The Abbe de Vermond could not repress his exultation when he succeeded in
getting the Archbishop of Sens appointed head of the council of finance. I
have more than once heard him say that seventeen years of patience were
not too long a term for success in a Court; that he spent all that time in
gaining the end he had in view; but that at length the Archbishop was
where he ought to be for the good of the State. The Abbe, from this time,
in the Queen’s private circle no longer concealed his credit and
influence; nothing could equal the confidence with which he displayed the
extent of his pretensions. He requested the Queen to order that the
apartments appropriated to him should be enlarged, telling her that, being
obliged to give audiences to bishops, cardinals, and ministers, he
required a residence suitable to his present circumstances. The Queen
continued to treat him as she did before the Archbishop’s arrival at
Court; but the household showed him increased consideration: the word
“Monsieur” preceded that of Abbe; and from that moment not only the livery
servants, but also the people of the antechambers rose when Monsieur
l’Abbe was passing, though there never was, to my knowledge, any order
given to that effect.
The Queen was obliged, on account of the King’s disposition and the very
limited confidence he placed in the Archbishop of Sens, to take a part in
public affairs. While M. de Maurepas lived she kept out of that danger,
as may be seen by the censure which the Baron de Besenval passes on her in
his memoirs for not availing herself of the conciliation he had promoted
between the Queen and that minister, who counteracted the ascendency which
the Queen and her intimate friends might otherwise have gained over the
King’s mind.
The Queen has often assured me that she never interfered respecting the
interests of Austria but once; and that was only to claim the execution of
the treaty of alliance at the time when Joseph II. was at war with Prussia
and Turkey; that, she then demanded that an army of twenty-four thousand
men should be sent to him instead of fifteen millions, an alternative
which had been left to option in the treaty, in case the Emperor should
have a just war to maintain; that she could not obtain her object, and M.
de Vergennes, in an interview which she had with him upon the subject, put
an end to her importunities by observing that he was answering the mother
of the Dauphin and not the sister of the Emperor. The fifteen millions
were sent. There was no want of money at Vienna, and the value of a
French army was fully appreciated.
“But how,” said the Queen, “could they be so wicked as to send off those
fifteen millions from the general post-office, diligently publishing, even
to the street porters, that they were loading carriages with money that I
was sending to my brother!--whereas it is certain that the money would
equally have been sent if I had belonged to another house; and, besides,
it was sent contrary to my inclination.”
[This was not the first time the Queen had become unpopular in consequence
of financial support afforded by France to her brother. The Emperor Joseph
II, made, in November, 1783, and in May, 1784, startling claims on the
republic of the United Provinces; he demanded the opening of the Scheldt,
the cession of Maeatricht with its dependencies, of the country beyond the
Meuse, the county of Vroenhoven, and a sum of seventy millions of florins.
The first gun was fired by the Emperor on the Scheldt 6th November, 1784.
Peace was concluded 8th November, 1785, through the mediation of France.
The singular part was the indemnification granted to the Emperor: this was
a sum of ten millions of Dutch florins; the articles 15, 16, and 17 of the
treaty stipulated the quotas of it. Holland paid five millions and a
half, and France, under the direction of M. de Vergennes, four millions
and a half of florins, that is to say, nine millions and forty-five
thousand francs, according to M. Soulavie. M. de augur, in his “Policy of
Cabinets” (vol. iii.), says relative to this affair:
“M. de Vergennes has been much blamed for having terminated, by a
sacrifice of seven millions, the contest that existed between the United
Provinces and the Emperor. In that age of philosophy men were still very
uncivilised; in that age of commerce they made very erroneous
calculations; and those who accused the Queen of sending the gold of
France to her brother would have been better pleased if, to support a
republic devoid of energy, the blood of two hundred thousand men, and
three or four hundred millions of francs, had been sacrificed, and at the
same time the risk run of losing the advantage of peace dictated to
England.” MADAME CAMPAN.]
When the Comte de Moustier set out on his mission to the United States,
after having had his public audience of leave he came and asked me to
procure him a private one. I could not succeed even with the strongest
solicitations; the Queen desired me to wish him a good voyage, but added
that none but ministers could have anything to say to him in private,
since he was going to a country where the names of King and Queen must be
detested.
Marie Antoinette had then no direct influence over State affairs until
after the deaths of M. de Maurepas and M. de Vergennes, and the retirement
of M. de Calonne. She frequently regretted her new situation, and looked
upon it as a misfortune which she could not avoid. One day, while I was
assisting her to tie up a number of memorials and reports, which some of
the ministers had handed to her to be given to the King, “Ah!” said she,
sighing, “there is an end of all happiness for me, since they have made an
intriguer of me.” I exclaimed at the word.
“Yes,” resumed, the Queen, “that is the right term; every woman who
meddles with affairs above her understanding or out of her line of duty is
an intriguer and nothing else; you will remember, however, that it is not
my own fault, and that it is with regret I give myself such a title;
Queens of France are happy only so long as they meddle with nothing, and
merely preserve influence sufficient to advance their friends and reward a
few zealous servants. Do you know what happened to me lately? One day
since I began to attend private committees at the King’s, while crossing
the oiel-de-boeuf, I heard one of the musicians of the chapel say so loud
that I lost not a single word, ‘A Queen who does her duty will remain in
her apartment to knit.’ I said within myself, ‘Poor wretch, thou art
right; but thou knowest not my situation; I yield to necessity and my evil
destiny.’”
This situation was the more painful to the Queen inasmuch as Louis XVI.
had long accustomed himself to say nothing to her respecting State
affairs; and when, towards the close of his reign, she was obliged to
interfere in the most important matters, the same habit in the King
frequently kept from her particulars which it was necessary she should
have known. Obtaining, therefore, only insufficient information, and
guided by persons more ambitious than skilful, the Queen could not be
useful in important affairs; yet, at the same time, her ostensible
interference drew upon her, from all parties and all classes of society,
an unpopularity the rapid progress of which alarmed all those who were
sincerely attached to her.
Carried away by the eloquence of the Archbishop of Sens, and encouraged in
the confidence she placed in that minister by the incessant eulogies of
the Abbe de Vermond on his abilities, the Queen unfortunately followed up
her first mistake of bringing him into office in 1787 by supporting him at
the time of his disgrace, which was obtained by the despair of a whole
nation. She thought it was due to her dignity to give him some marked
proof of her regard at the moment of his departure; misled by her
feelings, she sent him her portrait enriched with jewelry, and a brevet
for the situation of lady of the palace for Madame de Canisy, his niece,
observing that it was necessary to indemnify a minister sacrificed to the
intrigues of the Court and a factious spirit of the nation; that otherwise
none would be found willing to devote themselves to the interests of the
sovereign.
On the day of the Archbishop’s departure the public joy was universal,
both at Court and at Paris there were bonfires; the attorneys’ clerks
burnt the Archbishop in effigy, and on the evening of his disgrace more
than a hundred couriers were sent out from Versailles to spread the happy
tidings among the country seats. I have seen the Queen shed bitter tears
at the recollection of the errors she committed at this period, when
subsequently, a short time before her death, the Archbishop had the
audacity to say, in a speech which was printed, that the sole object of
one part of his operations, during his administration, was the salutary
crisis which the Revolution had produced.
The benevolence and generosity shown by the King and Queen during the
severe winter of 1788, when the Seine was frozen over and the cold was
more intense than it had been for eighty years, procured them some
fleeting popularity. The gratitude of the Parisians for the succour their
Majesties poured forth was lively if not lasting. The snow was so
abundant that since that period there has never been seen such a
prodigious quantity in France. In different parts of Paris pyramids and
obelisks of snow were erected with inscriptions expressive of the
gratitude of the people. The pyramid in the Rue d’Angiviller was
supported on a base six feet high by twelve broad; it rose to the height
of fifteen feet, and was terminated by a globe. Four blocks of stone,
placed at the angles, corresponded with the obelisk, and gave it an
elegant appearance. Several inscriptions, in honour of the King and
Queen, were affixed to it. I went to see this singular monument, and
recollect the following inscription:
“TO MARIE ANTOINETTE.”
“Lovely and good, to tender pity true,
Queen of a virtuous King, this trophy view;
Cold ice and snow sustain its fragile form,
But ev’ry grateful heart to thee is warm.
Oh, may this tribute in your hearts excite,
Illustrious pair, more pure and real delight,
Whilst thus your virtues are sincerely prais’d,
Than pompous domes by servile flatt’ry rais’d.”
The theatres generally rang with praises of the beneficence of the
sovereigns: “La Partie de Chasse de Henri IV.” was represented for the
benefit of the poor. The receipts were very considerable.
When the fruitless measure of the Assembly of the Notables, and the
rebellious spirit in the parliaments, had created the necessity for
States General, it was long discussed in council whether they should be
assembled at Versailles or at forty or sixty leagues from the capital;
the Queen was for the latter course, and insisted to the King that they
ought to be far away from the immense population of Paris.
[The Assembly of the Notables, as may be seen in “Weber’s Memoirs,” vol.
i., overthrew the plans and caused the downfall of M. de Calonne. A
prince of the blood presided over each of the meetings of that assembly.
Monsieur, afterwards Louis XVIII., presided over the first meeting.
“Monsieur,” says a contemporary, “gained great reputation at the Assembly
of the Notables in 1787. He did not miss attending his meeting a single
day, and he displayed truly patriotic virtues. His care in discussing the
weighty matters of administration, in throwing light upon them, and in
defending the interests and the cause of the people, was such as even to
inspire the King with some degree of jealousy. Monsieur openly said that
a respectful resistance to the orders of the monarch was not blamable, and
that authority might be met by argument, and forced to receive information
without any offence whatever.”--NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
She feared that the people would influence the deliberations of the
deputies; several memorials were presented to the King upon that
question; but M. Necker prevailed, and Versailles was the place fixed
upon.
The day on which the King announced that he gave his consent to the
convocation of the States General, the Queen left the public dinner, and
placed herself in the recess of the first window of her bedchamber, with
her face towards the garden. Her chief butler followed her, to present
her coffee, which she usually took standing, as she was about to leave the
table. She beckoned to me to come close to her. The King was engaged in
conversation with some one in his room. When the attendant had served her
he retired; and she addressed me, with the cup still in her hand: “Great
Heavens! what fatal news goes forth this day! The King assents to the
convocation of the States General.” Then she added, raising her eyes to
heaven, “I dread it; this important event is a first fatal signal of
discord in France.” She cast her eyes down, they were filled with tears.
She could not take the remainder of her coffee, but handed me the cup, and
went to join the King. In the evening, when she was alone with me, she
spoke only of this momentous decision. “It is the Parliament,” said she,
“that has compelled the King to have recourse to a measure long considered
fatal to the repose of the kingdom. These gentlemen wish to restrain the
power of the King; but they give a great shock to the authority of which
they make so bad a use, and they will bring on their own destruction.”
The double representation granted to the Tiers Etat was now the chief
topic of conversation. The Queen favoured this plan, to which the King
had agreed; she thought the hope of obtaining ecclesiastical favours would
secure the clergy of the second order, and that M. Necker was sure to have
the same degree of influence over the lawyers, and other people of that
class comprised in the Tiers Dat. The Comte d’Artois, holding the
contrary opinion, presented a memorial in the names of himself and several
princes of the blood to the King against the double representation. The
Queen was displeased with him for this; her confidential advisers infused
into her apprehensions that the Prince was made the tool of a party; but
his conduct was approved of by Madame de Polignac’s circle, which the
Queen thenceforward only frequented to avoid the appearance of a change in
her habits. She almost always returned unhappy; she was treated with the
profound respect due to a queen, but the devotion of friendship had
vanished, to make way for the coldness of etiquette, which wounded her
deeply. The alienation between her and the Comte Artois was also very
painful to her, for she had loved him almost as tenderly as if he had been
her own brother.
The opening of the States General took place on the 4th of May, 1789. The
Queen on that occasion appeared for the last time in her life in regal
magnificence. During the procession some low women, seeing the Queen
pass, cried out “Vive le Duc d’ Orleans!” in so threatening a manner that
she nearly fainted. She was obliged to be supported, and those about her
were afraid it would be necessary to stop the procession. The Queen,
however, recovered herself, and much regretted that she had not been able
to command more presence of mind.
The rapidly increasing distrust of the King and Queen shown by the
populace was greatly attributable to incessant corruption by English gold,
and the projects, either of revenge or of ambition, of the Duc d’Orleans.
Let it not be thought that this accusation is founded on what has been so
often repeated by the heads of the French Government since the Revolution.
Twice between the 14th of July and the 6th of October, 1789, the day on
which the Court was dragged to Paris, the Queen prevented me from making
little excursions thither of business or pleasure, saying to me, “Do not
go on such a day to Paris; the English have been scattering gold, we shall
have some disturbance.” The repeated visits of the Duc d’Orleans to
England had excited the Anglomania to such a pitch that Paris was no
longer distinguishable from London. The French, formerly imitated by the
whole of Europe, became on a sudden a nation of imitators, without
considering the evils that arts and manufactures must suffer in
consequence of the change. Since the treaty of commerce made with England
at the peace of 1783, not merely equipages, but everything, even to
ribands and common earthenware, were of English make. If this
predominance of English fashions had been confined to filling our
drawing-rooms with young men in English frock-coats, instead of the French
dress, good taste and commerce might alone have suffered; but the
principles of English government had taken possession of these young
heads. Constitution, Upper House, Lower House, national guarantee,
balance of power, Magna Charta, Law of Habeas Corpus,--all these words
were incessantly repeated, and seldom understood; but they were of
fundamental importance to a party which was then forming.
The first sitting of the States took place on the following day. The King
delivered his speech with firmness and dignity; the Queen told me that he
had taken great pains about it, and had repeated it frequently. His
Majesty gave public marks of attachment and respect for the Queen, who was
applauded; but it was easy to see that this applause was in fact rendered
to the King alone.
It was evident, during the first sittings, that Mirabeau would be very
dangerous to the Government. It affirmed that at this period he
communicated to the King, and still more fully to the Queen, part of his
schemes for abandoning them. He brandished the weapons afforded him by
his eloquence and audacity, in order to make terms with the party he meant
to attack. This man played the game of revolution to make his own
fortune. The Queen told me that he asked for an embassy, and, if my
memory does not deceive me, it was that of Constantinople. He was refused
with well-deserved contempt, though policy would doubtless have concealed
it, could the future have been foreseen.
The enthusiasm prevailing at the opening of this assembly, and the debates
between the Tiers Etat, the nobility, and even the clergy, daily increased
the alarm of their Majesties, and all who were attached to the cause of
monarchy. The Queen went to bed late, or rather she began to be unable to
rest. One evening, about the end of May, she was sitting in her room,
relating several remarkable occurrences of the day; four wax candles were
placed upon her toilet-table; the first went out of itself; I relighted
it; shortly afterwards the second, and then the third went out also; upon
which the Queen, squeezing my hand in terror, said to me: “Misfortune
makes us superstitious; if the fourth taper should go out like the rest,
nothing can prevent my looking upon it as a sinister omen.” The fourth
taper went out. It was remarked to the Queen that the four tapers had
probably been run in the same mould, and that a defect in the wick had
naturally occurred at the same point in each, since the candles had all
gone out in the order in which they had been lighted.
The deputies of the Tiers Etat arrived at Versailles full of the strongest
prejudices against the Court. They believed that the King indulged in the
pleasures of the table to a shameful excess; and that the Queen was
draining the treasury of the State in order to satisfy the most unbridled
luxury. They almost all determined to see Petit Trianon. The extreme
plainness of the retreat in question not answering the ideas they had
formed, some of them insisted upon seeing the very smallest closets,
saying that the richly furnished apartments were concealed from them. They
particularised one which, according to them, was ornamented with diamonds,
and with wreathed columns studded with sapphires and rubies. The Queen
could not get these foolish ideas out of her mind, and spoke to the King
on the subject. From the description given of this room by the deputies
to the keepers of Trianon, the King concluded that they were looking for
the scene enriched with paste ornaments, made in the reign of Louis XV.
for the theatre of Fontainebleau.
The King supposed that his Body Guards, on their return to the country,
after their quarterly duty at Court, related what they had seen, and that
their exaggerated accounts, being repeated, became at last totally
perverted. This idea of the King, after the search for the diamond
chamber, suggested to the Queen that the report of the King’s propensity
for drinking also sprang from the guards who accompanied his carriage when
he hunted at Rambouillet. The King, who disliked sleeping out of his
usual bed, was accustomed to leave that hunting-seat after supper; he
generally slept soundly in his carriage, and awoke only on his arrival at
the courtyard of his palace; he used to get down from his carriage in the
midst of his Body Guards, staggering, as a man half awake will do, which
was mistaken for intoxication.
The majority of the deputies who came imbued with prejudices produced by
error or malevolence, went to lodge with the most humble private
individuals of Versailles, whose inconsiderate conversation contributed
not a little to nourish such mistakes. Everything, in short, tended to
render the deputies subservient to the schemes of the leaders of the
rebellion.
Shortly after the opening of the States General the first Dauphin died.
That young Prince suffered from the rickets, which in a few months curved
his spine, and rendered his legs so weak that he could not walk without
being supported like a feeble old man.
[Louis, Dauphin of France, who died at Versailles on the 4th of June,
1789, gave promise of intellectual precocity. The following particulars,
which convey some idea of his disposition, and of the assiduous attention
bestowed upon him by the Duchesse de Polignac, will be found in a work of
that time: “At two years old the Dauphin was very pretty; he articulated
well, and answered questions put to him intelligently. While he was at
the Chateau de La Muette everybody was at liberty to see him. The Dauphin
was dressed plainly, like a sailor; there was nothing to distinguish him
from other children in external appearance but the cross of Saint Louis,
the blue ribbon, and the Order of the Fleece, decorations that are the
distinctive signs of his rank. The Duchesse Jules de Polignac, his
governess, scarcely ever left him for a single instant: she gave up all
the Court excursions and amusements in order to devote her whole attention
to him. The Prince always manifested a great regard for M. de Bourset,
his valet de chambre. During the illness of which he died, he one day
asked for a pair of scissors; that gentleman reminded him that they were
forbidden. The child insisted mildly, and they were obliged to yield to
him. Having got the scissors, he cut off a lock of his hair, which he
wrapped in a sheet of paper: ‘There, monsieur,’ said he to his valet de
chambre,’ there is the only present I can make you, having nothing at my
command; but when I am dead you will present this pledge to my papa and
mamma; and while they remember me, I hope they will not forget
you.’”--NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
How many maternal tears did his condition draw from the Queen, already
overwhelmed with apprehensions respecting the state of the kingdom! Her
grief was enhanced by petty intrigues, which, when frequently renewed,
became intolerable. An open quarrel between the families and friends of
the Duc Harcourt, the Dauphin’s governor, and those of the Duchesse de
Polignac, his governess, added greatly to the Queen’s affliction. The
young Prince showed a strong dislike to the Duchesse de Polignac, who
attributed it either to the Duc or the Duchesse d’Harcourt, and came to
make her complaints respecting it to the Queen. The Dauphin twice sent
her out of his room, saying to her, with that maturity of manner which
long illness always gives to children: “Go out, Duchess; you are so fond
of using perfumes, and they always make me ill;” and yet she never used
any. The Queen perceived, also, that his prejudices against her friend
extended to herself; her son would no longer speak in her presence. She
knew that he had become fond of sweetmeats, and offered him some
marshmallow and jujube lozenges. The under-governors and the first valet
de chambre requested her not to give the Dauphin anything, as he was to
receive no food of any kind without the consent of the faculty. I forbear
to describe the wound this prohibition inflicted upon the Queen; she felt
it the more deeply because she was aware it was unjustly believed she gave
a decided preference to the Duc de Normandie, whose ruddy health and
amiability did, in truth, form a striking contrast to the languid look and
melancholy disposition of his elder brother. She even suspected that a
plot had for some time existed to deprive her of the affection of a child
whom she loved as a good and tender mother ought. Previous to the
audience granted by the King on the 10th August, 1788, to the envoy of the
Sultan Tippoo Saib, she had begged the Duc d’Harcourt to divert the
Dauphin, whose deformity was already apparent, from his, intention to be
present at that ceremony, being unwilling to expose him to the gaze of the
crowd of inquisitive Parisians who would be in the gallery.
Notwithstanding this injunction, the Dauphin was suffered to write to his
mother, requesting her permission to be present at the audience. The
Queen was obliged to refuse him, and warmly reproached the governor, who
merely answered that he could not oppose the wishes of a sick child. A
year before the death of the Dauphin the Queen lost the Princesse Sophie;
this was, as the Queen said, the first of a series of misfortunes.
NOTE: As Madame Campan has stated in the foregoing pages that the money
to foment sedition was furnished from English sources, the decree of the
Convention of August, 1793, maybe quoted as illustrative of the entente
cordiale alleged to exist between the insurrectionary Government and its
friends across the Channel! The endeavours made by the English Government
to save the unfortunate King are well known. The motives prompting the
conduct of the Duc d’Orleans are equally well known.
Art. i. The National Convention denounces the British Government to
Europe and the English nation.
Art. ii. Every Frenchman that shall place his money in the English funds
shall be declared a traitor to his country.
Art. iii. Every Frenchman who has money in the English funds or those of
any other Power with whom France is at war shall be obliged to declare the
same.
Art. iv. All foreigners, subjects of the Powers now at war with France,
particularly the English, shall be arrested, and seals put upon their
papers.
Art. v. The barriers of Paris shall be instantly shut.
Art. vi. All good citizens shall be required in the name of the country
to search for the foreigners concerned in any plot denounced.
Art. vii. Three millions shall be at the disposal of the Minister at War
to facilitate the march of the garrison of Mentz to La Vendee.
Art. viii. The Minister at War shall send to the army on the coast of
Rochelle all the combustible materials necessary to set fire to the
forests and underwood of La Vendee.
Art. ix. The women, the children, and old men shall be conducted to the
interior parts of the country.
Art. x. The property of the rebels shall be confiscated for the benefit
of the Republic.
Art. xi. A camp shall be formed without delay between Paris and the
Northern army.
Art. xii. All the family of the Capets shall be banished from the French
territory, those excepted who are under the sword of the law, and the
offspring of Louis Capet, who shall both remain in the Temple.
Art. xiii. Marie Antoinette shall be delivered over to the Revolutionary
Tribunal, and shall be immediately conducted to the prison of the
Conciergerie. Louise Elisabeth shall remain in the Temple till after the
judgment of Marie Antoinette.
Art. xiv. All the tombs of the Kings which are at St. Denis and in the
departments shall be destroyed on August the 10th.
Art. xv. The present decree shall be despatched by extraordinary
couriers to all the departments.
MEMOIRS OF THE COURT OF MARIE ANTOINETTE, QUEEN OF FRANCE
Being the Historic Memoirs of Madam Campan,
First Lady in Waiting to the Queen.
BOOK 2.
CHAPTER I.
The ever-memorable oath of the States General, taken at the Tennis Court
of Versailles, was followed by the royal sitting of the 23d of June. In
this seance the King declared that the Orders must vote separately, and
threatened, if further obstacles were met with, to himself act for the
good of the people. The Queen looked on M. Necker’s not accompanying the
King as treachery or criminal cowardice: she said that he had converted a
remedy into poison; that being in full popularity, his audacity, in openly
disavowing the step taken by his sovereign, had emboldened the factious,
and led away the whole Assembly; and that he was the more culpable
inasmuch as he had the evening before given her his word to accompany the
King. In vain did M. Necker endeavour to excuse himself by saying that
his advice had not been followed.
Soon afterwards the insurrections of the 11th, 12th, and 14th of
July--[The Bastille was taken on the 14th July, 1789.]--opened the
disastrous drama with which France was threatened. The massacre of M. de
Flesselles and M. de Launay drew bitter tears from the Queen, and the idea
that the King had lost such devoted subjects wounded her to the heart.
The character of the movement was no longer merely that of a popular
insurrection; cries of “Vive la Nation! Vive le Roi! Vive la Liberte!”
threw the strongest light upon the views of the reformers. Still the
people spoke of the King with affection, and appeared to think him
favourable to the national desire for the reform of what were called
abuses; but they imagined that he was restrained by the opinions and
influence of the Comte d’Artois and the Queen; and those two august
personages were therefore objects of hatred to the malcontents. The
dangers incurred by the Comte d’Artois determined the King’s first step
with the States General. He attended their meeting on the morning of the
15th of July with his brothers, without pomp or escort; he spoke standing
and uncovered, and pronounced these memorable words: “I trust myself to
you; I only wish to be at one with my nation, and, counting on the
affection and fidelity of my subjects, I have given orders to the troops
to remove from Paris and Versailles.” The King returned on foot from the
chamber of the States General to his palace; the deputies crowded after
him, and formed his escort, and that of the Princes who accompanied him.
The rage of the populace was pointed against the Comte d’Artois, whose
unfavourable opinion of the double representation was an odious crime in
their eyes. They repeatedly cried out, “The King for ever, in spite of
you and your opinions, Monseigneur!” One woman had the impudence to come
up to the King and ask him whether what he had been doing was done
sincerely, and whether he would not be forced to retract it.
The courtyards of the Chateau were thronged with an immense concourse of
people; they demanded that the King and Queen, with their children, should
make their appearance in the balcony. The Queen gave me the key of the
inner doors, which led to the Dauphin’s apartments, and desired me to go
to the Duchesse de Polignac to tell her that she wanted her son, and had
directed me to bring him myself into her room, where she waited to show
him to the people. The Duchess said this order indicated that she was not
to accompany the Prince. I did not answer; she squeezed my hand, saying,
“Ah! Madame Campan, what a blow I receive!” She embraced the child and me
with tears. She knew how much I loved and valued the goodness and the
noble simplicity of her disposition. I endeavoured to reassure her by
saying that I should bring back the Prince to her; but she persisted, and
said she understood the order, and knew what it meant. She then retired to
her private room, holding her handkerchief to her eyes. One of the
under-governesses asked me whether she might go with the Dauphin; I told
her the Queen had given no order to the contrary, and we hastened to her
Majesty, who was waiting to lead the Prince to the balcony.
Having executed this sad commission, I went down into the courtyard, where
I mingled with the crowd. I heard a thousand vociferations; it was easy
to see, by the difference between the language and the dress of some
persons among the mob, that they were in disguise. A woman, whose face
was covered with a black lace veil, seized me by the arm with some
violence, and said, calling me by my name, “I know you very well; tell
your Queen not to meddle with government any longer; let her leave her
husband and our good States General to effect the happiness of the
people.” At the same moment a man, dressed much in the style of a
marketman, with his hat pulled down over his eyes, seized me by the other
arm, and said, “Yes, yes; tell her over and over again that it will not be
with these States as with the others, which produced no good to the
people; that the nation is too enlightened in 1789 not to make something
more of them; and that there will not now be seen a deputy of the ‘Tiers
Etat’ making a speech with one knee on the ground; tell her this, do you
hear?” I was struck with dread; the Queen then appeared in the balcony.
“Ah!” said the woman in the veil, “the Duchess is not with her.”--“No,”
replied the man, “but she is still at Versailles; she is working
underground, molelike; but we shall know how to dig her out.” The
detestable pair moved away from me, and I reentered the palace, scarcely
able to support myself. I thought it my duty to relate the dialogue of
these two strangers to the Queen; she made me repeat the particulars to
the King.
About four in the afternoon I went across the terrace to Madame Victoire’s
apartments; three men had stopped under the windows of the throne-chamber.
“Here is that throne,” said one of them aloud, “the vestiges of which will
soon be sought for.” He added a thousand invectives against their
Majesties. I went in to the Princess, who was at work alone in her
closet, behind a canvass blind, which prevented her from being seen by
those without. The three men were still walking upon the terrace; I
showed them to her, and told her what they had said. She rose to take a
nearer view of them, and informed me that one of them was named
Saint-Huruge; that he was sold to the Duc d’Orleans, and was furious
against the Government, because he had been confined once under a ‘lettre
de cachet’ as a bad character.
The King was not ignorant of these popular threats; he also knew the days
on which money was scattered about Paris, and once or twice the Queen
prevented my going there, saying there would certainly be a riot the next
day, because she knew that a quantity of crown pieces had been distributed
in the faubourgs.
[I have seen a six-franc crown piece, which certainly served to pay some
wretch on the night of the 12th of July; the words “Midnight, 12th July,
three pistols,” were rather deeply engraven on it. They were, no doubt, a
password for the first insurrection.--MADAME COMPAN]
On the evening of the 14th of July the King came to the Queen’s
apartments, where I was with her Majesty alone; he conversed with her
respecting the scandalous report disseminated by the factious, that he had
had the Chamber of the National Assembly undermined, in order to blow it
up; but he added that it became him to treat such absurd assertions with
contempt, as usual; I ventured to tell him that I had the evening before
supped with M. Begouen, one of the deputies, who said that there were very
respectable persons who thought that this horrible contrivance had been
proposed without the King’s knowledge. “Then,” said his Majesty, “as the
idea of such an atrocity was not revolting to so worthy a man as M.
Begouen, I will order the chamber to be examined early to-morrow morning.”
In fact, it will be seen by the King’s, speech to the National Assembly,
on the 15th of July, that the suspicions excited obtained his attention.
“I know,” said he in the speech in question, “that unworthy insinuations
have been made; I know there are those who have dared to assert that your
persons are not safe; can it be necessary to give you assurances upon the
subject of reports so culpable, denied beforehand by my known character?”
The proceedings of the 15th of July produced no mitigation of the
disturbances. Successive deputations of poissardes came to request the
King to visit Paris, where his presence alone would put an end to the
insurrection.
On the 16th a committee was held in the King’s apartments, at which a most
important question was discussed: whether his Majesty should quit
Versailles and set off with the troops whom he had recently ordered to
withdraw, or go to Paris to tranquillise the minds of the people. The
Queen was for the departure. On the evening of the 16th she made me take
all her jewels out of their cases, to collect them in one small box, which
she might carry off in her own carriage. With my assistance she burnt a
large quantity of papers; for Versailles was then threatened with an early
visit of armed men from Paris.
The Queen, on the morning of the 16th, before attending another committee
at the King’s, having got her jewels ready, and looked over all her
papers, gave me one folded up but not sealed, and desired me not to read
it until she should give me an order to do so from the King’s room, and
that then I was to execute its contents; but she returned herself about
ten in the morning; the affair was decided; the army was to go away
without the King; all those who were in imminent danger were to go at the
same time. “The King will go to the Hotel de Ville to-morrow,” said the
Queen to me; “he did not choose this course for himself; there were long
debates on the question; at last the King put an end to them by rising and
saying, ‘Well, gentlemen, we must decide; am I to go or to stay? I am
ready to do either.’ The majority were for the King staying; time will
show whether the right choice has been made.” I returned the Queen the
paper she had given me, which was now useless; she read it to me; it
contained her orders for the departure; I was to go with her, as well on
account of my office about her person as to serve as a teacher to Madame.
The Queen tore the paper, and said, with tears in her eyes, “When I wrote
this I thought it would be useful, but fate has ordered otherwise, to the
misfortune of us all, as I much fear.”
After the departure of the troops the new administration received thanks;
M. Necker was recalled. The artillery soldiers were undoubtedly
corrupted. “Wherefore all these guns?” exclaimed the crowds of women who
filled the streets. “Will you kill your mothers, your wives, your
children?”--“Don’t be afraid,” answered the soldiers; “these guns shall
rather be levelled against the tyrant’s palace than against you!”
The Comte d’Artois, the Prince de Conde, and their children set off at the
same time with the troops. The Duc and Duchesse de Polignac, their
daughter, the Duchesse de Guiche, the Comtesse Diane de Polignac, sister
of the Duke, and the Abbe de Baliviere, also emigrated on the same night.
Nothing could be more affecting than the parting of the Queen and her
friend; extreme misfortune had banished from their minds the recollection
of differences to which political opinions alone had given rise. The
Queen several times wished to go and embrace her once more after their
sorrowful adieu, but she was too closely watched. She desired M. Campan
to be present at the departure of the Duchess, and gave him a purse of
five hundred Louis, desiring him to insist upon her allowing the Queen to
lend her that sum to defray her expenses on the road. The Queen added
that she knew her situation; that she had often calculated her income, and
the expenses occasioned by her place at Court; that both husband and wife
having no other fortune than their official salaries, could not possibly
have saved anything, however differently people might think at Paris.
M. Campan remained till midnight with the Duchess to see her enter her
carriage. She was disguised as a femme de chambre, and got up in front of
the Berlin; she requested M. Campan to remember her frequently to the
Queen, and then quitted for ever that palace, that favour, and that
influence which had raised her up such cruel enemies. On their arrival at
Sens the travellers found the people in a state of insurrection; they
asked all those who came from Paris whether the Polignacs were still with
the Queen. A group of inquisitive persons put that question to the Abbe
de Baliviere, who answered them in the firmest tone, and with the most
cavalier air, that they were far enough from Versailles, and that we had
got rid of all such bad people. At the following stage the postilion got
on the doorstep and said to the Duchess, “Madame, there are some good
people left in the world: I recognised you all at Sens.” They gave the
worthy fellow a handful of gold.
On the breaking out of these disturbances an old man above seventy years
of age gave the Queen an extraordinary proof of attachment and fidelity.
M. Peraque, a rich inhabitant of the colonies, father of M. d’Oudenarde,
was coming from Brussels to Paris; while changing horses he was met by a
young man who was leaving France, and who recommended him if he carried
any letters from foreign countries to burn them immediately, especially if
he had any for the Queen. M. Peraque had one from the Archduchess, the
Gouvernante of the Low Countries, for her Majesty. He thanked the
stranger, and carefully concealed his packet; but as he approached Paris
the insurrection appeared to him so general and so violent, that he
thought no means could be relied on for securing this letter from seizure.
He took upon him to unseal it, and learned it by heart, which was a
wonderful effort for a man at his time of life, as it contained four pages
of writing. On his arrival at Paris he wrote it down, and then presented
it to the Queen, telling her that the heart of an old and faithful subject
had given him courage to form and execute such a resolution. The Queen
received M. Peraque in her closet, and expressed her gratitude in an
affecting manner most honourable to the worthy old man. Her Majesty
thought the young stranger who had apprised him of the state of Paris was
Prince George of Hesse-Darmstadt, who was very devoted to her, and who
left Paris at that time.
The Marquise de Tourzel replaced the Duchess de Polignac. She was
selected by the Queen as being the mother of a family and a woman of
irreproachable conduct, who had superintended the education of her own
daughters with the greatest success.
The King went to Paris on the 17th of July, accompanied by the Marechal de
Beauvau, the Duc de Villeroi, and the Duc de Villequier; he also took the
Comte d’Estaing, and the Marquis de Nesle, who were then very popular, in
his carriage. Twelve Body Guards, and the town guard of Versailles,
escorted him to the Pont du Jour, near Sevres, where the Parisian guard
was waiting for him. His departure caused equal grief and alarm to his
friends, notwithstanding the calmness he exhibited. The Queen restrained
her tears, and shut herself up in her private rooms with her family. She
sent for several persons belonging to her Court; their doors were locked.
Terror had driven them away. The silence of death reigned throughout the
palace; they hardly dared hope that the King would return? The Queen had
a robe prepared for her, and sent orders to her stables to have all her
equipages ready. She wrote an address of a few lines for the Assembly,
determining to go there with her family, the officers of her palace, and
her servants, if the King should be detained prisoner at Paris. She got
this address by heart; it began with these words: “Gentlemen, I come to
place in your hands the wife and family of your sovereign; do not suffer
those who have been united in heaven to be put asunder on earth.” While
she was repeating this address she was often interrupted by tears, and
sorrowfully exclaimed: “They will not let him return!”
It was past four when the King, who had left Versailles at ten in the
morning, entered the Hotel de Ville. At length, at six in the evening, M.
de Lastours, the King’s first page, arrived; he was not half an hour in
coming from the Barriere de la Conference to Versailles. Everybody knows
that the moment of calm in Paris was that in which the unfortunate
sovereign received the tricoloured cockade from M. Bailly, and placed it
in his hat. A shout of “Vive le Roi!” arose on all sides; it had not been
once uttered before. The King breathed again, and with tears in his eyes
exclaimed that his heart stood in need of such greetings from the people.
One of his equerries (M. de Cubieres) told him the people loved him, and
that he could never have doubted it. The King replied in accents of
profound sensibility:
“Cubieres, the French loved Henri IV., and what king ever better deserved
to be beloved?”
[Louis XVI. cherished the memory of Henri IV.: at that moment he thought
of his deplorable end; but he long before regarded him as a model.
Soulavie says on the subject: “A tablet with the inscription ‘Resurrexit’
placed upon the pedestal of Henri IV.’s statue on the accession of Louis
XVI. flattered him exceedingly. ‘What a fine compliment,’ said he, ‘if it
were true! Tacitus himself never wrote anything so concise or so happy.’
Louis XVI. wished to take the reign of that Prince for a model. In the
following year the party that raised a commotion among the people on
account of the dearness of corn removed the tablet inscribed Resurrexit
from the statue of Henri IV., and placed it under that of Louis XV., whose
memory was then detested, as he was believed to have traded on the
scarcity of food. Louis XVI., who was informed of it, withdrew into his
private apartments, where he was found in a fever shedding tears; and
during the whole of that day he could not be prevailed upon either to
dine, walk out, or sup. From this circumstance we may judge what he
endured at the commencement of the Revolution, when he was accused of not
loving the French people.”--NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
His return to Versailles filled his family with inexpressible joy; in the
arms of the Queen, his sister, and his children, he congratulated himself
that no accident had happened; and he repeated several times, “Happily no
blood has been shed, and I swear that never shall a drop of French blood
be shed by my order,”--a determination full of humanity, but too openly
avowed in such factious times!
The King’s last measure raised a hope in many that general tranquillity
would soon enable the Assembly to resume its, labours, and promptly bring
its session to a close. The Queen never flattered herself so far; M.
Bailly’s speech to the King had equally wounded her pride and hurt her
feelings. “Henri IV. conquered his people, and here are the people
conquering their King.” The word “conquest” offended her; she never
forgave M. Bailly for this fine academical phrase.
Five days after the King’s visit to Paris, the departure of the troops,
and the removal of the Princes and some of the nobility whose influence
seemed to alarm the people, a horrible deed committed by hired assassins
proved that the King had descended the steps of his throne without having
effected a reconciliation with his people.
M. Foulon, adjoint to the administration while M. de Broglie was
commanding the army assembled at Versailles, had concealed himself at
Viry. He was there recognised, and the peasants seized him, and dragged
him to the Hotel de Ville. The cry for death was heard; the electors, the
members of committee, and M. de La Fayette, at that time the idol of
Paris, in vain endeavoured to save the unfortunate man. After tormenting
him in a manner which makes humanity shudder, his body was dragged about
the streets, and to the Palais Royal, and his heart was carried by women
in the midst of a bunch of white carnations! M. Berthier, M. Foulon’s
son-in-law, intendant of Paris, was seized at Compiegne, at the same time
that his father-in-law was seized at Viry, and treated with still more
relentless cruelty.
The Queen was always persuaded that this horrible deed was occasioned by
some indiscretion; and she informed me that M. Foulon had drawn up two
memorials for the direction of the King’s conduct at the time of his being
called to Court on the removal of M. Necker; and that these memorials
contained two schemes of totally different nature for extricating the King
from the dreadful situation in which he was placed. In the first of these
projects M. Foulon expressed himself without reserve respecting the
criminal views of the Duc d’Orleans; said that he ought to be put under
arrest, and that no time should be lost in commencing a prosecution
against him, while the criminal tribunals were still in existence; he
likewise pointed out such deputies as should be apprehended, and advised
the King not to separate himself from his army until order was restored.
His other plan was that the King should make himself master of the
revolution before its complete explosion; he advised his Majesty to go to
the Assembly, and there, in person, to demand the cahiers, and to make
the greatest sacrifices to satisfy the legitimate wishes of the people,
and not to give the factious time to enlist them in aid of their
criminal designs.
[Cahiers, the memorials or lists of complaints, grievances, and
requirements of the electors drawn up by the primary assemblies and sent
with the deputies.]
Madame Adelaide had M. Foulon’s two memorials read to her in the
presence of four or five persons. One of them, Comte Louis de Narbonne,
was very intimate with Madame de Stael, and that intimacy gave the Queen
reason to believe that the opposite party had gained information of M.
Foulon’s schemes.
It is known that young Barnave, during an aberration of mind, since
expiated by sincere repentance, and even by death, uttered these atrocious
words: “Is then the blood now, flowing so pure?” when M. Berthier’s son
came to the Assembly to implore the eloquence of M. de Lally to entreat
that body to save his father’s life. I have since been informed that a
son of M. Foulon, having returned to France after these first ebullitions
of the Revolution, saw Barnave, and gave him one of those memorials in
which M. Foulon advised Louis XVI. to prevent the revolutionary explosion
by voluntarily granting all that the Assembly required before the 14th of
July. “Read this memorial,” said he; “I have brought it to increase your
remorse: it is the only revenge I wish to inflict on you.” Barnave burst
into tears, and said to him all that the profoundest grief could dictate.
CHAPTER II.
After the 14th of July, by a manoeuvre for which the most skilful factions
of any age might have envied the Assembly, the whole population of France
was armed and organised into a National Guard. A report was spread
throughout France on the same day, and almost at the same hour, that four
thousand brigands were marching towards such towns or villages as it was
wished to induce to take arms. Never was any plan better laid; terror
spread at the same moment all over the kingdom. In 1791 a peasant showed
me a steep rock in the mountains of the Mont d’Or on which his wife
concealed herself on the day when the four thousand brigands were to
attack their village, and told me they had been obliged to make use of
ropes to let her down from the height which fear alone had enabled her to
climb.
Versailles was certainly the place where the national military uniform
appeared most offensive. All the King’s valets, even of the lowest class,
were metamorphosed into lieutenants or captains; almost all the musicians
of the chapel ventured one day to make their appearance at the King’s mass
in a military costume; and an Italian soprano adopted the uniform of a
grenadier captain. The King was very much offended at this conduct, and
forbade his servants to appear in his presence in so unsuitable a dress.
The departure of the Duchesse de Polignac naturally left the Abbe de
Vermond exposed to all the dangers of favouritism. He was already talked
of as an adviser dangerous to the nation. The Queen was alarmed at it,
and recommended him to remove to Valenciennes, where Count Esterhazy was
in command. He was obliged to leave that place in a few days and set off
for Vienna, where he remained.
On the night of the 17th of July the Queen, being unable to sleep, made me
watch by her until three in the morning. I was extremely surprised to
hear her say that it would be a very long time before the Abbe de Vermond
would make his appearance at Court again, even if the existing ferment
should subside, because he would not readily be forgiven for his
attachment to the Archbishop of Sens; and that she had lost in him a very
devoted servant. Then she suddenly remarked to me, that although he was
not much prejudiced against me I could not have much regard for him,
because he could not bear my father-in-law to hold the place of secretary
of the closet. She went on to say that I must have studied the Abbe’s
character, and, as I had sometimes drawn her portraits of living
characters, in imitation of those which were fashionable in the time of
Louis XIV., she desired me to sketch that of the Abbe, without any
reserve. My astonishment was extreme; the Queen spoke of the man who, the
day before, had been in the greatest intimacy with her with the utmost
coolness, and as a person whom, perhaps, she might never see again! I
remained petrified; the Queen persisted, and told me that he had been the
enemy of my family for more than twelve years, without having been able to
injure it in her opinion; so that I had no occasion to dread his return,
however severely I might depict him. I promptly summarised my ideas about
the favourite; but I only remember that the portrait was drawn with
sincerity, except that everything which could denote antipathy was kept
out of it. I shall make but one extract from it: I said that he had been
born talkative and indiscreet, and had assumed a character of singularity
and abruptness in order to conceal those two failings. The Queen
interrupted me by saying, “Ah! how true that is!” I have since discovered
that, notwithstanding the high favour which the Abbe de Vermond enjoyed,
the Queen took precautions to guard herself against an ascendency the
consequences of which she could not calculate.
On the death of my father-in-law his executors placed in my hands a box
containing a few jewels deposited by the Queen with M. Campan on the
departure from Versailles of the 6th of October, and two sealed packets,
each inscribed, “Campan will take care of these papers for me.” I took
the two packets to her Majesty, who kept the jewels and the larger packet,
and, returning me the smaller, said, “Take care of that for me as your
father-in-law did.”
After the fatal 10th of August, 1792,--[The day of the attack on the
Tuileries, slaughter of the Swiss guard, and suspension of the King from
his functions.]--when my house was about to be surrounded, I determined to
burn the most interesting papers of which I was the depositary; I thought
it my duty, however, to open this packet, which it might perhaps be
necessary for me to preserve at all hazards. I saw that it contained a
letter from the Abbe de Vermond to the Queen. I have already related that
in the earlier days of Madame de Polignac’s favour he determined to remove
from Versailles, and that the Queen recalled him by means of the Comte de
Mercy. This letter contained nothing but certain conditions for his
return; it was the most whimsical of treaties; I confess I greatly
regretted being under the necessity of destroying it. He reproached the
Queen for her infatuation for the Comtesse Jules, her family, and society;
and told her several truths about the possible consequences of a
friendship which ranked that lady among the favourites of the Queens of
France, a title always disliked by the nation. He complained that his
advice was neglected, and then came to the conditions of his return to
Versailles; after strong assurances that he would never, in all his life,
aim at the higher church dignities, he said that he delighted in an
unbounded confidence; and that he asked but two things of her Majesty as
essential: the first was, not to give him her orders through any third
person, and to write to him herself; he complained much that he had had no
letter in her own hand since he had left Vienna; then he demanded of her
an income of eighty thousand livres, in ecclesiastical benefices; and
concluded by saying that, if she condescended to assure him herself that
she would set about procuring him what he wished, her letter would be
sufficient in itself to show him that her Majesty had accepted the two
conditions he ventured to make respecting his return. No doubt the letter
was written; at least it is very certain that the benefices were granted,
and that his absence from Versailles lasted only a single week.
In the course of July, 1789, the regiment of French guards, which had been
in a state of insurrection from the latter end of June, abandoned its
colours. One single company of grenadiers remained faithful, to its post
at Versailles. M. le Baron de Leval was the captain of this company. He
came every evening to request me to give the Queen an account of the
disposition of his soldiers; but M. de La Fayette having sent them a note,
they all deserted during the night and joined their comrades, who were
enrolled in the Paris guard; so that Louis XVI. on rising saw no guard
whatever at the various posts entrusted to them.
The decrees of the 4th of August, by which all privileges were abolished,
are well known.
[“It was during the night of the 4th of August,” says Rivarol, “that the
demagogues of the nobility, wearied with a protracted discussion upon the
rights of man, and burning to signalise their zeal, rose all at once, and
with loud exclamations called for the last sighs of the feudal system.
This demand electrified the Assembly. All heads were frenzied. The
younger sons of good families, having nothing, were delighted to sacrifice
their too fortunate elders upon the altar of the country; a few country
cures felt no less pleasure in renouncing the benefices of others; but
what posterity will hardly believe is that the same enthusiasm infected
the whole nobility; zeal walked hand in hand with malevolence; they made
sacrifice upon sacrifice. And as in Japan the point of honour lies in a
man’s killing himself in the presence of the person who has offended him,
so did the deputies of the nobility vie in striking at themselves and
their constituents. The people who were present at this noble contest
increased the intoxication of their new allies by their shouts; and the
deputies of the commons, seeing that this memorable night would only
afford them profit without honour, consoled their self-love by wondering
at what Nobility, grafted upon the Third Estate, could do. They named
that night the ‘night of dupes’; the nobles called it the ‘night of
sacrifices’.”--NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
The King sanctioned all that tended to the diminution of his own personal
gratifications, but refused his consent to the other decrees of that
tumultuous night; this refusal was one of the chief causes of the ferments
of the month of October.
In the early part of September meetings were held at the Palais Royal, and
propositions made to go to Versailles; it was said to be necessary to
separate the King from his evil counsellors, and keep him, as well as the
Dauphin, at the Louvre. The proclamations by the officers of the commune
for the restoration of tranquillity were ineffectual; but M. de La Fayette
succeeded this time in dispersing the populace. The Assembly declared
itself permanent; and during the whole of September, in which no doubt the
preparations were made for the great insurrections of the following month,
the Court was not disturbed.
The King had the Flanders regiment removed to Versailles; unfortunately
the idea of the officers of that regiment fraternising with the Body
Guards was conceived, and the latter invited the former to a dinner, which
was given in the great theatre of Versailles, and not in the Salon of
Hercules, as some chroniclers say. Boxes were appropriated to various
persons who wished to be present at this entertainment. The Queen told me
she had been advised to make her appearance on the occasion, but that
under existing circumstances she thought such a step might do more harm
than good; and that, moreover, neither she nor the King ought directly to
have anything to do with such a festival. She ordered me to go, and
desired me to observe everything closely, in order to give a faithful
account of the whole affair.
The tables were set out upon the stage; at them were placed one of the
Body Guard and an officer of the Flanders regiment alternately. There was
a numerous orchestra in the room, and the boxes were filled with
spectators. The air, “O Richard, O mon Roi!” was played, and shouts of
“Vive de Roi!” shook the roof for several minutes. I had with me one of
my nieces, and a young person brought up with Madame by her Majesty. They
were crying “Vive le Roi!” with all their might when a deputy of the Third
Estate, who was in the next box to mine, and whom I had never seen, called
to them, and reproached them for their exclamations; it hurt him, he said,
to see young and handsome Frenchwomen brought up in such servile habits,
screaming so outrageously for the life of one man, and with true
fanaticism exalting him in their hearts above even their dearest
relations; he told them what contempt worthy American women would feel on
seeing Frenchwomen thus corrupted from their earliest infancy. My niece
replied with tolerable spirit, and I requested the deputy to put an end to
the subject, which could by no means afford him any satisfaction, inasmuch
as the young persons who were with me lived, as well as myself, for the
sole purpose of serving and loving the King. While I was speaking what
was my astonishment at seeing the King, the Queen, and the Dauphin enter
the chamber! It was M. de Luxembourg who had effected this change in the
Queen’s determination.
The enthusiasm became general; the moment their Majesties arrived the
orchestra repeated the air I have just mentioned, and afterwards played a
song in the “Deserter,” “Can we grieve those whom we love?” which also
made a powerful impression upon those present: on all sides were heard
praises of their Majesties, exclamations of affection, expressions of
regret for what they had suffered, clapping of hands, and shouts of “Vive
le Roi! Vive la Reine! Vive le Dauphin!” It has been said that white
cockades were worn on this occasion; that was not the case; the fact is,
that a few young men belonging to the National Guard of Versailles, who
were invited to the entertainment, turned the white lining of their
national cockades outwards. All the military men quitted the hall, and
reconducted the King and his family to their apartments. There was
intoxication in these ebullitions of joy: a thousand extravagances were
committed by the military, and many of them danced under the King’s
windows; a soldier belonging to the Flanders regiment climbed up to the
balcony of the King’s chamber in order to shout “Vive le Roi!” nearer his
Majesty; this very soldier, as I have been told by several officers of the
corps, was one of the first and most dangerous of their insurgents in the
riots of the 5th and 6th of October. On the same evening another soldier
of that regiment killed himself with a sword. One of my relations,
chaplain to the Queen, who supped with me, saw him stretched out in a
corner of the Place d’Armes; he went to him to give him spiritual
assistance, and received his confession and his last sighs. He destroyed
himself out of regret at having suffered himself to be corrupted by the
enemies of his King, and said that, since he had seen him and the Queen
and the Dauphin, remorse had turned his brain.
I returned home, delighted with all that I had seen.
I found a great many people there. M. de Beaumetz, deputy for Arras,
listened to my description with a chilling air, and, when I had finished,
told me that all that had passed was terrific; that he knew the
disposition of the Assembly, and that the greatest misfortunes would
follow the drama of that night; and he begged my leave to withdraw that he
might take time for deliberate reflection whether he should on the very
next day emigrate, or pass over to the left side of the Assembly. He
adopted the latter course, and never appeared again among my associates.
On the 2d of October the military entertainment was followed up by a
breakfast given at the hotel of the Body Guards. It is said that a
discussion took place whether they should not march against the Assembly;
but I am utterly ignorant of what passed at that breakfast. From that
moment Paris was constantly in commotion; there were continual mobs, and
the most virulent proposals were heard in all public places; the
conversation was invariably about proceeding to Versailles. The King and
Queen did not seem apprehensive of such a measure, and took no precaution
against it; even when the army had actually left Paris, on the evening of
the 5th of October, the King was shooting at Meudon, and the Queen was
alone in her gardens at Trianon, which she then beheld for the last time
in her life. She was sitting in her grotto absorbed in painful
reflection, when she received a note from the Comte de Saint-Priest,
entreating her to return to Versailles. M. de Cubieres at the same time
went off to request the King to leave his sport and return to the palace;
the King did so on horseback, and very leisurely. A few minutes
afterwards he was informed that a numerous body of women, which preceded
the Parisian army, was at Chaville, at the entrance of the avenue from
Paris.
The scarcity of bread and the entertainment of the Body Guards were the
pretexts for the insurrection of the 5th and 6th of October, 1789; but it
is clear to demonstration that this new movement of the people was a part
of the original plan of the factious, insomuch as, ever since the
beginning of September, a report had been industriously circulated that
the King intended to withdraw, with his family and ministers, to some
stronghold; and at all the popular assemblies there had been always a
great deal said about going to Versailles to seize the King.
At first only women showed themselves; the latticed doors of the Chateau
were closed, and the Body Guard and Flanders regiment were drawn up in the
Place d’Armes. As the details of that dreadful day are given with
precision in several works, I will only observe that general consternation
and disorder reigned throughout the interior of the palace.
I was not in attendance on the Queen at this time. M. Campan remained
with her till two in the morning. As he was leaving her she
condescendingly, and with infinite kindness, desired him to make me easy
as to the dangers of the moment, and to repeat to me M. de La Fayette’s
own words, which he had just used on soliciting the royal family to retire
to bed, undertaking to answer for his army.
The Queen was far from relying upon M. de La Fayette’s loyalty; but she
has often told me that she believed on that day, that La Fayette, having
affirmed to the King, in the presence of a crowd of witnesses, that he
would answer for the army of Paris, would not risk his honour as a
commander, and was sure of being able to redeem his pledge. She also
thought the Parisian army was devoted to him, and that all he said about
his being forced to march upon Versailles was mere pretence.
On the first intimation of the march of the Parisians, the Comte de
Saint-Priest prepared Rambouillet for the reception of the King, his
family, and suite, and the carriages were even drawn out; but a few cries
of “Vive le Roi!” when the women reported his Majesty’s favourable
answer, occasioned the intention of going away to be given up, and orders
were given to the troops to withdraw.
[Compare this account with the particulars given in the “Memoirs” of
Ferribres, Weber, Bailly, and Saint-Priest, from the latter of which the
following sentence is taken:
“M. d’Estaing knew not what to do with the Body Guards beyond bringing
them into the courtyard of the ministers, and shutting the grilles.
Thence they proceeded to the terrace of the Chateau, then to Trianon, and
lastly to Rambouillet.
“I could not refrain from expressing to M. d’Estaing, when he came to the
King, my astonishment at not seeing him make any military disposition.
‘Monsieur,’ replied he, ‘I await the orders of the King’ (who did not open
his mouth). ‘When the King gives no orders,’ pursued I, ‘a general should
decide for himself in a soldierly manner.’ This observation remained
unanswered.”]
The Body Guards were, however, assailed with stones and musketry while
they were passing from the Place d’Armes to, their hotel. Alarm revived;
again it was thought necessary that the royal family should go away; some
carriages still remained ready for travelling; they were called for; they
were stopped by a wretched player belonging to the theatre of the town,
seconded by the mob: the opportunity for flight had been lost.
The insurrection was directed against the Queen in particular; I shudder
even now at the recollection of the poissardes, or rather furies, who wore
white aprons, which they screamed out were intended to receive the bowels
of Marie Antoinette, and that they would make cockades of them, mixing the
most obscene expressions with these horrible threats.
The Queen went to bed at two in the morning, and even slept, tired out
with the events of so distressing a day. She had ordered her two women to
bed, imagining there was nothing to dread, at least for that night; but
the unfortunate Princess was indebted for her life to that feeling of
attachment which prevented their obeying her. My sister, who was one of
the ladies in question, informed me next day of all that I am about to
relate.
On leaving the Queen’s bedchamber, these ladies called their femmes de
chambre, and all four remained sitting together against her Majesty’s
bedroom door. About half-past four in the morning they heard horrible
yells and discharges of firearms; one ran to the Queen to awaken her and
get her out of bed; my sister flew to the place from which the tumult
seemed to proceed; she opened the door of the antechamber which leads to
the great guard-room, and beheld one of the Body Guard holding his musket
across the door, and attacked by a mob, who were striking at him; his face
was covered with blood; he turned round and exclaimed: “Save the Queen,
madame; they are come to assassinate her!” She hastily shut the door upon
the unfortunate victim of duty, fastened it with the great bolt, and took
the same precaution on leaving the next room. On reaching the Queen’s
chamber she cried out to her, “Get up, Madame! Don’t stay to dress
yourself; fly to the King’s apartment!” The terrified Queen threw herself
out of bed; they put a petticoat upon her without tying it, and the two
ladies conducted her towards the oile-de-boeuf. A door, which led from
the Queen’s dressing-room to that apartment, had never before been
fastened but on her side. What a dreadful moment! It was found to be
secured on the other side. They knocked repeatedly with all their
strength; a servant of one of the King’s valets de chambre came and opened
it; the Queen entered the King’s chamber, but he was not there. Alarmed
for the Queen’s life, he had gone down the staircases and through the
corridors under the oeil-de-boeuf, by means of which he was accustomed to
go to the Queen’s apartments without being under the necessity of crossing
that room. He entered her Majesty’s room and found no one there but some
Body Guards, who had taken refuge in it. The King, unwilling to expose
their lives, told them to wait a few minutes, and afterwards sent to
desire them to go to the oeil-de-boeuf. Madame de Tourzel, at that time
governess of the children of France, had just taken Madame and the Dauphin
to the King’s apartments. The Queen saw her children again. The reader
must imagine this scene of tenderness and despair.
It is not true that the assassins penetrated to the Queen’s chamber and
pierced the bed with their swords. The fugitive Body Guards were the only
persons who entered it; and if the crowd had reached so far they would all
have been massacred. Besides, when the rebels had forced the doors of the
antechamber, the footmen and officers on duty, knowing that the Queen was
no longer in her apartments, told them so with that air of truth which
always carries conviction. The ferocious horde instantly rushed towards
the oeil-de-boeuf, hoping, no doubt, to intercept her on her way.
Many have asserted that they recognised the Duc d’Orleans in a greatcoat
and slouched hat, at half-past four in the morning, at the top of the
marble staircase, pointing out with his hand the guard-room, which led to
the Queen’s apartments. This fact was deposed to at the Chatelet by
several individuals in the course of the inquiry instituted respecting the
transactions of the 5th and 6th of October.
[The National Assembly was sitting when information of the march of the
Parisians was given to it by one of the deputies who came from Paris. A
certain number of the members were no strangers, to this movement. It
appears that Mirabeau wished to avail himself of it to raise the Duc
d’Orleans to the throne. Mounier, who presided over the National
Assembly, rejected the idea with horror. “My good man,” said Mirabeau to
him, “what difference will it make to you to have Louis XVII. for your
King instead of Louis XVI.?” (The Duc d’Orleans was baptised Louis.)]
The prudence and honourable feeling of several officers of the Parisian
guards, and the judicious conduct of M. de Vaudreuil, lieutenant-general
of marine, and of M. de Chevanne, one of the King’s Guards, brought about
an understanding between the grenadiers of the National Guard of Paris and
the King’s Guard. The doors of the oeil-de-boeuf were closed, and the
antechamber which precedes that room was filled with grenadiers who wanted
to get in to massacre the Guards. M. de Chevanne offered himself to them
as a victim if they wished for one, and demanded what they would have. A
report had been spread through their ranks that the Body Guards set them
at defiance, and that they all wore black cockades. M. de Chevanne showed
them that he wore, as did the corps, the cockade of their uniform; and
promised that the Guards should exchange it for that of the nation. This
was done; they even went so far as to exchange their grenadiers’ caps for
the hats of the Body Guards; those who were on guard took off their
shoulder-belts; embraces and transports of fraternisation instantly
succeeded to the savage eagerness to murder the band which had shown so
much fidelity to its sovereign. The cry was now “Vivent le Roi, la
Nation, et les Gardes-du-corps!”
The army occupied the Place d’Armes, all the courtyards of the Chateau,
and the entrance to the avenue. They called for the Queen to appear in
the balcony: she came forward with Madame and the Dauphin. There was a
cry of “No children!” Was this with a view to deprive her of the interest
she inspired, accompanied as she was by her young family, or did the
leaders of the democrats hope that some madman would venture to aim a
mortal blow at her person? The unfortunate Princess certainly was
impressed with the latter idea, for she sent away her children, and with
her hands and eyes raised towards heaven, advanced upon the balcony like a
self-devoted victim.
A few voices shouted “To Paris!” The exclamation soon became general.
Before the King agreed to this removal he wished to consult the National
Assembly, and caused that body to be invited to sit at the Chateau.
Mirabeau opposed this measure. While these discussions were going forward
it became more and more difficult to restrain the immense disorderly
multitude. The King, without consulting any one, now said to the people:
“You wish, my children, that I should follow you to Paris: I consent, but
on condition that I shall not be separated from my wife and family.” The
King added that he required safety also for his Guards; he was answered by
shouts of “Vivo le Roi! Vivent les Gardes-du-corps!” The Guards, with
their hats in the air, turned so as to exhibit the cockade, shouted “Vive
le Roi! Vive la Nation!” shortly afterwards a general discharge of all
the muskets took place, in token of joy. The King and Queen set off from
Versailles at one o’clock. The Dauphin, Madame, the King’s daughter,
Monsieur, Madame,--[Madame, here, the wife of Monsieur le Comte de
Provence.]--Madame Elisabeth, and Madame de Tourzel, were in the carriage;
the Princesse de Chimay and the ladies of the bedchamber for the week, the
King’s suite and servants, followed in Court carriages; a hundred deputies
in carriages, and the bulk of the Parisian army, closed the procession.
The poissardes went before and around the carriage of their Majesties,
Crying, “We shall no longer want bread! We have the baker, the baker’s
wife, and the baker’s boy with us!” In the midst of this troop of
cannibals the heads of two murdered Body Guards were carried on poles. The
monsters, who made trophies of them, conceived the horrid idea of forcing
a wigmaker of Sevres to dress them up and powder their bloody locks. The
unfortunate man who was forced to perform this dreadful work died in
consequence of the shock it gave him.
[The King did not leave Versailles till one o’clock. The Queen, the
Dauphin, Madame Royale, Monsieur, Madame Elisabeth, and Madame de Tourzel
were in his Majesty’s carriage. The hundred deputies in their carriages
came next. A detachment of brigands, bearing the heads of the two Body
Guards in triumph, formed the advance guard, and set out two hours
earlier. These cannibals stopped a moment at Sevres, and carried their
cruelty to the length of forcing an unfortunate hairdresser to dress the
gory heads; the bulk of the Parisian army followed them closely. The
King’s carriage was preceded by the ‘poissardes’, who had arrived the day
before from Paris, and a rabble of prostitutes, the vile refuse of their
sex, still drunk with fury and wine. Several of them rode astride upon
cannons, boasting, in the most horrible songs, of the crimes they had
committed themselves, or seen others commit. Those who were nearest the
King’s carriage sang ballads, the allusions in which by means of their
vulgar gestures they applied to the Queen. Wagons, full of corn and
flour,--which had been brought into Versailles, formed a train escorted by
grenadiers, and surrounded by women and bullies, some armed with pikes,
and some carrying long branches of poplar. At some distance this part of
the procession had a most singular effect: it looked like a moving forest,
amidst which shone pike-heads and gun-barrels. In the paroxysms of their
brutal joy the women stopped passengers, and, pointing to the King’s
carriage, howled in their ears: “Cheer up, friends; we shall no longer be
in want of bread! We bring you the baker, the baker’s wife, and the
baker’s little boy!” Behind his Majesty’s carriage were several of his
faithful Guards, some on foot, and some on horseback, most of them
uncovered, all unarmed, and worn out with hunger and fatigue; the
dragoons, the Flanders regiment, the hundred Swiss, and the National
Guards preceded, accompanied, or followed the file of carriages. I
witnessed this heartrending spectacle; I saw the ominous procession. In
the midst of all the tumult, clamour, and singing, interrupted by frequent
discharges of musketry, which the hand of a monster or a bungler might so
easily render fatal, I saw the Queen preserving most courageous
tranquillity of soul, and an air of nobleness and inexpressible dignity,
and my eyes were suffused with tears of admiration and grief.--“Memoirs of
Bertrand de Molleville.”]
The progress of the procession was so slow that it was near six in the
evening when this august family, made prisoners by their own people,
arrived at the Hotel de Ville. Bailly received them there; they were
placed upon a throne, just when that of their ancestors had been
overthrown. The King spoke in a firm yet gracious manner; he said that he
always came with pleasure and confidence among the inhabitants of his good
city of Paris. M. Bailly repeated this observation to the representatives
of the commune, who came to address the King; but he forgot the word
confidence. The Queen instantly and loudly reminded him of the omission.
The King and Queen, their children, and Madame Elisabeth, retired to the
Tuileries. Nothing was ready for their reception there. All the
living-rooms had been long given up to persons belonging to the Court;
they hastily quitted them on that day, leaving their furniture, which was
purchased by the Court. The Comtesse de la Marck, sister to the Marechaux
de Noailles and de Mouchy, had occupied the apartments now appropriated to
the Queen. Monsieur and Madame retired to the Luxembourg.
The Queen had sent for me on the morning of the 6th of October, to leave
me and my father-in-law in charge of her most valuable property. She took
away only her casket of diamonds. Comte Gouvernet de la Tour-du-Pin, to
whom the military government of Versailles was entrusted ‘pro tempore’,
came and gave orders to the National Guard, which had taken possession of
the apartments, to allow us to remove everything that we should deem
necessary for the Queen’s accommodation.
I saw her Majesty alone in her private apartments a moment before her
departure for Paris; she could hardly speak; tears bedewed her face, to
which all the blood in her body seemed to have rushed; she condescended to
embrace me, gave her hand to M. Campan to kiss, and said to us, “Come
immediately and settle at Paris; I will lodge you at the Tuileries; come,
and do not leave me henceforward; faithful servants at moments like these
become useful friends; we are lost, dragged away, perhaps to death; when
kings become prisoners they are very near it.”
I had frequent opportunities during the course of our misfortunes of
observing that the people never entirely give their allegiance to factious
leaders, but easily escape their control when some cause reminds them of
their duty. As soon as the most violent Jacobins had an opportunity of
seeing the Queen near at hand, of speaking to her, and of hearing her
voice, they became her most zealous partisans; and even when she was in
the prison of the Temple several of those who had contributed to place her
there perished for having attempted to get her out again.
On the morning of the 7th of October the same women who the day before
surrounded the carriage of the august prisoners, riding on cannons and
uttering the most abusive language, assembled under the Queen’s windows,
upon the terrace of the Chateau, and desired to see her. Her Majesty
appeared. There are always among mobs of this description orators, that
is to say, beings who have more assurance than the rest; a woman of this
description told the Queen that she must now remove far from her all such
courtiers as ruin kings, and that she must love the inhabitants of her
good city. The Queen answered that she had loved them at Versailles, and
would likewise love them at Paris. “Yes, yes,” said another; “but on the
14th of July you wanted to besiege the city and have it bombarded; and on
the 6th of October you wanted to fly to the frontiers.” The Queen
replied, affably, that they had been told so, and had believed it; that
there lay the cause of the unhappiness of the people and of the best of
kings. A third addressed a few words to her in German: the Queen told her
she did not understand it; that she had become so entirely French as even
to have forgotten her mother tongue. This declaration was answered with
“Bravo!” and clapping of hands; they then desired her to make a compact
with them. “Ah,” said she, “how can I make a compact with you, since you
have no faith in that which my duty points out to me, and which I ought
for my own happiness to respect?” They asked her for the ribbons and
flowers out of her hat; her Majesty herself unfastened them and gave them;
they were divided among the party, which for above half an hour cried out,
without ceasing, “Marie Antoinette for ever! Our good Queen for ever!”
Two days after the King’s arrival at Paris, the city and the National
Guard sent to request the Queen to appear at the theatre, and prove by her
presence and the King’s that it was with pleasure they resided in their
capital. I introduced the deputation which came to make this request.
Her Majesty replied that she should have infinite pleasure in acceding to
the invitation of the city of Paris; but that time must be allowed her to
soften the recollection of the distressing events which had just occurred,
and from which she had suffered too much. She added, that having come
into Paris preceded by the heads of the faithful Guards who had perished
before the door of their sovereign, she could not think that such an entry
into the capital ought to be followed by rejoicings; but that the
happiness she had always felt in appearing in the midst of the inhabitants
of Paris was not effaced from her memory, and that she should enjoy it
again as soon as she found herself able to do so.
Their Majesties found some consolation in their private life: from
Madame’s--[Madame, here, the Princesse Marie Therese, daughter of Marie
Antoinette.]--gentle manners and filial affection, from the
accomplishments and vivacity of the little Dauphin, and the attention and
tenderness of the pious Princess Elisabeth, they still derived moments of
happiness. The young Prince daily gave proofs of sensibility and
penetration; he was not yet beyond female care, but a private tutor, the
Abbe Davout, gave him all the instruction suitable to his age; his memory
was highly cultivated, and he recited verses with much grace and feeling.
[On the 19th of October, that is to say, thirteen days after he had taken
up his abode at Paris, the King went, on foot and almost alone, to review
some detachments of the National Guard. After the review Louis XVI. met
with a child sweeping the street, who asked him for money. The child
called the King “M. le Chevalier.” His Majesty gave him six francs. The
little sweeper, surprised at receiving so large a sum, cried out, “Oh! I
have no change; you will give me money another time.” A person who
accompanied the monarch said to the child, “Keep it all, my friend; the
gentleman is not chevalier, he is the eldest of the family.”--NOTE BY THE
EDITOR.]
The day after the arrival of the Court at Paris, terrified at hearing some
noise in the gardens of the Tuileries, the young prince threw himself into
the arms of the Queen, crying out, “Grand-Dieu, mamma! will it be
yesterday over again?” A few days after this affecting exclamation, he
went up to the King, and looked at him with a pensive air. The King asked
him what he wanted; he answered, that he had something very serious to say
to him. The King having prevailed on him to explain himself, the young
Prince asked why his people, who formerly loved him so well, were all at
once angry with him; and what he had done to irritate them so much. His
father took him upon his knees, and spoke to him nearly as follows: “I
wished, child, to render the people still happier than they were; I wanted
money to pay the expenses occasioned by wars. I asked my people for
money, as my predecessors have always done; magistrates, composing the
Parliament, opposed it, and said that my people alone had a right to
consent to it. I assembled the principal inhabitants of every town,
whether distinguished by birth, fortune, or talents, at Versailles; that
is what is called the States General. When they were assembled they
required concessions of me which I could not make, either with due respect
for myself or with justice to you, who will be my successor; wicked men
inducing the people to rise have occasioned the excesses of the last few
days; the people must not be blamed for them.”
The Queen made the young Prince clearly comprehend that he ought to treat
the commanders of battalions, the officers of the National Guard, and all
the Parisians who were about him, with affability; the child took great
pains to please all those people, and when he had had an opportunity of
replying obligingly to the mayor or members of the commune he came and
whispered in his mother’s ear, “Was that right?”
He requested M. Bailly to show him the shield of Scipio, which is in the
royal library; and M. Bailly asking him which he preferred, Scipio or
Hannibal, the young Prince replied, without hesitation, that he preferred
him who had defended his own country. He gave frequent proofs of ready
wit. One day, while the Queen was hearing Madame repeat her exercises in
ancient history, the young Princess could not at the moment recollect the
name of the Queen of Carthage; the Dauphin was vexed at his sister’s want
of memory, and though he never spoke to her in the second person singular,
he bethought himself of the expedient of saying to her, “But ‘dis donc’
the name of the Queen, to mamma; ‘dis donc’ what her name was.”
Shortly after the arrival of the King and his family at Paris the Duchesse
de Luynes came, in pursuance of the advice of a committee of the
Constitutional Assembly, to propose to the Queen a temporary retirement
from France, in order to leave the constitution to perfect itself, so that
the patriots should not accuse her of influencing the King to oppose it.
The Duchess knew how far the schemes of the conspirers extended, and her
attachment to the Queen was the principal cause of the advice she gave
her. The Queen perfectly comprehended the Duchesse de Luynes’s motive;
but replied that she would never leave either the King or her son; that if
she thought herself alone obnoxious to public hatred she would instantly
offer her life as a sacrifice;--but that it was the throne which was aimed
at, and that, in abandoning the King, she should be merely committing an
act of cowardice, since she saw no other advantage in it than that of
saving her own life.
One evening, in the month of November, 1790, I returned home rather late;
I there found the Prince de Poix; he told me he came to request me to
assist him in regaining his peace of mind; that at the commencement of the
sittings of the National Assembly he had suffered himself to be seduced
into the hope of a better order of things; that he blushed for his error,
and that he abhorred plans which had already produced such fatal results;
that he broke with the reformers for the rest of his life; that he had
given in his resignation as a deputy of the National Assembly; and,
finally, that he was anxious that the Queen should not sleep in ignorance
of his sentiments. I undertook his commission, and acquitted myself of it
in the best way I could; but I was totally unsuccessful. The Prince de
Poix remained at Court; he there suffered many mortifications, never
ceasing to serve the King in the most dangerous commissions with that zeal
for which his house has always been distinguished.
When the King, the Queen, and the children were suitably established at
the Tuileries, as well as Madame Elisabeth and the Princesse de Lamballe,
the Queen resumed her usual habits; she employed her mornings in
superintending the education of Madame, who received all her lessons in
her presence, and she herself began to work large pieces of tapestry. Her
mind was too much occupied with passing events and surrounding dangers to
admit her of applying herself to reading; the needle was the only
employment which could divert her.
[There was long preserved at Paris, in the house of Mademoiselle
Dubuquois, a tapestry-worker, a carpet worked by the Queen and Madame
Elisabeth for the large room of her Majesty’s ground-floor apartments at
the Tuileries. The Empress Josephine saw and admired this carpet, and
desired it might be taken care of, in the hope of one day sending it to
Madame--MADAME CAMPAN.]
She received the Court twice a week before going to mass, and on those
days dined in public with the King; she spent the rest of the time with
her family and children; she had no concert, and did not go to the play
until 1791, after the acceptation of the constitution. The Princesse de
Lamballe, however, had some evening parties in her apartments at the
Tuileries, which were tolerably brilliant in consequence of the great
number of persons who attended them. The Queen was present at a few of
these assemblies; but being soon convinced that her present situation
forbade her appearing much in public, she remained at home, and conversed
as she sat at work. The sole topic of her discourse was, as may well be
supposed, the Revolution. She sought to discover the real opinions of the
Parisians respecting her, and how she could have so completely lost the
affections of the people, and even of many persons in the higher ranks.
She well knew that she ought to impute the whole to the spirit of party,
to the hatred of the Duc d’Orleans, and the folly of the French, who
desired to have a total change in the constitution; but she was not the
less desirous of ascertaining the private feelings of all the people in
power.
From the very commencement of the Revolution General Luckner indulged in
violent sallies against her. Her Majesty, knowing that I was acquainted
with a lady who had been long connected with the General, desired me to
discover through that channel what was the private motive on which
Luckner’s hatred against her was founded. On being questioned upon this
point, he answered that Marechal de Segur had assured him he had proposed
him for the command of a camp of observation, but that the Queen had made
a bar against his name; and that this ‘par’, as he called it, in his
German accent, he could not forget.
The Queen ordered me to repeat this reply to the King myself, and said to
him: “See, Sire, whether I was not right in telling you that your
ministers, in order to give themselves full scope in the distribution of
favours, persuaded the French that I interfered in everything; there was
not a single license given out in the country for the sale of salt or
tobacco but the people believed it was given to one of my favourites.”
“That is very, true,” replied the King; “but I find it very difficult to
believe that Marechal de Segur ever said any such thing to Luckner; he
knew too well that you never interfered in the distribution of favours.
“That Luckner is a good-for-nothing fellow, and Segur is a brave and
honourable man who never uttered such a falsehood; however, you are right;
and because you provided for a few dependents, you are most unjustly
reported to have disposed of all offices, civil and military.”
All the nobility who had not left Paris made a point of presenting
themselves assiduously to the King, and there was a considerable influx to
the Tuileries. Marks of attachment were exhibited even in external
symbols; the women wore enormous bouquets of lilies in their bosoms and
upon their heads, and sometimes even bunches of white ribbon. At the play
there were often disputes between the pit and the boxes about removing
these ornaments, which the people thought dangerous emblems. National
cockades were sold in every corner of Paris; the sentinels stopped all who
did not wear them; the young men piqued themselves upon breaking through
this regulation, which was in some degree sanctioned by the acquiescence
of Louis XVI. Frays took place, which were to be regretted, because they
excited a spirit of lawlessness. The King adopted conciliatory measures
with the Assembly in order to promote tranquillity; the revolutionists
were but little disposed to think him sincere; unfortunately the royalists
encouraged this incredulity by incessantly repeating that the King was not
free, and that all that he did was completely null, and in no way bound
him for the time to come. Such was the heat and violence of party spirit
that persons the most sincerely attached to the King were not even
permitted to use the language of reason, and recommend greater reserve in
conversation. People would talk and argue at table without considering
that all the servants belonged to the hostile army; and it may truly be
said there was as much imprudence and levity in the party assailed as
there was cunning, boldness, and perseverance in that which made the
attack.
CHAPTER III.
In February, 1790, another matter gave the Court much uneasiness; a
zealous individual of the name of Favras had conceived the scheme of
carrying off the King, and affecting a counter-revolution. Monsieur,
probably out of mere benevolence, gave him some money, and thence arose a
report that he thereby wished to favour the execution of the enterprise.
The step taken by Monsieur in going to the Hotel de Ville to explain
himself on this matter was unknown to the Queen; it is more than probable
that the King was acquainted with it. When judgment was pronounced upon
M. de Favras the Queen did not conceal from me her fears about the
confessions of the unfortunate man in his last moments.
I sent a confidential person to the Hotel de Ville; she came to inform the
Queen that the condemned had demanded to be taken from Notre-Dame to the
Hotel de Ville to make a final declaration, and give some particulars
verifying it. These particulars compromised nobody; Favras corrected his
last will after writing it, and went to the scaffold with heroic courage
and coolness. The judge who read his condemnation to him told him that
his life was a sacrifice which he owed to public tranquillity. It was
asserted at the time that Favras was given up as a victim in order to
satisfy the people and save the Baron de Besenval, who was a prisoner in
the Abbaye.
[Thomas Mahy, Marquis de Favras, was accused in the month of December,
1789, of having conspired against the Revolution. Having been arrested by
order of the committee of inquiry of the National Assembly, he was
transferred to the Chatelet, where he defended himself with much coolness
and presence of mind, repelling the accusations brought against him by
Morel, Turcati, and Marquis, with considerable force. These witnesses
declared he had imparted his plan to them; it was to be carried into
execution by 12,000 Swiss and 12,000 Germans, who were to be assembled at
Montargis, thence to march upon Paris, carry off the King, and assassinate
Bailly, La Fayette, and Necker. The greater number of these charges he
denied, and declared that the rest related only to the levy of a troop
intended to favour the revolution preparing in Brabant. The judge having
refused to disclose who had denounced him, he complained to the Assembly,
which passed to the order of the day. His death was obviously inevitable.
During the whole time of the proceedings the populace never ceased
threatening the judges and shouting, “A la lanterne!” It was even
necessary to keep numerous troops and artillery constantly ready to act in
the courtyard of the Chatelet. The judges, who had just acquitted M. de
Besenval in an affair nearly similar, doubtless dreaded the effects of
this fury. When they refused to hear Favras’s witnesses in exculpation,
he compared them to the tribunal of the Inquisition. The principal charge
against him was founded on a letter from M. de Foucault, asking him,
“where are your troops? in which direction will they enter Paris? I
should like to be employed among them.” Favras was condemned to make the
‘amende honorable’ in front of the Cathedral, and to be hanged at the
Place de Greve. He heard this sentence with wonderful calmness, and said
to his judges, “I pity you much if the testimony of two men is sufficient
to induce you to condemn.” The judge having said to him, “I have no other
consolation to hold out to you than that which religion affords,” he
replied, nobly, “My greatest consolation is that which I derive from my
innocence.”--“Biographic Universelle”]
On the morning of the Sunday following this execution M. de la Villeurnoy
came to my house to tell me that he was going that day to the public
dinner of the King and Queen to present Madame de Favras and her son, both
of them in mourning for the brave Frenchman who fell a sacrifice for his
King; and that all the royalists expected to see the Queen load the
unfortunate family with favours. I did all that lay in my power to
prevent this proceeding. I foresaw the effect it would have upon the
Queen’s feeling heart, and the painful constraint she would experience,
having the horrible Santerre, the commandant of a battalion of the
Parisian guard, behind her chair during dinner-time. I could not make M.
de la Villeurnoy comprehend my argument; the Queen was gone to mass,
surrounded by her whole Court, and I had not even means of apprising her
of his intention.
When dinner was over I heard a knocking at the door of my apartment, which
opened into the corridor next that of the Queen; it was herself. She asked
me whether there was anybody with me; I was alone; she threw herself into
an armchair, and told me she came to weep with me over the foolish conduct
of the ultras of the King’s party. “We must fall,” said she, “attacked as
we are by men who possess every talent and shrink from no crime, while we
are defended only by those who are no doubt very estimable, but have no
adequate idea of our situation. They have exposed me to the animosity of
both parties by presenting the widow and son of Favras to me. Were I free
to act as I wish, I should take the child of the man who has just
sacrificed himself for us and place him at table between the King and
myself; but surrounded by the assassins who have destroyed his father, I
did not dare even to cast my eyes upon him. The royalists will blame me
for not having appeared interested in this poor child; the revolutionists
will be enraged at the idea that his presentation should have been thought
agreeable to me.” However, the Queen added that she knew Madame de Favras
was in want, and that she desired me to send her next day, through a
person who could be relied on, a few rouleaus of fifty Louis, and to
direct that she should be assured her Majesty would always watch over the
fortunes of herself and her son.
In the month of March following I had an opportunity of ascertaining the
King’s sentiments respecting the schemes which were continually proposed
to him for making his escape. One night about ten o’clock Comte
d’Inisdal, who was deputed by the nobility, came to request that I would
see him in private, as he had an important matter to communicate to me. He
told me that on that very night the King was to be carried off; that the
section of the National Guard, that day commanded by M. d’Aumont, was
gained over, and that sets of horses, furnished by some good royalists,
were placed in relays at suitable distances; that he had just left a
number of the nobility assembled for the execution of this scheme, and
that he had been sent to me that I might, through the medium of the Queen,
obtain the King’s positive consent to it before midnight; that the King
was aware of their plan, but that his Majesty never would speak decidedly,
and that it was necessary he should consent to the undertaking. I greatly
displeased Comte d’Inisdal by expressing my astonishment that the nobility
at the moment of the execution of so important a project should send to
me, the Queen’s first woman, to obtain a consent which ought to have been
the basis of any well-concerted scheme. I told him, also, that it would
be impossible for me to go at that time to the Queen’s apartments without
exciting the attention of the people in the antechambers; that the King
was at cards with the Queen and his family, and that I never broke in upon
their privacy unless I was called for. I added, however, that M. Campan
could enter without being called; and if the Count chose to give him his
confidence he might rely upon him.
My father-in-law, to whom Comte d’Inisdal repeated what he had said to me,
took the commission upon himself, and went to the Queen’s apartments. The
King was playing at whist with the Queen, Monsieur, and Madame; Madame
Elisabeth was kneeling on a stool near the table. M. Campan informed the
Queen of what had been communicated to me; nobody uttered a word. The
Queen broke silence and said to the King, “Do you hear, Sire, what Campan
says to us?”--“Yes, I hear,” said the King, and continued his game.
Monsieur, who was in the habit of introducing passages from plays into his
conversation, said to my father-in-law, “M. Campan, that pretty little
couplet again, if you please;” and pressed the King to reply. At length
the Queen said, “But something must be said to Campan.” The King then
spoke to my father-in-law in these words: “Tell M. d’Inisdal that I cannot
consent to be carried off!” The Queen enjoined M. Campan to take care
and, report this answer faithfully. “You understand,” added she, “the
King cannot consent to be carried off.”
Comte d’Inisdal was very much dissatisfied with the King’s answer, and
went out, saying, “I understand; he wishes to throw all the blame,
beforehand, upon those who are to devote themselves for him.”
He went away, and I thought the enterprise would be abandoned. However,
the Queen remained alone with me till midnight, preparing her cases of
valuables, and ordered me not to go to bed. She imagined the King’s
answer would be understood as a tacit consent, and merely a refusal to
participate in the design. I do not know what passed in the King’s
apartments during the night; but I occasionally looked out at the windows:
I saw the garden clear; I heard no noise in the palace, and day at length
confirmed my opinion that the project had been given up. “We must,
however, fly,” said the Queen to me, shortly afterwards; “who knows how
far the factious may go? The danger increases every day.”
[The disturbances of the 13th of April, 1790, occasioned by the warmth of
the discussions upon Dom Gerle’s imprudent motion in the National
Assembly, having afforded room for apprehension that the enemies of the
country would endeavour to carry off the King from the capital, M. de La
Fayette promised to keep watch, and told Louis XVI. that if he saw any
alarming movement among the disaffected he would give him notice of it by
the discharge of a cannon from Henri IV.’s battery on the Pont Neuf. On
the same night a few casual discharges of musketry were heard from the
terrace of the Tuileries. The King, deceived by the noise, flew to the
Queen’s apartments; he did not find her; he ran to the Dauphin’s room,
where he found the Queen holding her son in her arms. “Madame;” said the
King to her, “I have been seeking you; and you have made me uneasy.” The
Queen, showing her son, said to him, “I was at my post.”--“Anecdotes of
the Reign of Louis XVI.”]
This Princess received advice and memorials from all quarters. Rivarol
addressed several to her, which I read to her. They were full of
ingenious observations; but the Queen did not find that they, contained
anything of essential service under the circumstances in which the royal
family was placed. Comte du Moustier also sent memorials and plans of
conduct. I remember that in one of his writings he said to the King,
“Read ‘Telemachus’ again, Sire; in that book which delighted your Majesty
in infancy you will find the first seeds of those principles which,
erroneously followed up by men of ardent imaginations, are bringing on the
explosion we expect every moment.” I read so many of these memorials that
I could hardly give a faithful account of them, and I am determined to
note in this work no other events than such as I witnessed; no other words
than such as (notwithstanding the lapse of time) still in some measure
vibrate in my ears.
Comte de Segur, on his return from Russia, was employed some time by the
Queen, and had a certain degree of influence over her; but that did not
last long. Comte Augustus de la Marck likewise endeavoured to negotiate
for the King’s advantage with the leaders of the factious. M. de
Fontanges, Archbishop of Toulouse, possessed also the Queen’s confidence;
but none of the endeavours which were made on the spot produced any,
beneficial result. The Empress Catherine II. also conveyed her opinion
upon the situation of Louis XVI. to the Queen, and her Majesty made me
read a few lines in the Empress’s own handwriting, which concluded with
these words:
“Kings ought to proceed in their career undisturbed by the cries of the
people, even as the moon pursues her course unimpeded by the baying of
dogs.” This maxim of the despotic sovereign of Russia was very
inapplicable to the situation of a captive king.
Meanwhile the revolutionary party followed up its audacious enterprise in
a determined manner, without meeting any opposition. The advice from
without, as well from Coblentz as from Vienna, made various impressions
upon the members of the royal family, and those cabinets were not in
accordance with each other. I often had reason to infer from what the
Queen said to me that she thought the King, by leaving all the honour of
restoring order to the Coblentz party,--[The Princes and the chief of the
emigrant nobility assembled at Coblentz, and the name was used to
designate the reactionary party.]--would, on the return of the emigrants,
be put under a kind of guardianship which would increase his own
misfortunes. She frequently said to me, “If the emigrants succeed, they
will rule the roast for a long time; it will be impossible to refuse them
anything; to owe the crown to them would be contracting too great an
obligation.” It always appeared to me that she wished her own family to
counterbalance the claims of the emigrants by disinterested services. She
was fearful of M. de Calonne, and with good reason. She had proof that
this minister was her bitterest enemy, and that he made use of the most
criminal means in order to blacken her reputation. I can testify that I
have seen in the hands of the Queen a manuscript copy of the infamous
memoirs of the woman De Lamotte, which had been brought to her from
London, and in which all those passages where a total ignorance of the
customs of Courts had occasioned that wretched woman to make blunders
which would have been too palpable were corrected in M. de Calonne’s own
handwriting.
The two King’s Guards who were wounded at her Majesty’s door on the 6th of
October were M. du Repaire and M. de Miomandre de Sainte-Marie; on the
dreadful night of the 6th of October the latter took the post of the
former the moment he became incapable of maintaining it.
A considerable number of the Body Guards, who were wounded on the 6th of
October, betook themselves to the infirmary at Versailles. The brigands
wanted to make their way into the infirmary in order to massacre them. M.
Viosin, head surgeon of that infirmary, ran to the entrance hall, invited
the assailants to refresh themselves, ordered wine to be brought, and
found means to direct the Sister Superior to remove the Guards into a ward
appropriated to the poor, and dress them in the caps and greatcoats
furnished by the institution. The good sisters executed this order so
promptly that the Guards were removed, dressed as paupers, and their beds
made, while the assassins were drinking. They searched all the wards, and
fancied they saw no persons there but the sick poor; thus the Guards were
saved.
M. de Miomandre was at Paris, living on terms of friendship with another
of the Guards, who, on the same day, received a gunshot wound from the
brigands in another part of the Chateau. These two officers, who were
attended and cured together at the infirmary of Versailles, were almost
constant companions; they were recognised at the Palais Royal, and
insulted. The Queen thought it necessary for them to quit Paris. She
desired me to write to M. de Miomandre de Sainte-Marie, and tell him to
come to me at eight o’clock in the evening; and then to communicate to him
her wish to hear of his being in safety; and ordered me, when he had made
up his mind to go, to tell him in her name that gold could not repay such
a service as he had rendered; that she hoped some day to be in
sufficiently happy circumstances to recompense him as she ought; but that
for the present her offer of money was only that of a sister to a brother
situated as he then was, and that she requested he would take whatever
might be necessary to discharge his debts at Paris and defray the expenses
of his journey. She told me also to desire he would bring his friend
Bertrand with him, and to make him the same offer.
The two Guards came at the appointed hour, and accepted, I think, each one
or two hundred louis. A moment afterwards the Queen opened my door; she
was accompanied by the King and Madame Elisabeth; the King stood with his
back against the fireplace; the Queen sat down upon a sofa and Madame
Elisabeth sat near her; I placed myself behind the Queen, and the two
Guards stood facing the King. The Queen told them that the King wished to
see before they went away two of the brave men who had afforded him the
strongest proofs of courage and attachment. Miomandre said all that the
Queen’s affecting observations were calculated to inspire. Madame
Elisabeth spoke of the King’s gratitude; the Queen resumed the subject of
their speedy departure, urging the necessity of it; the King was silent;
but his emotion was evident, and his eyes were suffused with tears. The
Queen rose, the King went out, and Madame Elisabeth followed him; the
Queen stopped and said to me, in the recess of a window, “I am sorry I
brought the King here! I am sure Elisabeth thinks with me; if the King
had but given utterance to a fourth part of what he thinks of those brave
men they would have been in ecstacies; but he cannot overcome his
diffidence.”
The Emperor Joseph died about this time. The Queen’s grief was not
excessive; that brother of whom she had been so proud, and whom she had
loved so tenderly, had probably suffered greatly in her opinion; she
reproached him sometimes, though with moderation, for having adopted
several of the principles of the new philosophy, and perhaps she knew that
he looked upon our troubles with the eye of the sovereign of Germany
rather than that of the brother of the Queen of France.
The Emperor on one occasion sent the Queen an engraving which represented
unfrocked nuns and monks. The first were trying on fashionable dresses,
the latter were having their hair arranged; the picture was always left in
the closet, and never hung up. The Queen told me to have it taken away;
for she was hurt to see how much influence the philosophers had over her
brother’s mind and actions.
Mirabeau had not lost the hope of becoming the last resource of the
oppressed Court; and at this time some communications passed between the
Queen and him. The question was about an office to be conferred upon him.
This transpired, and it must have been about this period that the Assembly
decreed that no deputy could hold an office as a minister of the King
until the expiration of two years after the cessation of his legislative
functions. I know that the Queen was much hurt at this decision, and
considered that the Court had lost a promising opening.
The palace of the Tuileries was a very disagreeable residence during the
summer, which made the Queen wish to go to St. Cloud. The removal was
decided on without any opposition; the National Guard of Paris followed
the Court thither. At this period new opportunities of escape were
presented; nothing would have been more easy than to execute them. The
King had obtained leave (!) to go out without guards, and to be
accompanied only by an aide-de-camp of M. de La Fayette. The Queen also
had one on duty with her, and so had the Dauphin. The King and Queen
often went out at four in the afternoon, and did not return until eight or
nine.