alarms of the Hundred Days and all the misfortunes involved,
it took some time to restore order and security. For a long time the
_Champs-Elysées_ were not safe to walk in after dark.
One morning the _concierge_ of an isolated house there was asked by a
tall, thin man in black, with a strange look whether there was not a
pavilion in the garden to let.
“Yes, sir.”
“Is it quite out of the way of every one?”
“Very far, sir.”
“So that one would be quite alone? No one could hear anything that
went on there?”
The _concierge_ did not half like this, but winter was coming on and a
pavilion in the middle of a large garden was difficult to let.
“I will take it for three months, here is the rent in advance and a
_louis_ besides. Keep the key. I will come in this evening. If any
friends arrive before, take them there and ask them to wait till I
come.”
“Monsieur has forgotten to tell me his name.”
“Name! Oh! my name is the devil,” and he hurried away.
After dark a man wrapped in a great cloak, under which he carried some
large thing, his hat pulled over his eyes, rang and said “The Devil.”
The pavilion was pointed out, and several others followed, all with
cloaks concealing more large objects.
“It cannot be Satan,” said the wife of the _concierge_, “but it may be
conspirators.”
“It is a gang of assassins,” said he, “bringing bodies of victims to
bury in the garden.” Just then the man who had hired the pavilion came
in; the wife followed him and rushed back pale with terror.
“Go and fetch the police! go quick! They are murdering some one. I
heard cries, groans, and chains! Run, if you want to save him from
these wretches!”
Hurrying away, the _concierge_ soon re-appeared with the police and
two soldiers. They proceeded to the pavilion; the door was locked, and
just then a strange cry arrested their attention. They beat at the
door ordering it to be opened, which it immediately was by a man, who
said—
“What are you doing here? What do you want?”
“What are you about yourself? I am a police officer, and I arrest you
in the King’s name as a criminal.”
“You arrest me as a criminal? and for what?” while a burst of laughter
was heard inside.
“Come, Monsieur,” said the police official, “I see there is some
mistake. What is your name?”
“Meyerbeer, but that does not tell you much.”
“But what is your country and profession?”
“I am German, a composer of music, I see no harm in all that.”
“Nor I either,” said the police officer, laughing; “but why then did
you say you were the devil, and what are you and your companions
doing?”
They let him in, and he saw musicians with desks and instruments,
practising for the infernal scene in “Robert le Diable,” which
Meyerbeer was going to bring out, and which sufficiently accounted for
the chains, groans, and cries of that celebrated chorus.
Mme. de Genlis lived to see her great-grandchildren, and also to
see her pupil, the Duc de Orléans, upon the throne. She had never,
of course, again the life of riches and splendour which for many
years she had enjoyed; but she was philosophical enough not to
trouble herself much about that; she had the interest of her literary
pursuits, a large circle of acquaintances, the affection of her
family and of her adopted children. Alfred turned out extremely
well, and Casimir made an excellent marriage, settled at Mantes and
devoted himself to good works, so that his adopted mother said his
household was saintly. She was always welcome there.
The errors of her youth she abandoned and regretted, and her latter
years had by no means the dark and gloomy character that she had
pictured to herself, when she left the Palais Royal and fled from
France and the Revolution, in whose opening acts she had rejoiced with
Philippe-Égalité.
[Illustration: MALIBRAN]
FOOTNOTES:
[136] “Souvenirs d’un Sexagenaire” (Arnault).
[137] “Souvenirs d’un Sexagenaire” (Arnault).
[138] “Salons d’Autrefois” (Ctsse. de Bassanville).
[139] _Ibid._
[140] The Comtesse de Provence had died in exile.
[141] “Mémoires de Louis XVIII.,” t. ix. pp. 57-61.
[142] “Souvenirs de Louis XVIII.,” t. vii. pp. 395-7. This interview
took place at Mittau at the intercession of the Duchess Dowager of
Orléans and the Emperor of Russia.
[143] This story, which has never before been published, was told me
by a member of the family of the Marquis in question. Although many
of the worst of the revolutionists were domestic servants, there were
numbers who displayed the most heroic loyalty and affection. I myself
saw many years ago, when dining in Paris at the house of a legitimist,
the Duc de ——, an old butler who was pointed out to me by one of the
family as having been employed when six years old in La Vendée to
carry food to a priest hidden among the hills. On one occasion he was
caught by a party of revolutionist soldiers who threatened him with
instant death unless he betrayed the priest’s hiding place. _Pour Dieu
et le Roi_ (For God and the King) was all the child would say, and one
of the men, touched by his tender age, spared him. (Note by author.)
The Gresham Press,
UNWIN BROTHERS, LIMITED,
WOKING AND LONDON.
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│ Transcriber’s Note: │
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│ The original spelling, hyphenation, and punctuation have been │
│ retained, with the exception of apparent typographical errors │
│ which have been corrected without note. │
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│ Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant │
│ form was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed. │
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│ Italicized words are surrounded by underline characters, _like │
│ this_. │
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│ Mid-paragraph illustrations have been moved between paragraphs │
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│ Footnotes were moved to the end of chapters and numbered in one │
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│ Corrections: │
│ p. 100: Lanzun changed to Lauzun “the Duc de Lauzun.” │
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│ p. 325: Beauvan changed to Beauvau “the Prince de Beauvau.” │
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