About the beginning of May, 1774, Louis XV., the strength of whose
constitution had promised a long enough life, was attacked by confluent
smallpox of the worst kind. Mesdames at this juncture inspired the
Dauphiness with a feeling of respect and attachment, of which she gave
them repeated proofs when she ascended the throne. In fact, nothing was
more admirable nor more affecting than the courage with which they braved
that most horrible disease. The air of the palace was infected; more than
fifty persons took the smallpox, in consequence of having merely loitered
in the galleries of Versailles, and ten died of it.
The end of the monarch was approaching. His reign, peaceful in general,
had inherited strength from the power of his predecessor; on the other
hand, his own weakness had been preparing misfortune for whoever should
reign after him. The scene was about to change; hope, ambition, joy,
grief, and all those feelings which variously affected the hearts of the
courtiers, sought in vain to disguise themselves under a calm exterior. It
was easy to detect the different motives which induced them every moment
to repeat to every one the question: “How is the King?” At length, on the
10th of May, 1774, the mortal career of Louis XV. terminated.
[Christopher de Beaumont, Archbishop of Paris, the ardent apostle of
frequent communion, arrived at Paris with the intention of soliciting, in
public, the administration of the sacrament to the King, and secretly
retarding it as much as possible. The ceremony could not take place
without the previous and public expulsion of the, concubine, according to
the canons of the Church and the Jesuitical party, of which Christopher
was the leader. This party, which had made use of Madame du Barry to
suppress the Parliaments, to support the Duc d’Aiguillon, and ruin the
Choiseul faction, could not willingly consent to disgrace her canonically.
The Archbishop went into the King’s bedchamber, and found there Madame
Adelaide, the Duc d’Aumont, the Bishop of Senlis, and Richelieu, in whose
presence he resolved not to say one word about confession for that day.
This reticence so encouraged Louis XV. that, on the Archbishop
withdrawing, he had Madame du Barry called in, and kissed her beautiful
hands again with his wonted affection. On the 2d of May the King found
himself a little better. Madame du Barry had brought him two confidential
physicians, Lorry and Borden, who were enjoined to conceal the nature of
his sickness from him in order to keep off the priests and save her from a
humiliating dismissal. The King’s improvement allowed Madame du Barry to
divert him by her usual playfulness and conversation. But La Martiniere,
who was of the Choiseul party, and to whom they durst not refuse his right
of entry, did not conceal from the King either the nature or the danger of
his sickness. The King then sent for Madame du Barry, and said to her:
“My love, I have got the smallpox, and my illness is very dangerous on
account of my age and other disorders. I ought not to forget that I am
the most Christian King, and the eldest son of the Church. I am
sixty-four; the time is perhaps approaching when we must separate. I wish
to prevent a scene like that of Metz.” (when, in 1744, he had dismissed
the Duchesse de Chateauroux.) “Apprise the Duc d’Aiguillon of what I say,
that he may arrange with you if my sickness grows worse; so that we may
part without any publicity.” The Jansenists and the Duc de Choiseurs
party publicly said that M. d’Aiguillon and the Archbishop had resolved to
let the King die without receiving the sacrament rather than disturb
Madame du Barry. Annoyed by their remarks, Beaumont determined to go and
reside at the Lazaristes, his house at Versailles, to avail himself of the
King’s last moments, and sacrifice Madame du Barry when the monarch’s
condition should become desperate. He arrived on the 3d of May, but did
not see the King. Under existing circumstances, his object was to humble
the enemies of his party and to support the favourite who had assisted to
overcome them.
A contrary zeal animated the Bishop of Carcassonne, who urged that “the
King ought to receive the sacrament; and by expelling the concubine to
give an example of repentance to France and Christian Europe, which he had
scandalised.”--“By what right,” said Cardinal de la Roche-Aymon, a
complaisant courtier with whom the Bishop was at daggers drawn, “do you
instruct me?”--“There is my authority,” replied the Bishop, holding up his
pectoral cross. “Learn, monseigneur, to respect it, and do not suffer
your King to die without the sacraments of the Church, of which he is the
eldest son.” The Duc d’Aiguillon and the Archbishop, who witnessed the
discussion, put an end to it by asking for the King’s orders relative to
Madame du Barry. “She must be taken quietly to your seat at Ruelle,” said
the King; “I shall be grateful for the care Madame d’Aiguillon may take of
her.”
Madame du Barry saw the King again for a moment on the evening of the 4th,
and promised to return to Court upon his recovery. She was scarcely gone
when the King asked for her. “She is gone,” was the answer. From that
moment the disorder gained ground; he thought himself a dead man, without
the possibility of recovery. The 5th and 6th passed without a word of
confession, viaticum, or extreme unction. The Duc de Fronsac threatened
to throw the Cure of Versailles out of the window if he dared to mention
them, but on the 7th, at three in the morning, the King imperatively
called for the Abbe Maudous. Confession lasted seventeen minutes. The
Ducs de la Vrillilere and d’Aiguillon wished to delay the viaticum; but La
Martiniere said to the King: “Sire, I have seen your Majesty in very
trying circumstances; but never admired you as I have done to-day. No
doubt your Majesty will immediately finish what you have so well begun.”
The King had his confessor Maudoua called back; this was a poor priest who
had been placed about him for some years before because he was old and
blind. He gave him absolution.
The formal renunciation desired by the Choiseul party, in order to humble
and annihilate Madame du Barry with solemnity, was no more mentioned. The
grand almoner, in concert with the Archbishop, composed this formula,
pronounced in presence of the viaticum: “Although the King owes an account
of his conduct to none but God, he declares his repentance at having
scandalised his subjects, and is desirous to live solely for the
maintenance of religion and the happiness of his people.”
On the 8th and 9th the disorder grew worse; and the King beheld the whole
surface of his body coming off piecemeal and corrupted. Deserted by his
friends and by that crowd of courtiers which had so long cringed before
him, his only consolation was the piety of his daughters.--SOULAVIE,
“Historical and Political Memoirs,” vol. i.]
The Comtesse du Barry had, a few days previously, withdrawn to Ruelle, to
the Duc d’Aiguillon’s. Twelve or fifteen persons belonging to the Court
thought it their duty to visit her there; their liveries were observed,
and these visits were for a long time grounds for disfavour. More than
six years after the King’s death one of these persons being spoken of in
the circle of the royal family, I heard it remarked, “That was one of the
fifteen Ruelle carriages.”
The whole Court went to the Chateau; the oiel-de boeuf was filled with
courtiers, and the palace with the inquisitive. The Dauphin had settled
that he would depart with the royal family the moment the King should
breathe his last sigh. But on such an occasion decency forbade that
positive orders for departure should be passed from mouth to mouth. The
heads of the stables, therefore, agreed with the people who were in the
King’s room, that the latter should place a lighted taper near a window,
and that at the instant of the King’s decease one of them should
extinguish it.
The taper was extinguished. On this signal the Body Guards, pages, and
equerries mounted on horseback, and all was ready for setting off. The
Dauphin was with the Dauphiness. They were expecting together the
intelligence of the death of Louis XV. A dreadful noise, absolutely like
thunder, was heard in the outer apartment; it was the crowd of courtiers
who were deserting the dead sovereign’s antechamber, to come and do homage
to the new power of Louis XVI. This extraordinary tumult informed Marie
Antoinette and her husband that they were called to the throne; and, by a
spontaneous movement, which deeply affected those around them, they threw
themselves on their knees; both, pouring forth a flood of tears,
exclaimed: “O God! guide us, protect us; we are too young to reign.”
The Comtesse de Noailles entered, and was the first to salute Marie
Antoinette as Queen of France. She requested their Majesties to
condescend to quit the inner apartments for the grand salon, to receive
the Princes and all the great officers, who were desirous to do homage to
their new sovereigns. Marie Antoinette received these first visits
leaning upon her husband, with her handkerchief held to her eyes; the
carriages drove up, the guards and equerries were on horseback. The
Chateau was deserted; every one hastened to fly from contagion, which
there was no longer any inducement to brave.
On leaving the chamber of Louis XV., the Duc de Villequier, first
gentleman of the bedchamber for the year, ordered M. Andouille, the King’s
chief surgeon, to open the body and embalm it. The chief surgeon would
inevitably have died in consequence. “I am ready,” replied Andouille;
“but while I operate you shall hold the head; your office imposes this
duty upon you.” The Duke went off without saying a word, and the corpse
was neither opened nor embalmed. A few under-servants and workmen
continued with the pestiferous remains, and paid the last duty to their
master; the surgeons directed that spirits of wine should be poured into
the coffin.
The entire Court set off for Choisy at four o’clock; Mesdames the King’s
aunts in their private carriage, and the Princesses under tuition with the
Comtesse de Marsan and the under-governesses. The King, the Queen,
Monsieur, the King’s brother, Madame, and the Comte and Comtesse d’Artois
went in the same carriage. The solemn scene that had just passed before
their eyes, the multiplied ideas offered to their imaginations by that
which was just opening, had naturally inclined them to grief and
reflection; but, by the Queen’s own confession, this inclination, little
suited to their age, wholly left them before they had gone half their
journey; a word, drolly mangled by the Comtesse d’Artois, occasioned a
general burst of laughter; and from that moment they dried their tears.
The communication between Choisy and Paris was incessant; never was a
Court seen in greater agitation. What influence will the royal aunts
have,--and the Queen? What fate is reserved for the Comtesse du Barry?
Whom will the young King choose for his ministers? All these questions
were answered in a few days. It was determined that the King’s youth
required a confidential person near him; and that there should be a prime
minister. All eyes were turned upon De Machault and De Maurepas, both of
them much advanced in years. The first had retired to his estate near
Paris; and the second to Pont Chartrain, to which place he had long been
exiled. The letter recalling M. de Machault was written, when Madame
Adelaide obtained the preference of that important appointment for M. de
Maurepas. The page to whose care the first letter had been actually
consigned was recalled.
The Duc d’Aiguillon had been too openly known as the private friend of the
King’s mistress; he was dismissed. M. de Vergennes, at that time
ambassador of France at Stockholm, was appointed Minister for Foreign
Affairs; Comte du Muy, the intimate friend of the Dauphin, the father of
Louis XVI.[?? D.W.], obtained the War Department. The Abbe Terray in vain
said, and wrote, that he had boldly done all possible injury to the
creditors of the State during the reign of the late King; that order was
restored in the finances; that nothing but what was beneficial to all
parties remained to be done; and that the new Court was about to enjoy the
advantages of the regenerating part of his plan of finance; all these
reasons, set forth in five or six memorials, which he sent in succession
to the King and Queen, did not avail to keep him in office. His talents
were admitted, but the odium which his operations had necessarily brought
upon his character, combined with the immorality of his private life,
forbade his further stay at Court; he was succeeded by M. de Clugny. De
Maupeou, the chancellor, was exiled; this caused universal joy. Lastly,
the reassembling of the Parliaments produced the strongest sensation;
Paris was in a delirium of joy, and not more than one person in a hundred
foresaw that the spirit of the ancient magistracy would be still the same;
and that in a short time it would make new attempts upon the royal
authority. Madame du Barry had been exiled to Pont-aux-Dames. This was a
measure rather of necessity than of severity; a short period of compulsory
retreat was requisite in order completely to break off her connections
with State affairs. The possession of Louveciennes and a considerable
pension were continued to her.
[The Comtesse du Barry never forgot the mild treatment she experienced
from the Court of Louis XVI.; during the most violent convulsions of the
Revolution she signified to the Queen that there was no one in France more
grieved at the sufferings of her sovereign than herself; that the honour
she had for years enjoyed, of living near the throne, and the unbounded
kindness of the King and Queen, had so sincerely attached her to the cause
of royalty that she entreated the Queen to honour her by disposing of all
she possessed. Though they did not accept her offer, their Majesties were
affected at her gratitude. The Comtesse du Barry was, as is well known,
one of the victims of the Revolution. She betrayed at the last great
weakness, and the most ardent desire to live. She was the only woman who
wept upon the scaffold and implored for mercy. Her beauty and tears made
an impression on the populace, and the execution was hurried to a
conclusion.--MADAME CAMPAN.]
Everybody expected the recall of M. de Choiseul; the regret occasioned by
his absence among the numerous friends whom he had left at Court, the
attachment of the young Princess who was indebted to him for her elevation
to the throne of France, and all concurring circumstances, seemed to
foretell his return; the Queen earnestly entreated it of the King, but she
met with an insurmountable and unforeseen obstacle. The King, it is said,
had imbibed the strongest prejudices against that minister, from secret
memoranda penned by his father, and which had been committed to the care
of the Duc de La Vauguyon, with an injunction to place them in his hands
as soon as he should be old enough to study the art of reigning. It was
by these memoranda that the esteem which he had conceived for the Marechal
du Muy was inspired, and we may add that Madame Adelaide, who at this
early period powerfully influenced the decisions of the young monarch,
confirmed the impressions they had made.
The Queen conversed with M. Campan on the regret she felt at having been
unable to procure the recall of M. de Choiseul, and disclosed the cause of
it to him. The Abbe de Vermond, who, down to the time of the death of
Louis XV., had been on terms of the strictest friendship with M. Campan,
called upon him on the second day after the arrival of the Court at
Choisy, and, assuming a serious air, said, “Monsieur, the Queen was
indiscreet enough yesterday to speak to you of a minister to whom she must
of course be attached, and whom his friends ardently desire to have near
her; you are aware that we must give up all expectation of seeing the Duke
at Court; you know the reasons why; but you do not know that the young
Queen, having mentioned the conversation in question to me, it was my
duty, both as her preceptor and her friend, to remonstrate severely with
her on her indiscretion in communicating to you those particulars of which
you are in possession. I am now come to tell you that if you continue to
avail yourself of the good nature of your mistress to initiate yourself in
secrets of State, you will have me for your most inveterate enemy. The
Queen should find here no other confidant than myself respecting things
that ought to remain secret.” M. Campan answered that he did not covet
the important and dangerous character at the new Court which the Abbe
wished to appropriate; and that he should confine himself to the duties of
his office, being sufficiently satisfied with the continued kindness with
which the Queen honoured him. Notwithstanding this, however, he informed
the Queen, on the very same evening, of the injunction he had received.
She owned that she had mentioned their conversation to the Abbe; that he
had indeed seriously scolded her, in order to make her feel the necessity
of being secret in concerns of State; and she added, “The Abbe cannot like
you, my dear Campan; he did not expect that I should, on my arrival in
France, find in my household a man who would suit me so exactly as you
have done. I know that he has taken umbrage at it; that is enough. I
know, too, that you are incapable of attempting anything to injure him in
my esteem; an attempt which would besides be vain, for I have been too
long attached to him. As to yourself, be easy on the score of the Abbe’s
hostility, which shall not in any way hurt you.”
The Abbe de Vermond having made himself master of the office of sole
confidant to the Queen, was nevertheless agitated whenever he saw the
young King; he could not be ignorant that the Abbe had been promoted by
the Duc de Choiseul, and was believed to favour the Encyclopedists,
against whom Louis XVI. entertained a secret prejudice, although he
suffered them to gain so great an ascendency during his reign. The Abbe
had, moreover, observed that the King had never, while Dauphin, addressed
a single word to him; and that he very frequently only answered him with a
shrug of the shoulders. He therefore determined on writing to Louis XVI.,
and intimating that he owed his situation at Court solely to the
confidence with which the late King had honoured him; and that as habits
contracted during the Queen’s education placed him continually in the
closest intimacy with her, he could not enjoy the honour of remaining near
her Majesty without the King’s consent. Louis XVI. sent back his letter,
after writing upon it these words: “I approve the Abbe de Vermond
continuing in his office about the Queen.”