The Queen did not sufficiently conceal the dissatisfaction she felt at
having been unable to prevent the appointment of M. de Calonne; she even
one day went so far as to say at the Duchess’s, in the midst of the
partisans and protectors of that minister, that the finances of France
passed alternately from the hands of an honest man without talent into
those of a skilful knave. M. de Calonne was thus far from acting in
concert with the Queen all the time that he continued in office; and,
while dull verses were circulated about Paris describing the Queen and her
favourite dipping at pleasure into the coffers of the comptroller-general,
the Queen was avoiding all communication with him.
During the long and severe winter of 1783-84 the King gave three millions
of livres for the relief of the indigent. M. de Calonne, who felt the
necessity of making advances to the Queen, caught at this opportunity of
showing her respect and devotion. He offered to place in her hands one
million of the three, to be distributed in her name and under her
direction. His proposal was rejected; the Queen answered that the charity
ought to be wholly distributed in the King’s name, and that she would this
year debar herself of even the slightest enjoyments, in order to
contribute all her savings to the relief of the unfortunate.
The moment M. de Calonne left the closet the Queen sent for me:
“Congratulate me, my dear,” said she; “I have just escaped a snare, or at
least a matter which eventually might have caused me much regret.” She
related the conversation which had taken place word for word to me,
adding, “That man will complete the ruin of the national finances. It is
said that I placed him in his situation. The people are made to believe
that I am extravagant; yet I have refused to suffer a sum of money from
the royal treasury, although destined for the most laudable purpose, even
to pass through my hands.”
The Queen, making monthly retrenchments from the expenditure of her privy
purse, and not having spent the gifts customary at the period of her
confinement, was in possession of from five to six hundred thousand
francs, her own savings. She made use of from two to three hundred
thousand francs of this, which her first women sent to M. Lenoir, to the
cures of Paris and Versailles, and to the Soeurs Hospitalieres, and so
distributed them among families in need.
Desirous to implant in the breast of her daughter not only a desire to
succour the unfortunate, but those qualities necessary for the due
discharge of that duty, the Queen incessantly talked to her, though she
was yet very young, about the sufferings of the poor during a season so
inclement. The Princess already had a sum of from eight to ten thousand
francs for charitable purposes, and the Queen made her distribute part of
it herself.
Wishing to give her children yet another lesson of beneficence, she
desired me on New Year’s eve to get from Paris, as in other years, all the
fashionable playthings, and have them spread out in her closet. Then
taking her children by the hand, she showed them all the dolls and
mechanical toys which were ranged there, and told them that she had
intended to give them some handsome New Year’s gifts, but that the cold
made the poor so wretched that all her money was spent in blankets and
clothes to protect them from the rigour of the season, and in supplying
them with bread; so that this year they would only have the pleasure of
looking at the new playthings. When she returned with her children into
her sitting-room, she said there was still an unavoidable expense to be
incurred; that assuredly many mothers would at that season think as she
did,--that the toyman must lose by it; and therefore she gave him fifty
Louis to repay him for the cost of his journey, and console him for having
sold nothing.
The purchase of St. Cloud, a matter very simple in itself, had, on account
of the prevailing spirit, unfavourable consequences to the Queen.
The palace of Versailles, pulled to pieces in the interior by a variety of
new arrangements, and mutilated in point of uniformity by the removal of
the ambassadors’ staircase, and of the peristyle of columns placed at the
end of the marble court, was equally in want of substantial and ornamental
repair. The King therefore desired M. Micque to lay before him several
plans for the repairs of the palace. He consulted me on certain
arrangements analogous to some of those adopted in the Queen’s
establishment, and in my presence asked M. Micque how much money would be
wanted for the execution of the whole work, and how many years he would be
in completing it. I forget how many millions were mentioned: M. Micque
replied that six years would be sufficient time if the Treasury made the
necessary periodical advances without any delay. “And how many years
shall you require,” said the King, “if the advances are not punctually
made?”--“Ten, Sire,” replied the architect. “We must then reckon upon ten
years,” said his Majesty, “and put off this great undertaking until the
year 1790; it will occupy the rest of the century.”
The King afterwards talked of the depreciation of property which took
place at Versailles whilst the Regent removed the Court of Louis XV. to
the Tuileries, and said that he must consider how to prevent that
inconvenience; it was the desire to do this that promoted the purchase of
St. Cloud. The Queen first thought of it one day when she was riding out
with the Duchesse de Polignac and the Comtesse Diane; she mentioned it to
the King, who was much pleased with the thought,--the purchase confirming
him in the intention, which he had entertained for ten years, of quitting
Versailles.
The King determined that the ministers, public officers, pages, and a
considerable part of his stabling should remain at Versailles. Messieurs
de Breteuil and de Calonne were instructed to treat with the Duc d’Orleans
for the purchase of St. Cloud; at first they hoped to be able to conclude
the business by a mere exchange. The value of the Chateau de Choisy, de
la Muette, and a forest was equivalent to the sum demanded by the House of
Orleans; and in the exchange which the Queen expected she only saw a
saving to be made instead of an increase of expense. By this arrangement
the government of Choisy, in the hands of the Duc de Coigny, and that of
La Muette, in the hands of the Marechal de Soubise, would be suppressed.
At the same time the two concierges, and all the servants employed in
these two royal houses, would be reduced; but while the treaty was going
forward Messieurs de Breteuil and de Calonne gave up the point of
exchange, and some millions in cash were substituted for Choisy and La
Muette.
The Queen advised the King to give her St. Cloud, as a means of avoiding
the establishment of a governor; her plan being to have merely a concierge
there, by which means the governor’s expenses would be saved. The King
agreed, and St. Cloud was purchased for the Queen. She provided the same
liveries for the porters at the gates and servants at the chateau as for
those at Trianon. The concierge at the latter place had put up some
regulations for the household, headed, “By order of the Queen.” The same
thing was done at St. Cloud. The Queen’s livery at the door of a palace
where it was expected none but that of the King would be seen, and the
words “By order of the Queen” at the head of the printed papers pasted
near the iron gates, caused a great sensation, and produced a very
unfortunate effect, not only among the common people, but also among
persons of a superior class. They saw in it an attack upon the customs of
monarchy, and customs are nearly equal to laws. The Queen heard of this,
but she thought that her dignity would be compromised if she made any
change in the form of these regulations, though they might have been
altogether superseded without inconvenience. “My name is not out of
place,” said she, “in gardens belonging to myself; I may give orders there
without infringing on the rights of the State.” This was her only answer
to the representations which a few faithful servants ventured to make on
the subject. The discontent of the Parisians on this occasion probably
induced M. d’Espremenil, upon the first troubles about the Parliament, to
say that it was impolitic and immoral to see palaces belonging to a Queen
of France.
[The Queen never forgot this affront of M. d’Espremenil’s; she said that
as it was offered at a time when social order had not yet been disturbed,
she had felt the severest mortification at it. Shortly before the
downfall of the throne M. Espremenil, having openly espoused the King’s
side, was insulted in the gardens of the Tuileries by the Jacobins, and so
ill-treated that he was carried home very ill. Somebody recommended the
Queen, on account of the royalist principles he then professed, to send
and inquire for him. She replied that she was truly grieved at what had
happened to M. d’Espremenil, but that mere policy should never induce her
to show any particular solicitude about the man who had been the first to
make so insulting an attack upon her character.--MADAME CAMPAN]
The Queen was very much dissatisfied with the manner in which M. de
Calonne had managed this matter. The Abbe de Vermond, the most active and
persevering of that minister’s enemies, saw with delight that the
expedients of those from whom alone new resources might be expected were
gradually becoming exhausted, because the period when the Archbishop of
Toulouse would be placed over the finances was thereby hastened.
The royal navy had resumed an imposing attitude during the war for the
independence of America; glorious peace with England had compensated for
the former attacks of our enemies upon the fame of France; and the throne
was surrounded by numerous heirs. The sole ground of uneasiness was in
the finances, but that uneasiness related only to the manner in which they
were administered. In a word, France felt confident in its own strength
and resources, when two events, which seem scarcely worthy of a place in
history, but which have, nevertheless, an important one in that of the
French Revolution, introduced a spirit of ridicule and contempt, not only
against the highest ranks, but even against the most august personages. I
allude to a comedy and a great swindling transaction.
Beaumarchais had long possessed a reputation in certain circles in Paris
for his wit and musical talents, and at the theatres for dramas more or
less indifferent, when his “Barbier de Seville” procured him a higher
position among dramatic writers. His “Memoirs” against M. Goesman had
amused Paris by the ridicule they threw upon a Parliament which was
disliked; and his admission to an intimacy with M. de Maurepas procured
him a degree of influence over important affairs. He then became
ambitious of influencing public opinion by a kind of drama, in which
established manners and customs should be held up to popular derision and
the ridicule of the new philosophers. After several years of prosperity
the minds of the French had become more generally critical; and when
Beaumarchais had finished his monstrous but diverting “Mariage de Figaro,”
all people of any consequence were eager for the gratification of hearing
it read, the censors having decided that it should not be performed.
These readings of “Figaro” grew so numerous that people were daily heard
to say, “I have been (or I am going to be) at the reading of
Beaumarchais’s play.” The desire to see it performed became universal; an
expression that he had the art to use compelled, as it were, the
approbation of the nobility, or of persons in power, who aimed at ranking
among the magnanimous; he made his “Figaro” say that “none but little
minds dreaded little books.” The Baron de Breteuil, and all the men of
Madame de Polignac’s circle, entered the lists as the warmest protectors
of the comedy. Solicitations to the King became so pressing that his
Majesty determined to judge for himself of a work which so much engrossed
public attention, and desired me to ask M. Le Noir, lieutenant of police,
for the manuscript of the “Mariage de Figaro.” One morning I received a
note from the Queen ordering me to be with her at three o’clock, and not
to come without having dined, for she should detain me some time. When I
got to the Queen’s inner closet I found her alone with the King; a chair
and a small table were ready placed opposite to them, and upon the table
lay an enormous manuscript in several books. The King said to me, “There
is Beaumarchais’s comedy; you must read it to us. You will find several
parts troublesome on account of the erasures and references. I have
already run it over, but I wish the Queen to be acquainted with the work.
You will not mention this reading to any one.”
I began. The King frequently interrupted me by praise or censure, which
was always just. He frequently exclaimed, “That’s in bad taste; this man
continually brings the Italian concetti on the stage.” At that soliloquy
of Figaro in which he attacks various points of government, and especially
at the tirade against State prisons, the King rose up and said,
indignantly:
“That’s detestable; that shall never be played; the Bastille must be
destroyed before the license to act this play can be any other than an act
of the most dangerous inconsistency. This man scoffs at everything that
should be respected in a government.”
“It will not be played, then?” said the Queen.
“No, certainly,” replied Louis XVI.; “you may rely upon that.”
Still it was constantly reported that “Figaro” was about to be performed;
there were even wagers laid upon the subject; I never should have laid any
myself, fancying that I was better informed as to the probability than
anybody else; if I had, however, I should have been completely deceived.
The protectors of Beaumarchais, feeling certain that they would succeed in
their scheme of making his work public in spite of the King’s prohibition,
distributed the parts in the “Mariage de Figaro” among the actors of the
Theatre Francais. Beaumarchais had made them enter into the spirit of his
characters, and they determined to enjoy at least one performance of this
so-called chef d’oeuvre. The first gentlemen of the chamber agreed that
M. de la Ferte should lend the theatre of the Hotel des Menus Plaisirs, at
Paris, which was used for rehearsals of the opera; tickets were
distributed to a vast number of leaders of society, and the day for the
performance was fixed. The King heard of all this only on the very
morning, and signed a ‘lettre de cachet,’--[A ‘lettre de cachet’ was any
written order proceeding from the King. The term was not confined merely
to orders for arrest.]--which prohibited the performance. When the
messenger who brought the order arrived, he found a part of the theatre
already filled with spectators, and the streets leading to the Hotel des
Menus Plaisirs filled with carriages; the piece was not performed. This
prohibition of the King’s was looked upon as an attack on public liberty.
The disappointment produced such discontent that the words oppression and
tyranny were uttered with no less passion and bitterness at that time than
during the days which immediately preceded the downfall of the throne.
Beaumarchais was so far put off his guard by rage as to exclaim, “Well,
gentlemen, he won’t suffer it to be played here; but I swear it shall be
played,--perhaps in the very choir of Notre-Dame!” There was something
prophetic in these words. It was generally insinuated shortly afterwards
that Beaumarchais had determined to suppress all those parts of his work
which could be obnoxious to the Government; and on pretence of judging of
the sacrifices made by the author, M. de Vaudreuil obtained permission to
have this far-famed “Mariage de Figaro” performed at his country house.
M. Campan was asked there; he had frequently heard the work read, and did
not now find the alterations that had been announced; this he observed to
several persons belonging to the Court, who maintained that the author had
made all the sacrifices required. M. Campan was so astonished at these
persistent assertions of an obvious falsehood that he replied by a
quotation from Beaumarchais himself, and assuming the tone of Basilio in
the “Barbier de Seville,” he said, “Faith, gentlemen, I don’t know who is
deceived here; everybody is in the secret.” They then came to the point,
and begged him to tell the Queen positively that all which had been
pronounced reprehensible in M. de Beaumarchais’s play had been cut out.
My father-in-law contented himself with replying that his situation at
Court would not allow of his giving an opinion unless the Queen should
first speak of the piece to him. The Queen said nothing to him about the
matter. Shortly, afterwards permission to perform this play was at length
obtained. The Queen thought the people of Paris would be finely tricked
when they saw merely an ill-conceived piece, devoid of interest, as it
must appear when deprived of its Satire.
[“The King,” says Grimm, “made sure that the public would judge
unfavourably of the work.” He said to the Marquis de Montesquiou, who was
going to see the first representation, ‘Well, what do you augur of its
success?’--‘Sire, I hope the piece will fail.’--‘And so do I,’ replied the
King.
“There is something still more ridiculous than my piece,” said
Beaumarchais himself; “that is, its success.” Mademoiselle Arnould
foresaw it the first day, and exclaimed, “It is a production that will
fail fifty nights successively.” There was as crowded an audience on the
seventy-second night as on the first. The following is extracted from
Grimm’s ‘Correspondence.’
“Answer of M. de Beaumarchais to -----, who requested the use of his
private box for some ladies desirous of seeing ‘Figaro’ without being
themselves seen.
“I have no respect for women who indulge themselves in seeing any play
which they think indecorous, provided they can do so in secret. I lend
myself to no such acts. I have given my piece to the public, to amuse,
and not to instruct, not to give any compounding prudes the pleasure of
going to admire it in a private box, and balancing their account with
conscience by censuring it in company. To indulge in the pleasure of vice
and assume the credit of virtue is the hypocrisy of the age. My piece is
not of a doubtful nature; it must be patronised in good earnest, or
avoided altogether; therefore, with all respect to you, I shall keep my
box.” This letter was circulated all over Paris for a week.]
Under the persuasion that there was not a passage left capable of
malicious or dangerous application, Monsieur attended the first
performance in a public box. The mad enthusiasm of the public in favour
of the piece and Monsieur’s just displeasure are well known. The author
was sent to prison soon afterwards, though his work was extolled to the
skies, and though the Court durst not suspend its performance.
The Queen testified her displeasure against all who had assisted the
author of the “Mariage de Figaro” to deceive the King into giving his
consent that it should be represented. Her reproaches were more
particularly directed against M. de Vaudreuil for having had it performed
at his house. The violent and domineering disposition of her favourite’s
friend at last became disagreeable to her.
One evening, on the Queen’s return from the Duchess’s, she desired her
‘valet de chambre’ to bring her billiard cue into her closet, and ordered
me to open the box that contained it. I took out the cue, broken in two.
It was of ivory, and formed of one single elephant’s tooth; the butt was
of gold and very tastefully wrought. “There,” said she, “that is the way
M. de Vaudreuil has treated a thing I valued highly. I had laid it upon
the couch while I was talking to the Duchess in the salon; he had the
assurance to make use of it, and in a fit of passion about a blocked ball,
he struck the cue so violently against the table that he broke it in two.
The noise brought me back into the billiard-room; I did not say a word to
him, but my looks showed him how angry I was. He is the more provoked at
the accident, as he aspires to the post of Governor to the Dauphin. I
never thought of him for the place. It is quite enough to have consulted
my heart only in the choice of a governess; and I will not suffer that of
a Governor to the Dauphin to be at all affected by the influence of my
friends. I should be responsible for it to the nation. The poor man does
not know that my determination is taken; for I have never expressed it to
the Duchess. Therefore, judge of the sort of an evening he must have
passed!”