During the first few months of his reign Louis XVI. dwelt at La Muette,
Marly, and Compiegne. When settled at Versailles he occupied himself with
a general examination of his grandfather’s papers. He had promised the
Queen to communicate to her all that he might discover relative to the
history of the man with the iron mask, who, he thought, had become so
inexhaustible a source of conjecture only in consequence of the interest
which the pen of a celebrated writer had excited respecting the detention
of a prisoner of State, who was merely a man of whimsical tastes and
habits.
I was with the Queen when the King, having finished his researches,
informed her that he had not found anything among the secret papers
elucidating the existence of this prisoner; that he had conversed on the
matter with M. de Maurepas, whose age made him contemporary with the epoch
during which the story must have been known to the ministers; and that M.
de Maurepas had assured him he was merely a prisoner of a very dangerous
character, in consequence of his disposition for intrigue. He was a
subject of the Duke of Mantua, and was enticed to the frontier, arrested
there, and kept prisoner, first at Pignerol, and afterwards in the
Bastille. This transfer took place in consequence of the appointment of
the governor of the former place to the government of the latter. It was
for fear the prisoner should profit by the inexperience of a new governor
that he was sent with the Governor of Pignerol to the Bastille.
Such was, in fact, the truth about the man on whom people have been
pleased to fix an iron mask. And thus was it related in writing, and
published by M. ----- twenty years ago. He had searched the archives of
the Foreign Office, and laid the real story before the public; but the
public, prepossessed in favour of a marvellous version, would not
acknowledge the authenticity of his account. Every man relied upon the
authority of Voltaire; and it was believed that a natural or a twin
brother of Louis XIV. lived many years in prison with a mask over his
face. The story of this mask, perhaps, had its origin in the old custom,
among both men and women in Italy, of wearing a velvet mask when they
exposed themselves to the sun. It is possible that the Italian captive
may have sometimes shown himself upon the terrace of his prison with his
face thus covered. As to the silver plate which this celebrated prisoner
is said to have thrown from his window, it is known that such a
circumstance did happen, but it happened at Valzin, in the time of
Cardinal Richelieu. This anecdote has been mixed up with the inventions
respecting the Piedmontese prisoner.
In this survey of the papers of Louis XV. by his grandson some very
curious particulars relative to his private treasury were found. Shares
in various financial companies afforded him a revenue, and had in course
of time produced him a capital of some amount, which he applied to his
secret expenses. The King collected his vouchers of title to these
shares, and made a present of them to M. Thierry de Ville d’Avray, his
chief valet de chambre.
The Queen was desirous to secure the comfort of Mesdames, the daughters of
Louis XV., who were held in the highest respect. About this period she
contributed to furnish them with a revenue sufficient to provide them an
easy, pleasant existence: The King gave them the Chateau of Bellevue; and
added to the produce of it, which was given up to them, the expenses of
their table and equipage, and payment of all the charges of their
household, the number of which was even increased. During the lifetime of
Louis XV., who was a very selfish prince, his daughters, although they had
attained forty years of age, had no other place of residence than their
apartments in the Chateau of Versailles; no other walks than such as they
could take in the large park of that palace; and no other means of
gratifying their taste for the cultivation of plants but by having boxes
and vases, filled with them, in their balconies or their closets. They
had, therefore, reason to be much pleased with the conduct of Marie
Antoinette, who had the greatest influence in the King’s kindness towards
his aunts.
Paris did not cease, during the first years of the reign, to give proofs
of pleasure whenever the Queen appeared at any of the plays of the
capital. At the representation of “Iphigenia in Aulis,” the actor who
sang the words, “Let us sing, let us celebrate our Queen!” which were
repeated by the chorus, directed by a respectful movement the eyes of the
whole assembly upon her Majesty. Reiterated cries of ‘Bis’! and clapping
of hands, were followed by such a burst of enthusiasm that many of the
audience added their voices to those of the actors in order to celebrate,
it might too truly be said, another Iphigenia. The Queen, deeply
affected, covered her eyes with her handkerchief; and this proof of
sensibility raised the public enthusiasm to a still higher pitch.
The King gave Marie Antoinette Petit Trianon.
[The Chateau of Petit Trianon, which was built for Louis XV., was not
remarkably handsome as a building. The luxuriance of the hothouses
rendered the place agreeable to that Prince. He spent a few days there
several times in the year. It was when he was setting off from Versailles
for Petit Trianon that he was struck in the side by the knife of Damiens,
and it was there that he was attacked by the smallpox, of which he died on
the 10th of May, 1774.--MADAME CAMPAN.]
Henceforward she amused herself with improving the gardens, without
allowing any addition to the building, or any change in the furniture,
which was very shabby, and remained, in 1789, in the same state as during
the reign of Louis XV. Everything there, without exception, was
preserved; and the Queen slept in a faded bed, which had been used by the
Comtesse du Barry. The charge of extravagance, generally made against the
Queen, is the most unaccountable of all the popular errors respecting her
character. She had exactly the contrary failing; and I could prove that
she often carried her economy to a degree of parsimony actually blamable,
especially in a sovereign. She took a great liking for Trianon, and used
to go there alone, followed by a valet; but she found attendants ready to
receive her,--a concierge and his wife, who served her as femme de
chambre, women of the wardrobe, footmen, etc.
When she first took possession of Petit Trianon, it was reported that she
changed the name of the seat which the King had given her, and called it
Little Vienna, or Little Schoenbrunn. A person who belonged to the Court,
and was silly enough to give this report credit, wishing to visit Petit
Trianon with a party, wrote to M. Campan, requesting the Queen’s
permission to do so. In his note he called Trianon Little Vienna. Similar
requests were usually laid before the Queen just as they were made: she
chose to give the permissions to see her gardens herself, liking to grant
these little favours. When she came to the words I have quoted she was
very, much offended, and exclaimed, angrily, that there were too many,
fools ready, to aid the malicious; that she had been told of the report
circulated, which pretended that she had thought of nothing but her own
country, and that she kept an Austrian heart, while the interests of
France alone ought to engage her. She refused the request so awkwardly
made, and desired M. Campan to reply, that Trianon was not to be seen for
some time, and that the Queen was astonished that any man in good society
should believe she would do so ill-judged a thing as to change the French
names of her palaces to foreign ones.
Before the Emperor Joseph II’s first visit to France the Queen received a
visit from the Archduke Maximilian in 1775. A stupid act of the
ambassador, seconded on the part of the Queen by the Abbe de Vermond, gave
rise at that period to a discussion which offended the Princes of the
blood and the chief nobility of the kingdom. Travelling incognito, the
young Prince claimed that the first visit was not due from him to the
Princes of the blood; and the Queen supported his pretension.
From the time of the Regency, and on account of the residence of the
family of Orleans in the bosom of the capital, Paris had preserved a
remarkable degree of attachment and respect for that branch of the royal
house; and although the crown was becoming more and more remote from the
Princes of the House of Orleans, they had the advantage (a great one with
the Parisians) of being the descendants of Henri IV. An affront to that
popular family was a serious ground of dislike to the Queen. It was at
this period that the circles of the city, and even of the Court, expressed
themselves bitterly about her levity, and her partiality for the House of
Austria. The Prince for whom the Queen had embarked in an important
family quarrel--and a quarrel involving national prerogatives--was,
besides, little calculated to inspire interest. Still young, uninformed,
and deficient in natural talent, he was always making blunders.
He went to the Jardin du Roi; M. de Buffon, who received him there,
offered him a copy of his works; the Prince declined accepting the book,
saying to M. de Buffon, in the most polite manner possible, “I should be
very sorry to deprive you of it.”
[Joseph II, on his visit to France, also went to see M. de Buffon, and
said to that celebrated man, “I am come to fetch the copy of your works
which my brother forgot.”--NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
It may be supposed that the Parisians were much entertained with this
answer.
The Queen was exceedingly mortified at the mistakes made by her brother;
but what hurt her most was being accused of preserving an Austrian heart.
Marie Antoinette had more than once to endure that imputation during the
long course of her misfortunes. Habit did not stop the tears such
injustice caused; but the first time she was suspected of not loving
France, she gave way to her indignation. All that she could say on the
subject was useless; by seconding the pretensions of the Archduke she had
put arms into her enemies’ hands; they were labouring to deprive her of
the love of the people, and endeavoured, by all possible means, to spread
a belief that the Queen sighed for Germany, and preferred that country to
France.
Marie Antoinette had none but herself to rely on for preserving the fickle
smiles of the Court and the public. The King, too indifferent to serve
her as a guide, as yet had conceived no love for her, notwithstanding the
intimacy that grew between them at Choisy. In his closet Louis XVI. was
immersed in deep study. At the Council he was busied with the welfare of
his people; hunting and mechanical occupations engrossed his leisure
moments, and he never thought on the subject of an heir.
The coronation took place at Rheims, with all the accustomed pomp. At
this period the people’s love for Louis XVI. burst forth in transports
not to be mistaken for party demonstrations or idle curiosity. He replied
to this enthusiasm by marks of confidence, worthy of a people happy in
being governed by a good King; he took a pleasure in repeatedly walking
without guards, in the midst of the crowd which pressed around him, and
called down blessings on his head. I remarked the impression made at this
time by an observation of Louis XVI. On the day of his coronation he put
his hand up to his head, at the moment of the crown being placed upon it,
and said, “It pinches me.” Henri III. had exclaimed, “It pricks me.”
Those who were near the King were struck with the similarity between these
two exclamations, though not of a class likely to be blinded by the
superstitious fears of ignorance.
While the Queen, neglected as she was, could not even hope for the
happiness of being a mother, she had the mortification of seeing the
Comtesse d’Artois give birth to the Duc d’Angouleme.
Custom required that the royal family and the whole Court should be
present at the accouchement of the Princesses; the Queen was therefore
obliged to stay a whole day in her sister-in-law’s chamber. The moment
the Comtesse d’Artois was informed a prince was born, she put her hand to
her forehead and exclaimed with energy, “My God, how happy I am!” The
Queen felt very differently at this involuntary and natural exclamation.
Nevertheless, her behaviour was perfect. She bestowed all possible marks
of tenderness upon the young mother, and would not leave her until she was
again put into bed; she afterwards passed along the staircase, and through
the hall of the guards, with a calm demeanour, in the midst of an immense
crowd. The poissardes, who had assumed a right of speaking to sovereigns
in their own vulgar language, followed her to the very doors of her
apartments, calling out to her with gross expressions, that she ought to
produce heirs. The Queen reached her inner room, hurried and agitated; he
shut herself up to weep with me alone, not from jealousy of her
sister-in-law’s happiness,--of that he was incapable,--but from sorrow at
her own situation.
Deprived of the happiness of giving an heir to the crown, the Queen
endeavoured to interest herself in the children of the people of her
household. She had long been desirous to bring up one of them herself,
and to make it the constant object of her care. A little village boy,
four or five years old, full of health, with a pleasing countenance,
remarkably large blue eyes, and fine light hair, got under the feet of the
Queen’s horses, when she was taking an airing in a calash, through the
hamlet of St. Michel, near Louveciennes. The coachman and postilions
stopped the horses, and the child was rescued without the slightest
injury. Its grandmother rushed out of the door of her cottage to take it;
but the Queen, standing up in her calash and extending her arms, called
out that the child was hers, and that destiny had given it to her, to
console her, no doubt, until she should have the happiness of having one
herself. “Is his mother alive?” asked the Queen. “No, Madame; my
daughter died last winter, and left five small children upon my hands.” “I
will take this one, and provide for all the rest; do you consent?” “Ah,
Madame, they are too fortunate,” replied the cottager; “but Jacques is a
bad boy. I hope he will stay with you!” The Queen, taking little Jacques
upon her knee, said that she would make him used to her, and gave orders
to proceed. It was necessary, however, to shorten the drive, so violently
did Jacques scream, and kick the Queen and her ladies.
The arrival of her Majesty at her apartments at Versailles, holding the
little rustic by the hand, astonished the whole household; he cried out
with intolerable shrillness that he wanted his grandmother, his brother
Louis, and his sister Marianne; nothing could calm him. He was taken away
by the wife of a servant, who was appointed to attend him as nurse. The
other children were put to school. Little Jacques, whose family name was
Armand, came back to the Queen two days afterwards; a white frock trimmed
with lace, a rose-coloured sash with silver fringe, and a hat decorated
with feathers, were now substituted for the woollen cap, the little red
frock, and the wooden shoes. The child was really very beautiful. The
Queen was enchanted with him; he was brought to her every morning at nine
o’clock; he breakfasted and dined with her, and often even with the King.
She liked to call him my child, and lavished caresses upon him, still
maintaining a deep silence respecting the regrets which constantly
occupied her heart.
[This little unfortunate was nearly twenty in 1792; the fury of the people
and the fear of being thought a favourite of the Queen’s had made him the
most sanguinary terrorist of Versailles. He was killed at the battle of
Jemappes.]
This child remained with the Queen until the time when Madame was old
enough to come home to her august mother, who had particularly taken upon
herself the care of her education.
The Queen talked incessantly of the qualities which she admired in Louis
XVI., and gladly attributed to herself the slightest favourable change in
his manner; perhaps she displayed too unreservedly the joy she felt, and
the share she appropriated in the improvement. One day Louis XVI. saluted
her ladies with more kindness than usual, and the Queen laughingly said to
them, “Now confess, ladies, that for one so badly taught as a child, the
King has saluted you with very good grace!”
The Queen hated M. de La Vauguyon; she accused him alone of those points
in the habits, and even the sentiments, of the King which hurt her. A
former first woman of the bedchamber to Queen Maria Leczinska had
continued in office near the young Queen. She was one of those people who
are fortunate enough to spend their lives in the service of kings without
knowing anything of what is passing at Court. She was a great devotee;
the Abbe Grisel, an ex-Jesuit, was her director. Being rich from her
savings and an income of 50,000 livres, she kept a very good table; in her
apartment, at the Grand Commun, the most distinguished persons who still
adhered to the Order of Jesuits often assembled. The Duc de La Vauguyon
was intimate with her; their chairs at the Eglise des Reollets were placed
near each other; at high mass and at vespers they sang the “Gloria in
Excelsis” and the “Magnificat” together; and the pious virgin, seeing in
him only one of God’s elect, little imagined him to be the declared enemy
of a Princess whom she served and revered. On the day of his death she ran
in tears to relate to the Queen the piety, humility, and repentance of the
last moments of the Duc de La Vauguyon. He had called his people
together, she said, to ask their pardon. “For what?” replied the Queen,
sharply; “he has placed and pensioned off all his servants; it was of the
King and his brothers that the holy man you bewail should have asked
pardon, for having paid so little attention to the education of princes on
whom the fate and happiness of twenty-five millions of men depend.
Luckily,” added she, “the King and his brothers, still young, have
incessantly laboured to repair the errors of their preceptor.”
The progress of time, and the confidence with which the King and the
Princes, his brothers, were inspired by the change in their situation
since the death of Louis XV., had developed their characters. I will
endeavour to depict them.
The features of Louis XVI. were noble enough, though somewhat melancholy
in expression; his walk was heavy and unmajestic; his person greatly
neglected; his hair, whatever might be the skill of his hairdresser, was
soon in disorder. His voice, without being harsh, was not agreeable; if
he grew animated in speaking he often got above his natural pitch, and
became shrill. The Abbe de Radonvilliers, his preceptor, one of the Forty
of the French Academy, a learned and amiable man, had given him and
Monsieur a taste for study. The King had continued to instruct himself;
he knew the English language perfectly; I have often heard him translate
some of the most difficult passages in Milton’s poems. He was a skilful
geographer, and was fond of drawing and colouring maps; he was well versed
in history, but had not perhaps sufficiently studied the spirit of it. He
appreciated dramatic beauties, and judged them accurately. At Choisy, one
day, several ladies expressed their dissatisfaction because the French
actors were going to perform one of Moliere’s pieces. The King inquired
why they disapproved of the choice. One of them answered that everybody
must admit that Moliere had very bad taste; the King replied that many
things might be found in Moliere contrary to fashion, but that it appeared
to him difficult to point out any in bad taste?
[The King, having purchased the Chateau of Rambouillet from the Duc de
Penthievre, amused himself with embellishing it. I have seen a register
entirely in his own handwriting, which proves that he possessed a great
variety of information on the minutiae of various branches of knowledge.
In his accounts he would not omit an outlay of a franc. His figures and
letters, when he wished to write legibly, were small and very neat, but in
general he wrote very ill. He was so sparing of paper that he divided a
sheet into eight, six, or four pieces, according to the length of what he
had to write. Towards the close of the page he compressed the letters, and
avoided interlineations. The last words were close to the edge of the
paper; he seemed to regret being obliged to begin another page. He was
methodical and analytical; he divided what he wrote into chapters and
sections. He had extracted from the works of Nicole and Fenelon, his
favourite authors, three or four hundred concise and sententious phrases;
these he had classed according to subject, and formed a work of them in
the style of Montesquieu. To this treatise he had given the following
general title: “Of Moderate Monarchy” (De la Monarchie temperee), with
chapters entitled, “Of the Person of the Prince;” “Of the Authority of
Bodies in the State;” “Of the Character of the Executive Functions of the
Monarchy.” Had he been able to carry into effect all the grand precepts
he had observed in Fenelon, Louis XVI. would have been an accomplished
monarch, and France a powerful kingdom. The King used to accept the
speeches his ministers presented to him to deliver on important occasions;
but he corrected and modified them; struck out some parts, and added
others; and sometimes consulted the Queen on the subject. The phrase of
the minister erased by the King was frequently unsuitable, and dictated by
the minister’s private feelings; but the King’s was always the natural
expression. He himself composed, three times or oftener, his famous
answers to the Parliament which he banished. But in his letters he was
negligent, and always incorrect. Simplicity was the characteristic of the
King’s style; the figurative style of M. Necker did not please him; the
sarcasms of Maurepas were disagreeable to him. Unfortunate Prince! he
would predict, in his observations, that if such a calamity should happen,
the monarchy would be ruined; and the next day he would consent in Council
to the very measure which he had condemned the day before, and which
brought him nearer the brink of the precipice.--SOULAVIE, “Historical and
Political Memoirs of the Reign of Louis XVI.,” vol. ii.]
This Prince combined with his attainments the attributes of a good
husband, a tender father, and an indulgent master.
Unfortunately he showed too much predilection for the mechanical arts;
masonry and lock-making so delighted him that he admitted into his private
apartment a common locksmith, with whom he made keys and locks; and his
hands, blackened by that sort of work, were often, in my presence, the
subject of remonstrances and even sharp reproaches from the Queen, who
would have chosen other amusements for her husband.
[Louis XVI. saw that the art of lock-making was capable of application to
a higher study, He was an excellent geographer. The most valuable and
complete instrument for the study of that science was begun by his orders
and under his direction. It was an immense globe of copper, which was
long preserved, though unfinished, in the Mazarine library. Louis XVI.
invented and had executed under his own eyes the ingenious mechanism
required for this globe.--NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
Austere and rigid with regard to himself alone, the King observed the laws
of the Church with scrupulous exactness. He fasted and abstained
throughout the whole of Lent. He thought it right that the queen should
not observe these customs with the same strictness. Though sincerely
pious, the spirit of the age had disposed his mind to toleration. Turgot,
Malesherbes, and Necker judged that this Prince, modest and simple in his
habits, would willingly sacrifice the royal prerogative to the solid
greatness of his people. His heart, in truth, disposed him towards
reforms; but his prejudices and fears, and the clamours of pious and
privileged persons, intimidated him, and made him abandon plans which his
love for the people had suggested.
Monsieur had more dignity of demeanour than the King; but his corpulence
rendered his gait inelegant. He was fond of pageantry and magnificence.
He cultivated the belles lettres, and under assumed names often
contributed verses to the Mercury and other papers.
[During his stay at Avignon, Monsieur, afterwards Louis XVIII, lodged with
the Duc de Crillon; he refused the town-guard which was offered him,
saying, “A son of France, under the roof of a Crillon, needs no
guard.”--NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
His wonderful memory was the handmaid of his wit, furnishing him with the
happiest quotations. He knew by heart a varied repertoire, from the
finest passages of the Latin classics to the Latin of all the prayers,
from the works of Racine to the vaudeville of “Rose et Colas.”
The Comte d’Artoisi had an agreeable countenance, was well made, skilful
in bodily exercises, lively, impetuous, fond of pleasure, and very
particular in his dress. Some happy observations made by him were
repeated with approval, and gave a favourable idea of his heart. The
Parisians liked the open and frank character of this Prince, which they
considered national, and showed real affection for him.
The dominion that the Queen gained over the King’s mind, the charms of a
society in which Monsieur displayed his wit, and to which the Comte
d’Artois--[Afterwards Charles X.]--gave life by the vivacity of youth,
gradually softened that ruggedness of manner in Louis XVI. which a
better-conducted education might have prevented. Still, this defect often
showed itself, and, in spite of his extreme simplicity, the King inspired
those who had occasion to speak to him with diffidence. Courtiers,
submissive in the presence of their sovereign, are only the more ready to
caricature him; with little good breeding, they called those answers they
so much dreaded, Les coups de boutoir du Roi.--[The literal meaning of the
phrase “coup de boutoir,” is a thrust from the snout of a boar.]
Methodical in all his habits, the King always went to bed at eleven
precisely. One evening the Queen was going with her usual circle to a
party, either at the Duc de Duras’s or the Princesse de Glumenee’s. The
hand of the clock was slily put forward to hasten the King’s departure by
a few minutes; he thought bed-time was come, retired, and found none of
his attendants ready to wait on him. This joke became known in all the
drawing-rooms of Versailles, and was disapproved of there. Kings have no
privacy. Queens have no boudoirs. If those who are in immediate
attendance upon sovereigns be not themselves disposed to transmit their
private habits to posterity, the meanest valet will relate what he has
seen or heard; his gossip circulates rapidly, and forms public opinion,
which at length ascribes to the most august persons characters which,
however untrue they may be, are almost always indelible.
NOTE. The only passion ever shown by Louis XVI. was for hunting. He was
so much occupied by it that when I went up into his private closets at
Versailles, after the 10th of August, I saw upon the staircase six frames,
in which were seen statements of all his hunts, when Dauphin and when
King. In them was detailed the number, kind, and quality of the game he
had killed at each hunting party during every month, every season, and
every year of his reign.
The interior of his private apartments was thus arranged: a salon,
ornamented with gilded mouldings, displayed the engravings which had been
dedicated to him, drawings of the canals he had dug, with the model of
that of Burgundy, and the plan of the cones and works of Cherbourg. The
upper hall contained his collection of geographical charts, spheres,
globes, and also his geographical cabinet. There were to be seen drawings
of maps which he had begun, and some that he had finished. He had a
clever method of washing them in. His geographical memory was prodigious.
Over the hall was the turning and joining room, furnished with ingenious
instruments for working in wood. He inherited some from Louis XV., and he
often busied himself, with Duret’s assistance, in keeping them clean and
bright. Above was the library of books published during his reign. The
prayer books and manuscript books of Anne of Brittany, Francois I, the
later Valois, Louis XIV., Louis XV., and the Dauphin formed the great
hereditary library of the Chateau. Louis XVI. placed separately, in two
apartments communicating with each other, the works of his own time,
including a complete collection of Didot’s editions, in vellum, every
volume enclosed in a morocco case. There were several English works,
among the rest the debates of the British Parliament, in a great number of
volumes in folio (this is the Moniteur of England, a complete collection
of which is so valuable and so scarce). By the side of this collection was
to be seen a manuscript history of all the schemes for a descent upon that
island, particularly that of Comte de Broglie. One of the presses of this
cabinet was full of cardboard boxes, containing papers relative to the
House of Austria, inscribed in the King’s own hand: “Secret papers of my
family respecting the House of Austria; papers of my family respecting the
Houses of Stuart and Hanover.” In an adjoining press were kept papers
relative to Russia. Satirical works against Catherine II. and against
Paul I. were sold in France under the name of histories; Louis XVIII.
collected and sealed up with his small seal the scandalous anecdotes
against Catherine II., as well as the works of Rhulieres, of which he had
a copy, to be certain that the secret life of that Princess, which
attracted the curiosity of her contemporaries, should not be made public
by his means.
Above the King’s private library were a forge, two anvils, and a vast
number of iron tools; various common locks, well made and perfect; some
secret locks, and locks ornamented with gilt copper. It was there that
the infamous Gamin, who afterwards accused the King of having tried to
poison him, and was rewarded for his calumny with a pension of twelve
thousand livres, taught him the art of lock-making. This Gamin, who
became our guide, by order of the department and municipality of
Versailles, did not, however, denounce the King on the 20th December,
1792. He had been made the confidant of that Prince in an immense number
of important commissions; the King had sent him the “Red Book,” from
Paris, in a parcel; and the part which was concealed during the
Constituent Assembly still remained so in 1793. Gamin hid it in a part of
the Chateau inaccessible to everybody, and took it from under the shelves
of a secret press before our eyes. This is a convincing proof that Louis
XVI. hoped to return to his Chiteau. When teaching Louis XVI. his trade
Gamin took upon himself the tone and authority of a master. “The King was
good, forbearing, timid, inquisitive, and addicted to sleep,” said Gamin
to me; “he was fond to excess of lock-making, and he concealed himself
from the Queen and the Court to file and forge with me. In order to convey
his anvil and my own backwards and forwards we were obliged to use a
thousand stratagems, the history of which would: never end.” Above the
King’s and Gamin’s forges and anvils was an, observatory, erected upon a
platform covered with lead. There, seated on an armchair, and assisted by
a telescope, the King observed all that was passing in the courtyards of
Versailles, the avenue of Paris, and the neighbouring gardens. He had
taken a liking to Duret, one of the indoor servants of the palace, who
sharpened his tools, cleaned his anvils, pasted his maps, and adjusted
eyeglasses to the King’s sight, who was short-sighted. This good Duret,
and indeed all the indoor servants, spoke of their master with regret and
affection, and with tears in their eyes.
The King was born weak and delicate; but from the age of twenty-four he
possessed a robust constitution, inherited from his mother, who was of the
House of Saxe, celebrated for generations for its robustness. There were
two men in Louis XVI., the man of knowledge and the man of will. The King
knew the history of his own family and of the first houses of France
perfectly. He composed the instructions for M. de la Peyrouse’s voyage
round the world, which the minister thought were drawn up by several
members of the Academy of Sciences. His memory retained an infinite
number of names and situations. He remembered quantities and numbers
wonderfully. One day an account was presented to him in which the
minister had ranked among the expenses an item inserted in the account of
the preceding year. “There is a double charge,” said the King; “bring me
last year’s account, and I will show it yet there.” When the King was
perfectly master of the details of any matter, and saw injustice, he was
obdurate even to harshness. Then he would be obeyed instantly, in order
to be sure that he was obeyed.
But in important affairs of state the man of will was not to be found.
Louis XVI. was upon the throne exactly what those weak temperaments whom
nature has rendered incapable of an opinion are in society. In his
pusillanimity, he gave his confidence to a minister; and although amidst
various counsels he often knew which was the best, he never had the
resolution to say, “I prefer the opinion of such a one.” Herein
originated the misfortunes of the State.--SOULAVIE’S “Historical and
Political Memoirs Of the Reign Of LOUIS XVI.,” VOL ii.