The Duc de Choiseul had reappeared at Court on the ceremony of the King’s
coronation for the first time after his disgrace under Louis XV. in 1770.
The state of public feeling on the subject gave his friends hope of seeing
him again in administration, or in the Council of State; but the opposite
party was too firmly seated at Versailles, and the young Queen’s influence
was outweighed, in the mind of the King, by long-standing prejudices; she
therefore gave up for ever her attempt to reinstate the Duke. Thus this
Princess, who has been described as so ambitious, and so strenuously
supporting the interest of the House of Austria, failed twice in the only
scheme which could forward the views constantly attributed to her; and
spent the whole of her reign surrounded by enemies of herself and her
house.
Marie Antoinette took little pains to promote literature and the fine
arts. She had been annoyed in consequence of having ordered a performance
of the “Connstable de Bourbon,” on the celebration of the marriage of
Madame Clotilde with the Prince of Piedmont. The Court and the people of
Paris censured as indecorous the naming characters in the piece after the
reigning family, and that with which the new alliance was formed. The
reading of this piece by the Comte de Guibert in the Queen’s closet had
produced in her Majesty’s circle that sort of enthusiasm which obscures
the judgment. She promised herself she would have no more readings. Yet,
at the request of M. de Cubieres, the King’s equerry, the Queen agreed to
hear the reading of a comedy written by his brother. She collected her
intimate circle, Messieurs de Coigny, de Vaudreuil, de Besenval, Mesdames
de Polignac, de Chalon, etc., and to increase the number of judges, she
admitted the two Parnys, the Chevalier de Bertin, my father-in-law, and
myself.
Mold read for the author. I never could satisfy myself by what magic the
skilful reader gained our unanimous approbation of a ridiculous work.
Surely the delightful voice of Mold, by awakening our recollection of the
dramatic beauties of the French stage, prevented the wretched lines of
Dorat Cubieres from striking on our ears. I can assert that the
exclamation Charming! charming! repeatedly interrupted the reader. The
piece was admitted for performance at Fontainebleau; and for the first
time the King had the curtain dropped before the end of the play. It was
called the “Dramomane” or “Dramaturge.” All the characters died of eating
poison in a pie. The Queen, highly disconcerted at having recommended
this absurd production, announced that she would never hear another
reading; and this time she kept her word.
The tragedy of “Mustapha and Mangir,” by M. de Chamfort, was highly
successful at the Court theatre at Fontainebleau. The Queen procured the
author a pension of 1,200 francs, but his play failed on being performed
at Paris.
The spirit of opposition which prevailed in that city delighted in
reversing the verdicts of the Court. The Queen determined never again to
give any marked countenance to new dramatic works. She reserved her
patronage for musical composers, and in a few years their art arrived at a
perfection it had never before attained in France.
It was solely to gratify the Queen that the manager of the Opera brought
the first company of comic actors to Paris. Gluck, Piccini, and Sacchini
were attracted there in succession. These eminent composers were treated
with great distinction at Court. Immediately on his arrival in France,
Gluck was admitted to the Queen’s toilet, and she talked to him all the
time he remained with her. She asked him one day whether he had nearly
brought his grand opera of “Armide” to a conclusion, and whether it
pleased him. Gluck replied very coolly, in his German accent, “Madame, it
will soon be finished, and really it will be superb.” There was a great
outcry against the confidence with which the composer had spoken of one of
his own productions. The Queen defended him warmly; she insisted that he
could not be ignorant of the merit of his works; that he well knew they
were generally admired, and that no doubt he was afraid lest a modesty,
merely dictated by politeness, should look like affectation in him.
[Gluck often had to deal with self-sufficiency equal to his own. He was
very reluctant to introduce long ballets into “Iphigenia.” Vestris deeply
regretted that the opera was not terminated by a piece they called a
chaconne, in which he displayed all his power. He complained to Gluck
about it. Gluck, who treated his art with all the dignity it merits,
replied that in so interesting a subject dancing would be misplaced.
Being pressed another time by Vestris on the same subject, “A chaconne! A
chaconne!” roared out the enraged musician; “we must describe the Greeks;
and had the Greeks chaconnes?” “They had not?” returned the astonished
dancer; “why, then, so much the worse for them!”--NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
The Queen did not confine her admiration to the lofty style of the French
and Italian operas; she greatly valued Gretry’s music, so well adapted to
the spirit and feeling of the words. A great deal of the poetry set to
music by Gretry is by Marmontel. The day after the first performance of
“Zemira and Azor,” Marmontel and Gretry were presented to the Queen as she
was passing through the gallery of Fontainebleau to go to mass. The Queen
congratulated Gretry on the success of the new opera, and told him that
she had dreamed of the enchanting effect of the trio by Zemira’s father
and sisters behind the magic mirror. Gretry, in a transport of joy, took
Marmontel in his arms, “Ah! my friend,” cried he, “excellent music may be
made of this.”--“And execrable words,” coolly observed Marmontel, to whom
her Majesty had not addressed a single compliment.
The most indifferent artists were permitted to have the honour of painting
the Queen. A full-length portrait, representing her in all the pomp of
royalty, was exhibited in the gallery of Versailles. This picture, which
was intended for the Court of Vienna, was executed by a man who does not
deserve even to be named, and disgusted all people of taste. It seemed as
if this art had, in France, retrograded several centuries.
The Queen had not that enlightened judgment, or even that mere taste,
which enables princes to foster and protect great talents. She confessed
frankly that she saw no merit in any portrait beyond the likeness. When
she went to the Louvre, she would run hastily over all the little “genre”
pictures, and come out, as she acknowledged, without having once raised
her eyes to the grand compositions.
There is no good portrait of the Queen, save that by Werthmuller, chief
painter to the King of Sweden, which was sent to Stockholm, and that by
Madame Lebrun, which was saved from the revolutionary fury by the
commissioners for the care of the furniture at Versailles.
[A sketch of very great interest made when the Queen was in the Temple and
discovered many years afterwards there, recently reproduced in the memoirs
of the Marquise de Tourzel (Paris, Plon), is the last authentic portrait
of the unhappy Queen. See also the catalogue of portraits made by Lord
Ronald Gower.]
The composition of the latter picture resembles that of Henriette of
France, the wife of the unfortunate Charles I., painted by Vandyke. Like
Marie Antoinette, she is seated, surrounded by her children, and that
resemblance adds to the melancholy interest raised by this beautiful
production.
While admitting that the Queen gave no direct encouragement to any art but
that of music, I should be wrong to pass over in silence the patronage
conferred by her and the Princes, brothers of the King, on the art of
printing.
[In 1790 the King gave a proof of his particular good-will to the
bookselling trade. A company consisting of the first Parisian
booksellers, being on the eve of stopping payment, succeeded in laying
before the King a statement of their distressed situation. The monarch was
affected by it; he took from the civil list the sum of which the society
stood in immediate need, and became security for the repayment of the
remainder of the 1,200,000 livres, which they wanted to borrow, and for
the repayment of which he fixed no particular time.]
To Marie Antoinette we are indebted for a splendid quarto edition of the
works of Metastasio; to Monsieur, the King’s brother, for a quarto Tasso,
embellished with engravings after Cochin; and to the Comte d’Artois for a
small collection of select works, which is considered one of the chef
d’oeuvres of the press of the celebrated Didot.
In 1775, on the death of the Marechal du Muy, the ascendency obtained by
the sect of innovators occasioned M. de Saint-Germain to be recalled to
Court and made Minister of War. His first care was the destruction of the
King’s military household establishment, an imposing and effectual rampart
round the sovereign power.
When Chancellor Maupeou obtained from Louis XV. the destruction of the
Parliament and the exile of all the ancient magistrates, the Mousquetaires
were charged with the execution of the commission for this purpose; and at
the stroke of midnight, the presidents and members were all arrested, each
by two Mousquetaires. In the spring of 1775 a popular insurrection had
taken place in consequence of the high price of bread. M. Turgot’s new
regulation, which permitted unlimited trade in corn, was either its cause
or the pretext for it; and the King’s household troops again rendered the
greatest services to public tranquillity.
I have never be enable to discover the true cause of the support given to
M. de Saint-Germain’s policy by the Queen, unless in the marked favour
shown to the captains and officers of the Body Guards, who by this
reduction became the only soldiers of their rank entrusted with the safety
of the sovereign; or else in the Queen’s strong prejudice against the Duc
d’Aiguillon, then commander of the light-horse. M. de Saint-Germain,
however, retained fifty gens d’armes and fifty light-horse to form a royal
escort on state occasions; but in 1787 the King reduced both these
military bodies. The Queen then said with satisfaction that at last she
should see no more red coats in the gallery of Versailles.
From 1775 to 1781 were the gayest years of the Queen’s life. In the
little journeys to Choisy, performances frequently took place at the
theatre twice in one day: grand opera and French or Italian comedy at the
usual hour; and at eleven at night they returned to the theatre for
parodies in which the best actors of the Opera presented themselves in
whimsical parts and costumes. The celebrated dancer Guimard always took
the leading characters in the latter performance; she danced better than
she acted; her extreme leanness, and her weak, hoarse voice added to the
burlesque in the parodied characters of Ernelinde and Iphigenie.
The most magnificent fete ever given to the Queen was one prepared for her
by Monsieur, the King’s brother, at Brunoy. That Prince did me the honour
to admit me, and I followed her Majesty into the gardens, where she found
in the first copse knights in full armour asleep at the foot of trees, on
which hung their spears and shields. The absence of the beauties who had
incited the nephews of Charlemagne and the gallants of that period to
lofty deeds was supposed to occasion this lethargic slumber. But when the
Queen appeared at the entrance of the copse they were on foot in an
instant, and melodious voices announced their eagerness to display their
valour. They then hastened into a vast arena, magnificently decorated in
the exact style of the ancient tournaments. Fifty dancers dressed as pages
presented to the knights twenty-five superb black horses, and twenty-five
of a dazzling whiteness, all most richly caparisoned. The party led by
Augustus Vestris wore the Queen’s colours. Picq, balletmaster at the
Russian Court, commanded the opposing band. There was running at the
negro’s head, tilting, and, lastly, combats ‘a outrance’, perfectly well
imitated. Although the spectators were aware that the Queen’s colours
could not but be victorious, they did not the less enjoy the apparent
uncertainty.
Nearly all the agreeable women of Paris were ranged upon the steps which
surrounded the area of the tourney. The Queen, surrounded by the royal
family and the whole Court, was placed beneath an elevated canopy. A
play, followed by a ballet-pantomime and a ball, terminated the fete.
Fireworks and illuminations were not spared. Finally, from a prodigiously
high scaffold, placed on a rising ground, the words ‘Vive Louis! Vive
Marie Antoinette!’ were shown in the air in the midst of a very dark but
calm night.
Pleasure was the sole pursuit of every one of this young family, with the
exception of the King. Their love of it was perpetually encouraged by a
crowd of those officious people who, by anticipating the desires and even
the passions of princes, find means of showing their zeal, and hope to
gain or maintain favour for themselves.
Who would have dared to check the amusements of a queen, young, lively,
and handsome? A mother or a husband alone would have had the right to do
it; and the King threw no impediment in the way of Marie Antoinette’s
inclinations. His long indifference had been followed by admiration and
love. He was a slave to all the wishes of the Queen, who, delighted with
the happy change in the heart and habits of the King, did not sufficiently
conceal the ascendency she was gaining over him.
The King went to bed every night at eleven precisely; he was very
methodical, and nothing was allowed to interfere with his rules. The
noise which the Queen unavoidably made when she returned very late from
the evenings which she spent with the Princesse de Gugmenee or the Duc de
Duras, at last annoyed the King, and it was amicably agreed that the Queen
should apprise him when she intended to sit up late. He then began to
sleep in his own apartment, which had never before happened from the time
of their marriage.
During the winter the Queen attended the Opera balls with a single lady of
the palace, and always found there Monsieur and the Comte d’Artois. Her
people concealed their liveries under gray cloth greatcoats. She never
thought she was recognized, while all the time she was known to the whole
assembly, from the first moment she entered the theatre; they pretended,
however, not to recognise her, and some masquerade manoeuvre was always
adopted to give her the pleasure of fancying herself incognito.
Louis XVI. determined once to accompany the Queen to a masked ball; it was
agreed that the King should hold not only the grand but the petit coucher,
as if actually going to bed. The Queen went to his apartment through the
inner corridors of the palace, followed by one of her women with a black
domino; she assisted him to put it on, and they went alone to the chapel
court, where a carriage waited for them, with the captain of the Guard of
the quarter, and a lady of the palace. The King was but little amused,
spoke only to two or three persons, who knew him immediately, and found
nothing to admire at the masquerade but Punches and Harlequins, which
served as a joke against him for the royal family, who often amused
themselves with laughing at him about it.
An event, simple in itself, brought dire suspicion upon the Queen. She
was going out one evening with the Duchesse de Lupnes, lady of the palace,
when her carriage broke down at the entrance into Paris; she was obliged
to alight; the Duchess led her into a shop, while a footman called a
‘fiacre’. As they were masked, if they had but known how to keep silence,
the event would never have been known; but to ride in a fiacre is so
unusual an adventure for a queen that she had hardly entered the
Opera-house when she could not help saying to some persons whom she met
there: “That I should be in a fiacre! Is it not droll?”
From that moment all Paris was informed of the adventure of the fiacre. It
was said that everything connected with it was mysterious; that the Queen
had kept an assignation in a private house with the Duc de Coigny. He was
indeed very well received at Court, but equally so by the King and Queen.
These accusations of gallantry once set afloat, there were no longer any
bounds to the calumnies circulated at Paris. If, during the chase or at
cards, the Queen spoke to Lord Edward Dillon, De Lambertye, or others,
they were so many favoured lovers. The people of Paris did not know that
none of those young persons were admitted into the Queen’s private circle
of friends; the Queen went about Paris in disguise, and had made use of a
fiacre; and a single instance of levity gives room for the suspicion of
others.
Conscious of innocence, and well knowing that all about her must do
justice to her private life, the Queen spoke of these reports with
contempt, contenting herself with the supposition that some folly in the
young men mentioned had given rise to them. She therefore left off
speaking to them or even looking at them. Their vanity took alarm at
this, and revenge induced them either to say, or to leave others to think,
that they were unfortunate enough to please no longer. Other young
coxcombs, placing themselves near the private box which the Queen occupied
incognito when she attended the public theatre at Versailles, had the
presumption to imagine that they were noticed by her; and I have known
such notions entertained merely on account of the Queen’s requesting one
of those gentlemen to inquire behind the scenes whether it would be long
before the commencement of the second piece.
The list of persons received into the Queen’s closet which I gave in the
preceding chapter was placed in the hands of the ushers of the chamber by
the Princesse de Lamballe; and the persons there enumerated could present
themselves to enjoy the distinction only on those days when the Queen
chose to be with her intimates in a private manner; and this was only when
she was slightly indisposed. People of the first rank at Court sometimes
requested special audiences of her; the Queen then received them in a room
within that called the closet of the women on duty, and these women
announced them in her Majesty’s apartment.
The Duc de Lauzun had a good deal of wit, and chivalrous manners. The
Queen was accustomed to see him at the King’s suppers, and at the house of
the Princesse de Guemenee, and always showed him attention. One day he
made his appearance at Madame de Guemenee’s in uniform, and with the most
magnificent plume of white heron’s feathers that it was possible to
behold. The Queen admired the plume, and he offered it to her through the
Princesse de Guemenee. As he had worn it the Queen had not imagined that
he could think of giving it to her; much embarrassed with the present
which she had, as it were, drawn upon herself, she did not like to refuse
it, nor did she know whether she ought to make one in return; afraid, if
she did give anything, of giving either too much or too little, she
contented herself with once letting M. de Lauzun see her adorned with the
plume. In his secret “Memoirs” the Duke attaches an importance to his
present, which proves him utterly unworthy of an honour accorded only to
his name and rank.
A short time afterwards he solicited an audience; the Queen granted it, as
she would have done to any other courtier of equal rank. I was in the
room adjoining that in which he was received; a few minutes after his
arrival the Queen reopened the door, and said aloud, and in an angry tone
of voice, “Go, monsieur.” M. de Lauzun bowed low, and withdrew. The
Queen was much agitated. She said to me: “That man shall never again come
within my doors.” A few years before the Revolution of 1789 the Marechal
de Biron died. The Duc de Lauzun, heir to his name, aspired to the
important post of colonel of the regiment of French guards. The Queen,
however, procured it for the Duc du Chaatelet. The Duc de Biron espoused
the cause of the Duc d’Orleans, and became one of the most violent enemies
of Marie Antoinette.
It is with reluctance that I enter minutely on a defence of the Queen
against two infamous accusations with which libellers have dared to swell
their envenomed volumes. I mean the unworthy suspicions of too strong an
attachment for the Comte d’Artois, and of the motives for the tender
friendship which subsisted between the Queen, the Princesse de Lamballe,
and the Duchesse de Polignac. I do not believe that the Comte d’Artois
was, during his own youth and that of the Queen, so much smitten as has
been said with the loveliness of his sister-in-law; I can affirm that I
always saw that Prince maintain the most respectful demeanour towards the
Queen; that she always spoke of his good-nature and cheerfulness with that
freedom which attends only the purest sentiments; and that none of those
about the Queen ever saw in the affection she manifested towards the Comte
d’Artois more than that of a kind and tender sister for her youngest
brother. As to the intimate connection between Marie Antoinette and the
ladies I have named, it never had, nor could have, any other motive than
the very innocent wish to secure herself two friends in the midst of a
numerous Court; and notwithstanding this intimacy, that tone of respect
observed by persons of the most exalted rank towards majesty never ceased
to be maintained.
The Queen, much occupied with the society of Madame de Polignac, and an
unbroken series of amusements, found less time for the Abbe de Vermond; he
therefore resolved to retire from Court. The world did him the honour to
believe that he had hazarded remonstrances upon his august pupil’s
frivolous employment of her time, and that he considered himself, both as
an ecclesiastic and as instructor, now out of place at Court. But the
world was deceived his dissatisfaction arose purely from the favour shown
to the Comtesse Jules. After a fortnight’s absence we saw him at
Versailles again, resuming his usual functions.
The Queen could express herself with winning graciousness to persons who
merited her praise. When M. Loustonneau was appointed to the reversion of
the post of first surgeon to the King, he came to make his
acknowledgments. He was much beloved by the poor, to whom he had chiefly
devoted his talents, spending nearly thirty thousand francs a year on
indigent sufferers. The Queen replied to his thanks by saying: “You are
satisfied, Monsieur; but I am far from being so with the inhabitants of
Versailles. On the news of your appointment the town should have been
illuminated.”--“How so, Madame?” asked the astonished surgeon, who was
very modest. “Why,” replied the Queen, “if the poor whom you have
succoured for the past twenty years had each placed a single candle in
their windows it would have been the most beautiful illumination ever
witnessed.”
The Queen did not limit her kindness to friendly words. There was
frequently seen in the apartments of Versailles a veteran captain of the
grenadiers of France, called the Chevalier d’Orville, who for four years
had been soliciting from the Minister of War the post of major, or of
King’s lieutenant. He was known to be very poor; but he supported his lot
without complaining of this vexatious delay in rewarding his honourable
services. He regularly attended the Marechal de Segur, at the hour
appointed for receiving the numerous solicitations in his department. One
day the Marshal said to him: “You are still at Versailles, M.
d’Orville?”--“Monsieur,” he replied, “you may observe that by this board
of the flooring where I regularly place myself; it is already worn down
several lines by the weight of my body.” The Queen frequently stood at
the window of her bedchamber to observe with her glass the people walking
in the park. Sometimes she inquired the names of those who were unknown
to her. One day she saw the Chevalier d’Orville passing, and asked me the
name of that knight of Saint Louis, whom she had seen everywhere for a
long time past. I knew who he was, and related his history. “That must
be put an end to,” said the Queen, with some vivacity. “Such an example
of indifference is calculated to discourage our soldiers.” Next day, in
crossing the gallery to go to mass, the Queen perceived the Chevalier
d’Orville; she went directly towards him. The poor man fell back in the
recess of a window, looking to the right and left to discover the person
whom the Queen was seeking, when she thus addressed him: “M. d’Orville,
you have been several years at Versailles, soliciting a majority or a
King’s lieutenancy. You must have very powerless patrons.”--“I have none,
Madame,” replied the Chevalier, in great confusion. “Well! I will take
you under my protection. To-morrow at the same hour be here with a
petition, and a memorial of your services.” A fortnight after, M.
d’Orville was appointed King’s lieutenant, either at La Rochelle or at
Rochefort.
[Louis XVI. vied with his Queen in benevolent actions of this kind. An old
officer had in vain solicited a pension during the administration of the
Duc de Choiseul. He returned to the charge in the times of the Marquis de
Montesnard and the Duc d’Aiguillon. He urged his claims, to Comte du Muy,
who made a note of them. Tired of so many fruitless efforts, he at last
appeared at the King’s supper, and, having placed himself so as to be seen
and heard, cried out at a moment when silence prevailed, “Sire.” The
people near him said, “What are you about? This is not the way to speak
to the King.”--“I fear nothing,” said he, and raising his voice, repeated,
“Sire.” The King, much surprised, looked at him and said, “What do you
want, monsieur.”--“Sire,” answered he, “I am seventy years of age; I have
served your Majesty more than fifty years, and I am dying for
want.”--“Have you a memorial?” replied the King. “Yes, Sire, I
have.”--“Give it to me;” and his Majesty took it without saying anything
more. Next morning he was sent for by the, King, who said, “Monsieur, I
grant you an annuity of 1,500 livres out of my privy purse, and you may go
and receive the first year’s payment, which is now due.” (“Secret
Correspondence of the Court: Reign of Louis XVI.”) The King preferred to
spend money in charity rather than in luxury or magnificence. Once during
his absence, M. d’Augivillers caused an unused room in the King’s
apartment to be repaired at a cost of 30,000 francs. On his return the
King made Versailles resound with complaints against M. d’Augivillers:
“With that sum I could have made thirty families happy,” he said.]