From the time of Louis XVI.’s accession to the throne, the Queen had been
expecting a visit from her brother, the Emperor Joseph II. That Prince
was the constant theme of her discourse. She boasted of his intelligence,
his love of occupation, his military knowledge, and the perfect simplicity
of his manners. Those about her Majesty ardently wished to see at
Versailles a prince so worthy of his rank. At length the coming of Joseph
II., under the title of Count Falkenstein, was announced, and the very day
on which he would be at Versailles was mentioned. The first embraces
between the Queen and her august brother took place in the presence of all
the Queen’s household. The sight of their emotion was extremely
affecting.
The Emperor was at first generally admired in France; learned men,
well-informed officers, and celebrated artists appreciated the extent of
his information. He made less impression at Court, and very little in the
private circle of the King and Queen. His eccentric manners, his
frankness, often degenerating into rudeness, and his evidently affected
simplicity,--all these characteristics caused him to be looked upon as a
prince rather singular than admirable. The Queen spoke to him about the
apartment she had prepared for him in the Chateau; the Emperor answered
that he would not accept it, and that while travelling he always lodged at
a cabaret (that was his very expression); the Queen insisted, and assured
him that he should be at perfect liberty, and placed out of the reach of
noise. He replied that he knew the Chateau of Versailles was very large,
and that so many scoundrels lived there that he could well find a place;
but that his valet de chambre had made up his camp-bed in a lodging-house,
and there he would stay.
He dined with the King and Queen, and supped with the whole family. He
appeared to take an interest in the young Princesse Elisabeth, then just
past childhood, and blooming in all the freshness of that age. An
intended marriage between him and this young sister of the King was
reported at the time, but I believe it had no foundation in truth.
The table was still served by women only, when the Queen dined in private
with the King, the royal family, or crowned heads.
[The custom was, even supposing dinner to have commenced, if a princess of
the blood arrived, and she was asked to sit down at the Queen’s table, the
comptrollers and gentlemen-in-waiting came immediately to attend, and the
Queen’s women withdrew. These had succeeded the maids of honour in
several parts of their service, and had preserved some of their
privileges. One day the Duchesse d’Orleans arrived at Fontainebleau, at
the Queen’s dinner-hour. The Queen invited her to the table, and herself
motioned to her women to leave the room, and let the men take their
places. Her Majesty said she was resolved to continue a privilege which
kept places of that description most honourable, and render them suitable
for ladies of nobility without fortune. Madame de Misery, Baronne de
Biache, the Queen’s first lady of the chamber, to whom I was made
reversioner, was a daughter of M. le Comte de Chemant, and her grandmother
was a Montmorency. M. le Prince de Tingry, in the presence of the Queen,
used to call her cousin. The ancient household of the Kings of France had
prerogatives acknowledged in the state. Many of the offices were tenable
only by those of noble blood, and were sold at from 40,000 to 300,000
franca. A collection of edicts of the Kings in favour of the prerogatives
and right of precedence of the persons holding office in the royal
household is still in existence.]
I was present at the Queen’s dinner almost every day. The Emperor would
talk much and fluently; he expressed himself in French with facility, and
the singularity, of his expressions added a zest to his conversation. I
have often heard him say that he liked spectaculous objects, when he meant
to express such things as formed a show, or a scene worthy of interest.
He disguised none of his prejudices against the etiquette and customs of
the Court of France; and even in the presence of the King made them the
subject of his sarcasms. The King smiled, but never made any answer; the
Queen appeared pained. The Emperor frequently terminated his observations
upon the objects in Paris which he had admired by reproaching the King for
suffering himself to remain in ignorance of them. He could not conceive
how such a wealth of pictures should remain shut up in the dust of immense
stores; and told him one day that but for the practice of placing some of
them in the apartments of Versailles he would not know even the principal
chef d’oeuvres that he possessed.
[The Emperor loudly censured the existing practice of allowing shopkeepers
to erect shops near the outward walls of all the palaces, and even to
establish something like a fair in the galleries of Versailles and
Fontainebleau, and even upon the landings of the staircases.]
He also reproached him for not having visited the Hotel des Invalides nor
the Ecole Militaire; and even went so far as to tell him before us that he
ought not only to know what Paris contained, but to travel in France, and
reside a few days in each of his large towns.
At last the Queen was really hurt at the Emperor’s remarks, and gave him a
few lectures upon the freedom with which he allowed himself to lecture
others. One day she was busied in signing warrants and orders for payment
for her household, and was conversing with M. Augeard, her secretary for
such matters, who presented the papers one after another to be signed, and
replaced them in his portfolio. While this was going forward, the Emperor
walked about the room; all at once he stood still, to reproach the Queen
rather severely for signing all those papers without reading them, or, at
least, without running her eye over them; and he spoke most judiciously to
her upon the danger of signing her name inconsiderately. The Queen
answered that very wise principles might be very ill applied; that her
secretary, who deserved her implicit confidence, was at that moment laying
before her nothing but orders for payment of the quarter’s expenses of her
household, registered in the Chamber of Accounts; and that she ran no risk
of incautiously giving her signature.
The Queen’s toilet was likewise a never-failing subject for animadversion
with the Emperor. He blamed her for having introduced too many new
fashions; and teased her about her use of rouge. One day, while she was
laying on more of it than usual, before going to the play, he pointed out
a lady who was in the room, and who was, in truth, highly painted. “A
little more under the eyes,” said the Emperor to the Queen; “lay on the
rouge like a fury, as that lady does.” The Queen entreated her brother to
refrain from his jokes, or at all events to address them, when they were
so outspoken, to her alone.
The Queen had made an appointment to meet her brother at the Italian
theatre; she changed her mind, and went to the French theatre, sending a
page to the Italian theatre to request the Emperor to come to her there.
He left his box, lighted by the comedian Clairval, and attended by M. de
la Ferte, comptroller of the Queen’s privy purse, who was much hurt at
hearing his Imperial Majesty, after kindly expressing his regret at not
being present during the Italian performance, say to Clairval, “Your young
Queen is very giddy; but, luckily, you Frenchmen have no great objection
to that.”
I was with my father-in-law in one of the Queen’s apartments when the
Emperor came to wait for her there, and, knowing that M. Campan was
librarian, he conversed with him about such books as would of course be
found in the Queen’s library. After talking of our most celebrated
authors, he casually said, “There are doubtless no works on finance or on
administration here?”
These words were followed by his opinion on all that had been written on
those topics, and the different systems of our two famous ministers, Sully
and Colbert; on errors which were daily committed in France, in points
essential to the prosperity of the Empire; and on the reform he himself
would make at Vienna. Holding M. Campan by the button, he spent more than
an hour, talking vehemently, and without the slightest reserve, about the
French Government. My father-in-law and myself maintained profound
silence, as much from astonishment as from respect; and when we were alone
we agreed not to speak of this interview.
The Emperor was fond of describing the Italian Courts that he had visited.
The jealous quarrels between the King and Queen of Naples amused him
highly; he described to the life the manner and speech of that sovereign,
and the simplicity with which he used to go and solicit the first
chamberlain to obtain permission to return to the nuptial bed, when the
angry Queen had banished him from it. The time which he was made to wait
for this reconciliation was calculated between the Queen and her
chamberlain, and always proportioned to the gravity of the offence. He
also related several very amusing stories relative to the Court of Parma,
of which he spoke with no little contempt. If what this Prince said of
those Courts, and even of Vienna, had been written down, the whole would
have formed an interesting collection. The Emperor told the King that the
Grand Duke of Tuscany and the King of Naples being together, the former
said a great deal about the changes he had effected in his State. The
Grand Duke had issued a mass of new edicts, in order to carry the precepts
of the economists into execution, and trusted that in so doing he was
labouring for the welfare of his people. The King of Naples suffered him
to go on speaking for a long time, and then casually asked how many
Neapolitan families there were in Tuscany. The Duke soon reckoned them
up, as they were but few. “Well, brother,” replied the King of Naples, “I
do not understand the indifference of your people towards your great
reforms; for I have four times the number of Tuscan families settled in my
States that you have of Neapolitan families in yours.”
The Queen being at the Opera with the Emperor, the latter did not wish to
show himself; but she took him by the hand, and gently drew him to the
front of the box. This kind of presentation to the public was most warmly
received. The performance was “Iphigenia in Aulis,” and for the second
time the chorus, “Chantons, celebrons notre Reine!” was called for with
universal plaudits.
A fete of a novel description was given at Petit Trianon. The art with
which the English garden was not illuminated, but lighted, produced a
charming effect. Earthen lamps, concealed by boards painted green, threw
light upon the beds of shrubs and flowers, and brought out their varied
tints. Several hundred burning fagots in the moat behind the Temple of
Love made a blaze of light, which rendered that spot the most brilliant in
the garden. After all, this evening’s entertainment had nothing
remarkable about it but the good taste of the artists, yet it was much
talked of. The situation did not allow the admission of a great part of
the Court; those who were uninvited were dissatisfied; and the people, who
never forgive any fetes but those they share in, so exaggerated the cost
of this little fete as to make it appear that the fagots burnt in the moat
had required the destruction of a whole forest. The Queen being informed
of these reports, was determined to know exactly how much wood had been
consumed; and she found that fifteen hundred fagots had sufficed to keep
up the fire until four o’clock in the morning.
After staying a few months the Emperor left France, promising his sister
to come and see her again. All the officers of the Queen’s chamber had
many opportunities of serving him during his stay, and expected that he
would make them presents before his departure. Their oath of office
positively forbade them to receive a gift from any foreign prince; they
had therefore agreed to refuse the Emperor’s presents at first, but to ask
the time necessary for obtaining permission to accept them. The Emperor,
probably informed of this custom, relieved the good people from their
difficulty by setting off without making a single present.
About the latter end of 1777 the Queen, being alone in her closet, sent
for my father-in-law and myself, and, giving us her hand to kiss; told us
that, looking upon us both as persons deeply interested in her happiness,
she wished to receive our congratulations,--that at length she was the
Queen of France, and that she hoped soon to have children; that till now
she had concealed her grief, but that she had shed many tears in secret.
Dating from this happy but long-delayed moment, the King’s attachment to
the Queen assumed every characteristic of love. The good Lassone, first
physician to the King and Queen, frequently spoke to me of the uneasiness
that the King’s indifference, the cause of which he had been so long in
overcoming, had given him, and appeared to me at that time to entertain no
anxiety except of a very different description.
In the winter of 1778 the King’s permission for the return of Voltaire;
after an absence of twenty-seven years, was obtained. A few strict
persons considered this concession on the part of the Court very
injudicious. The Emperor, on leaving France, passed by the Chateau of
Ferney without stopping there. He had advised the Queen not to suffer
Voltaire to be presented to her. A lady belonging to the Court learned
the Emperor’s opinion on that point, and reproached him with his want of
enthusiasm towards the greatest genius of the age. He replied that for
the good of the people he should always endeavour to profit by the
knowledge of the philosophers; but that his own business of sovereign
would always prevent his ranking himself amongst that sect. The clergy
also took steps to hinder Voltaire’s appearance at Court. Paris, however,
carried to the highest pitch the honours and enthusiasm shown to the great
poet.
It was very unwise to let Paris pronounce with such transport an opinion
so opposite to that of the Court. This was pointed out to the Queen, and
she was told that, without conferring on Voltaire the honour of a
presentation, she might see him in the State apartments. She was not
averse to following this advice, and appeared embarrassed solely about
what she should say to him. She was recommended to talk about nothing but
the “Henriade,” “Merope,” and “Zaira.” The Queen replied that she would
still consult a few other persons in whom she had great confidence. The
next day she announced that it was irrevocably decided Voltaire should not
see any member of the royal family,--his writings being too antagonistic
to religion and morals. “It is, however, strange,” said the Queen, “that
while we refuse to admit Voltaire into our presence as the leader of
philosophical writers, the Marechale de Mouchy should have presented to me
some years ago Madame Geoffrin, who owed her celebrity to the title of
foster-mother of the philosophers.”
On the occasion of the duel of the Comte d’Artois with the Prince de
Bourbon the Queen determined privately to see the Baron de Besenval, who
was to be one of the witnesses, in order to communicate the King’s
intentions. I have read with infinite pain the manner in which that
simple fact is perverted in the first volume of M. de Besenval’s
“Memoirs.” He is right in saying that M. Campan led him through the upper
corridors of the Chateau, and introduced him into an apartment unknown to
him; but the air of romance given to the interview is equally culpable and
ridiculous. M. de Besenval says that he found himself, without knowing
how he came there, in an apartment unadorned, but very conveniently
furnished, of the existence of which he was till then utterly ignorant.
He was astonished, he adds, not that the Queen should have so many
facilities, but that she should have ventured to procure them. Ten
printed sheets of the woman Lamotte’s libels contain nothing so injurious
to the character of Marie Antoinette as these lines, written by a man whom
she honoured by undeserved kindness. He could not have had any
opportunity of knowing the existence of the apartments, which consisted of
a very small antechamber, a bedchamber, and a closet. Ever since the
Queen had occupied her own apartment, these had been appropriated to her
Majesty’s lady of honour in cases of illness, and were actually so used
when the Queen was confined. It was so important that it should not be
known the Queen had spoken to the Baron before the duel that she had
determined to go through her inner room into this little apartment, to
which M. Campan was to conduct him. When men write of recent times they
should be scrupulously exact, and not indulge in exaggerations or
inventions.
The Baron de Besenval appears mightily surprised at the Queen’s sudden
coolness, and refers it to the fickleness of her disposition. I can
explain the reason for the change by repeating what her Majesty said to me
at the time; and I will not alter one of her expressions. Speaking of the
strange presumption of men, and the reserve with which women ought always
to treat them, the Queen added that age did not deprive them of the hope
of pleasing, if they retained any agreeable qualities; that she had
treated the Baron de Besenval as a brave Swiss, agreeable, polished, and
witty, whose gray hairs had induced her to look upon him as a man whom she
might see without harm; but that she had been much deceived. Her Majesty,
after having enjoined me to the strictest secrecy, told me that, finding
herself alone with the Baron, he began to address her with so much
gallantry that she was thrown into the utmost astonishment, and that he
was mad enough to fall upon his knees, and make her a declaration in form.
The Queen added that she said to him: “Rise, monsieur; the King shall be
ignorant of an offence which would disgrace you for ever;” that the Baron
grew pale and stammered apologies; that she left her closet without saying
another word, and that since that time she hardly ever spoke to him. “It
is delightful to have friends,” said the Queen; “but in a situation like
mine it is sometimes difficult for the friends of our friends to suit us.”
In the beginning of the year 1778 Mademoiselle d’Eon obtained permission
to return to France, on condition that she should appear there in female
dress. The Comte de Vergennes entreated my father, M. Genet, chief clerk
of Foreign Affairs, who had long known the Chevalier d’Eon, to receive
that strange personage at his house, to guide and restrain, if possible,
her ardent disposition. The Queen, on learning her arrival at Versailles,
sent a footman to desire my father to bring her into her presence; my
father thought it his duty first to inform the Minister of her Majesty’s
wish. The Comte de Vergennes expressed himself pleased with my father’s
prudence, and desired that he would accompany him to the Queen. The
Minister had a few minutes’ audience; her Majesty came out of her closet
with him, and condescended to express to my father the regret she felt at
having troubled him to no purpose; and added, smiling, that a few words
from M. de Vergennes had for ever cured her of her curiosity. The
discovery in London of the true sex of this pretended woman makes it
probable that the few words uttered by the Minister contained a solution
of the enigma.
The Chevalier d’Eon had been useful in Russia as a spy of Louis XV. while
very young he had found means to introduce himself at the Court of the
Empress Elizabeth, and served that sovereign in the capacity of reader.
Resuming afterwards his military dress, he served with honour and was
wounded. Appointed chief secretary of legation, and afterwards minister
plenipotentiary at London, he unpardonably insulted Comte de Guerchy, the
ambassador. The official order for the Chevalier’s return to France was
actually delivered to the King’s Council; but Louis XV. delayed the
departure of the courier who was to be its bearer, and sent off another
courier privately, who gave the Chevalier d’Eon a letter in his own
writing, in which he said, “I know that you have served me as effectually
in the dress of a woman as in that which you now wear. Resume it
instantly; withdraw into the city; I warn you that the King yesterday
signed an order for your return to France; you are not safe in your hotel,
and you would here find too powerful enemies.” I heard the Chevalier
d’Eon repeat the contents of this letter, in which Louis XV. thus
separated himself from the King of France, several times at my father’s.
The Chevalier, or rather the Chevalaere d’Eon had preserved all the King’s
letters. Messieurs de Maurepas and de Vergennes wished to get them out of
his hands, as they were afraid he would print them. This eccentric being
had long solicited permission to return to France; but it was necessary to
find a way of sparing the family he had offended the insult they would see
in his return; he was therefore made to resume the costume of that sex to
which in France everything is pardoned. The desire to see his native land
once more determined him to submit to the condition, but he revenged
himself by combining the long train of his gown and the three deep ruffles
on his sleeves with the attitude and conversation of a grenadier, which
made him very disagreeable company.
[The account given by Madame Campan of the Chevalier d’Eon is now known to
be incorrect in many particulars. Enough details for most readers will be
found in the Duc de Broglie’s “Secret of the King,” vol. ii., chaps. vi.
and g., and at p. 89, vol. ii. of that work, where the Duke refers to
the letter of most dubious authenticity spoken of by Madame Campan. The
following details will be sufficient for these memoirs: The Chevalier
Charles d’Eon de Beaumont (who was born in 1728) was an ex-captain of
dragoons, employed in both the open and secret diplomacy of Louis XV.
When at the embassy in London he quarrelled with the ambassador, his
superior, the Comte de Guerchy (Marquis do Nangis), and used his
possession of papers concerning the secret diplomacy to shield himself.
It was when hiding in London, in 1765, on account of this business, that
he seems first to have assumed woman’s dress, which he retained apparently
chiefly from love of notoriety. In 1775 a formal agreement with the
French Court, made by the instrumentality of Beaumarchais, of all people
in the world, permitted him to return to France, retaining the dress of a
woman. He went back to France, but again came to England, and died there,
at his residence in Millman Street, near the Foundling Hospital, May 22,
1710. He had been a brave and distinguished officer, but his form and a
certain coldness of temperament always remarked in him assisted him in his
assumption of another sex. There appears to be no truth in the story of
his proceedings at the Russian Court, and his appearing in female attire
was a surprise to those who must have known of any earlier affair of the
sort.]
At last, the event so long desired by the Queen, and by all those who
wished her well, took place; her Majesty became enceinte. The King was in
ecstasies. Never was there a more united or happier couple. The
disposition of Louis XVI. entirely altered, and became prepossessing and
conciliatory; and the Queen was amply compensated for the uneasiness which
the King’s indifference during the early part of their union had caused
her.
The summer of 1778 was extremely hot. July and August passed, but the air
was not cooled by a single storm. The Queen spent whole days in close
rooms, and could not sleep until she had breathed the fresh night air,
walking with the Princesses and her brothers upon the terrace under her
apartments. These promenades at first gave rise to no remark; but it
occurred to some of the party to enjoy the music of wind instruments
during these fine summer nights. The musicians belonging to the chapel
were ordered to perform pieces suited to instruments of that description,
upon steps constructed in the middle of the garden. The Queen, seated on
one of the terrace benches, enjoyed the effect of this music, surrounded
by all the royal family with the exception of the King, who joined them
but, twice, disliking to change his hour of going to bed.
Nothing could be more innocent than these parties; yet Paris, France, nay,
all Europe, were soon canvassing them in a manner most disadvantageous to
the reputation of Marie Antoinette. It is true that all the inhabitants
of Versailles enjoyed these serenades, and that there was a crowd near the
spot from eleven at night until two or three in the morning. The windows
of the ground floor occupied by Monsieur and Madame--[The wife of
Monsieur, the Comte de Provence.]--were kept open, and the terrace was
perfectly well lighted by the numerous wax candles burning in the two
apartments. Lamps were likewise placed in the garden, and the lights of
the orchestra illuminated the rest of the place.
I do not know whether a few incautious women might not have ventured
farther, and wandered to the bottom of the park; it may have been so; but
the Queen, Madame, and the Comtesse d’Artois were always arm-in-arm, and
never left the terrace. The Princesses were not remarkable when seated on
the benches, being dressed in cambric muslin gowns, with large straw hats
and muslin veils, a costume universally adopted by women at that time; but
when standing up their different figures always distinguished them; and
the persons present stood on one side to let them pass. It is true that
when they seated themselves upon the benches private individuals would
sometimes, to their great amusement, sit down by their side.
A young clerk in the War Department, either not knowing or pretending not
to know the Queen, spoke to her of the beauty of the night, and the
delightful effect of the music. The Queen, fancying she was not
recognised, amused herself by keeping up the incognito, and they talked of
several private families of Versailles, consisting of persons belonging to
the King’s household or her own. After a few minutes the Queen and
Princesses rose to walk, and on leaving the bench curtsied to the clerk.
The young man knowing, or having subsequently discovered, that he had been
conversing with the Queen, boasted of it in his office. He was merely,
desired to hold his tongue; and so little attention did he excite that the
Revolution found him still only a clerk.
Another evening one of Monsieur’s body-guard seated himself near the
Princesses, and, knowing them, left the place where he was sitting, and
placed himself before the Queen, to tell her that he was very fortunate in
being able to seize an opportunity of imploring the kindness of his
sovereign; that he was “soliciting at Court”--at the word soliciting the
Queen and Princesses rose hastily and withdrew into Madame’s
apartment.--[Soulavie has most criminally perverted these two
facts.--MADAME CAMPAN.]--I was at the Queen’s residence that day. She
talked of this little occurrence all the time of her ‘coucher’; though she
only complained that one of Monsieur’s guards should have had the
effrontery to speak to her. Her Majesty added that he ought to have
respected her incognito; and that that was not the place where he should
have ventured to make a request. Madame had recognised him, and talked of
making a complaint to his captain; the Queen opposed it, attributing his
error to his ignorance and provincial origin.
The most scandalous libels were based on these two insignificant
occurrences, which I have related with scrupulous exactness. Nothing
could be more false than those calumnies. It must be confessed, however,
that such meetings were liable to ill consequences. I ventured to say as
much to the Queen, and informed her that one evening, when her Majesty
beckoned to me to go and speak to her, I thought I recognised on the bench
on which she was sitting two women deeply veiled, and keeping profound
silence; that those women were the Comtesse du Barry and her
sister-in-law; and that my suspicions were confirmed, when, at a few paces
from the seat, and nearer to her Majesty, I met a tall footman belonging
to Madame du Barry, whom I had seen in her service all the time she
resided at Court.
My advice was disregarded. Misled by the pleasure she found in these
promenades, and secure in the consciousness of blameless conduct, the
Queen would not see the lamentable results which must necessarily follow.
This was very unfortunate; for besides the mortifications they brought
upon her, it is highly probable that they prompted the vile plot which
gave rise to the Cardinal de Rohan’s fatal error.
Having enjoyed these evening promenades about a month, the Queen ordered a
private concert within the colonnade which contained the group of Pluto
and Proserpine. Sentinels were placed at all the entrances, and ordered
to admit within the colonnade only such persons as should produce tickets
signed by my father-in-law. A fine concert was performed there by the
musicians of the chapel and the female musicians belonging to the. Queen’s
chamber. The Queen went with Mesdames de Polignac, de Chalon, and
d’Andlau, and Messieurs de Polignac, de Coigny, de Besenval, and de
Vaudreuil; there were also a few equerries present. Her Majesty gave me
permission to attend the concert with some of my female relations. There
was no music upon the terrace. The crowd of inquisitive people, whom the
sentinels kept at a distance from the enclosure of the colonnade, went
away highly discontented; the small number of persons admitted no doubt
occasioned jealousy, and gave rise to offensive comments which were caught
up by the public with avidity. I do not pretend to apologise for the kind
of amusements with which the Queen indulged herself during this and the
following summer; the consequences were so lamentable that the error was
no doubt very great; but what I have said respecting the character of
these promenades may be relied on as true.
When the season for evening walks was at an end, odious couplets were
circulated in Paris; the ‘Queen was treated in them in the most insulting
manner; her situation ranked among her enemies persons attached to the
only prince who for several years had appeared likely to give heirs to the
crown. People uttered the most inconsiderate language; and those improper
conversations took place in societies wherein the imminent danger of
violating to so criminal an extent both truth and the respect due to
sovereigns ought to have been better understood. A few days before the
Queen’s confinement a whole volume of manuscript songs, concerning her and
all the ladies about her remarkable for rank or station was, thrown down
in the oiel-de-boeuf.--[A large room at Versailles lighted by a bull’s-eye
window, and used as a waiting-room.]--This manuscript was immediately put
into the hands of the King, who was highly incensed at it, and said that
he had himself been at those promenades; that he had seen nothing
connected with them but what was perfectly harmless; that such songs would
disturb the harmony of twenty families in the Court and city; that it was
a capital crime to have made any against the Queen herself; and that he
wished the author of the infamous libels to be discovered and punished. A
fortnight afterwards it was known publicly that the verses were by M.
Champcenetz de Riquebourg, who was not even reprimanded.
[The author of a great many songs, some of which are very well written.
Lively and satirical by nature, he did not lose either his cheerfulness or
his carelessness before the revolutionary tribunal. After hearing his own
sentence read, he asked his judges if he might not be allowed to find a
substitute.--MADAME CAMPAN.]
I knew for a certainty that the King spoke to M. de Maurepas, before two
of his most confidential servants, respecting the risk which he saw the
Queen ran from these night walks upon the terrace of Versailles, which the
public ventured to censure thus openly, and that the old minister had the
cruelty to advise that she should be suffered to go on; she possessed
talent; her friends were very ambitious, and longed to see her take a part
in public affairs; and to let her acquire the reputation of levity would
do no harm. M. de Vergennes was as hostile to the Queen’s influence as M.
de Maurepas. It may therefore be fairly presumed, since the Prime
Minister durst point out to his King an advantage to be gained by the
Queen’s discrediting herself, that he and M. de Vergennes employed all
means within the reach of powerful ministers in order to ruin her in the
opinion of the public.
The Queen’s accouchement approached; Te Deums were sung and prayers
offered up in all the cathedrals. On the 11th of December, 1778, the
royal family, the Princes of the blood, and the great officers of State
passed the night in the rooms adjoining the Queen’s bedchamber. Madame,
the King’s daughter, came into the world before mid-day on the 19th of
December.--[Marie Therese Charlotte (1778-1861), Madame Royale; married in
1799 Louis, Duc d’Angouleme, eldest son of the Comte d’Artois.]--The
etiquette of allowing all persons indiscriminately to enter at the moment
of the delivery of a queen was observed with such exaggeration that when
the accoucheur said aloud, “La Reine va s’accoucher,” the persons who
poured into the chamber were so numerous that the rush nearly destroyed
the Queen. During the night the King had taken the precaution to have the
enormous tapestry screens which surrounded her Majesty’s bed secured with
cords; but for this they certainly would have been thrown down upon her.
It was impossible to move about the chamber, which was filled with so
motley a crowd that one might have fancied himself in some place of public
amusement. Two Savoyards got upon the furniture for a better sight of the
Queen, who was placed opposite the fireplace.
The noise and the sex of the infant, with which the Queen was made
acquainted by a signal previously agreed on, as it is said, with the
Princesse do Lamballe, or some error of the accoucheur, brought on
symptoms which threatened fatal consequences; the accoucheur exclaimed,
“Give her air--warm water--she must be bled in the foot!” The windows
were stopped up; the King opened them with a strength which his affection
for the Queen gave him at the moment. They were of great height, and
pasted over with strips of paper all round. The basin of hot water not
being brought quickly enough, the accoucheur desired the chief surgeon to
use his lancet without waiting for it. He did so; the blood streamed out
freely, and the Queen opened her eyes. The Princesse de Lamballe was
carried through the crowd in a state of insensibility. The valets de
chambre and pages dragged out by the collar such inconsiderate persons as
would not leave the room. This cruel custom was abolished afterwards. The
Princes of the family, the Princes of the blood, the chancellor, and the
ministers are surely sufficient to attest the legitimacy of an hereditary
prince. The Queen was snatched from the very jaws of death; she was not
conscious of having been bled, and on being replaced in bed asked why she
had a linen bandage upon her foot.
The delight which succeeded the moment of fear was equally lively and
sincere. We were all embracing each other, and shedding tears of joy. The
Comte d’Esterhazy and the Prince de Poix, to whom I was the first to
announce that the Queen was restored to life, embraced me in the midst of
the cabinet of nobles. We little imagined, in our happiness at her escape
from death, for how much more terrible a fate our beloved Princess was
reserved.
NOTE. The two following specimens of the Emperor Joseph’s correspondence
forcibly demonstrate the vigour, shrewdness, and originality of his mind,
and complete the portrait left of him by Madame Campan.
Few sovereigns have given their reasons for refusing appointments with the
fullness and point of the following letter:
To a Lady.
MADAM.--I do not think that it is amongst the duties of a monarch to grant
places to one of his subjects merely because he is a gentleman. That,
however, is the inference from the request you have made to me. Your late
husband was, you say, a distinguished general, a gentleman of good family,
and thence you conclude that my kindness to your family can do no less
than give a company of foot to your second son, lately returned from his
travels.
Madam, a man may be the son of a general and yet have no talent for
command. A man may be of a good family and yet possess no other merit
than that which he owes to chance,--the name of gentleman.
I know your son, and I know what makes the soldier; and this twofold
knowledge convinces me that your son has not the disposition of a warrior,
and that he is too full of his birth to leave the country a hope of his
ever rendering it any important service.
What you are to be pitied for, madam, is, that your son is not fit either
for an officer, a statesman or a priest; in a word, that he is nothing
more than a gentleman in the most extended acceptation of the word.
You may be thankful to that destiny, which, in refusing talents to your
son, has taken care to put him in possession of great wealth, which will
sufficiently compensate him for other deficiencies, and enable him at the
same time to dispense with any favour from me.
I hope you will be impartial enough to see the reasons which prompt me to
refuse your request. It may be disagreeable to you, but I consider it
necessary. Farewell, madam.--Your sincere well-wisher, JOSEPH
LACHSENBURG, 4th August, 1787.
The application of another anxious and somewhat covetous mother was
answered with still more decision and irony:
To a Lady.
MADAM.--You know my disposition; you are not ignorant that the society of
the ladies is to me a mere recreation, and that I have never sacrificed my
principles to the fair sex. I pay but little attention to
recommendations, and I only take them into consideration when the person
in whose behalf I may be solicited possesses real merit.
Two of your sons are already loaded with favours. The eldest, who is not
yet twenty, is chief of a squadron in my army, and the younger has
obtained a canonry at Cologne, from the Elector, my brother. What would
you have more? Would you have the first a general and the second a
bishop?
In France you may see colonels in leading-strings, and in Spain the royal
princes command armies even at eighteen; hence Prince Stahremberg forced
them to retreat so often that they were never able all the rest of their
lives to comprehend any other manoeuvre.
It is necessary to be sincere at Court, and severe in the field, stoical
without obduracy, magnanimous without weakness, and to gain the esteem of
our enemies by the justice of our actions; and this, madam, is what I aim
at. JOSEPH VIENNA, September, 1787.
(From the inedited Letters of Joseph IL, published at Paris, by Persan,
1822.)