VERSAILLES.
Derivation of the Name--Saint-Simon’s Description--Louis XIV.--The Grand
Fête of July, 1668--Peter the Great and the Regent--Louis XV.--Marie
Antoinette and the “Affair of the Necklace”--The Events of October,
1789.
A description of the suburbs of Paris does not enter into the scope of
the present work. Versailles, however, imperatively claims the attention
of any writer on Paris, for Versailles is more than a suburb; it has,
during the last two centuries, played almost as important a part in the
annals of France as the capital itself.
The history of the town of Versailles is practically inseparable from
that of its palace. Originally, indeed, the town was simply a dependency
of the palace. In spite of its numerous historical associations,
Versailles is comparatively modern. It sprang up suddenly, like the
palace itself, by the will of Louis XIV. Its streets were opened and
laid out so as to be in harmony with the façades of the palace, while
the style and form of each building were regulated beforehand by police
edicts. Hence the grand but monotonous aspect of the town.
The name of Versailles is derived, by some authorities, from that of an
Italian nobleman, Hugo de Bersaglio, who at the end of one of the
earliest of the Italian civil wars took refuge in France. By a familiar
etymological change, the B became converted into V, and the name was
further transformed from Versaglio into Versailis. Towards the year
1100, the proprietor of the land, Philippe de Versailis, retired to a
monastery, and the district of Versailles then passed beneath the
authority of the Abbey of Saint-Magloire at Paris.
A purely fantastic and not too ingenious derivation traces the name to
“Blés versés,” the land at Versailles being, according to these
enterprising etymologists, so high that the wind blew down the corn.
Henry IV. had a small hunting-box at Versailles, and Louis XIII. had
another on a far more magnificent scale, which Saint-Simon in his
“Memoirs” describes as a castle. It was a square building with a
courtyard in the middle, and, according to the fashion of the time, was
built of brick. The king’s horses and carriages were kept at a
neighbouring farm. It was at Versailles, on the 11th of November, 1630,
that the memorable day known in French history as the “Day of Dupes”
took place on which, after a long struggle between Cardinal Richelieu
and the queen-mother, Louis XIII. took part with his powerful minister.
The “red Eminence,” as the much-feared cardinal was called, gave his
name to one of the most ancient streets in Versailles, the Rue du
Plessis.
After the death of Louis XIII., Versailles and the little castle of
brick were abandoned by the court, and it was not until some twenty
years afterwards that the Versailles of modern times was to arise.
Strictly speaking, Versailles may be said to date from the reign of
Louis XIII., but it owed its first importance to Louis XIV. This king,
says an historian, “began by building a palace for himself; he then
built a town for his palace.” To mark the distinction between the king
and his subjects, the Great Monarch, while employing stone for his own
royal residences, ordered that the houses of Versailles should be
constructed exclusively of brick, or, if by exception stone were used,
that the walls should be painted red, with dividing lines of white, so
as to give them the appearance of bricks and mortar. The roof of each
house was to be of slate, and the uniformity of the architecture,
relieved by the verdure of the old trees, gave to the town a character
and beauty of its own. Land was ceded to the principal members of the
Court that they might build houses for themselves, and the new town grew
up, as if by enchantment, on a general plan designed or approved by the
king himself.
To study the history of Versailles one should turn to the pages of
Saint-Simon, who, in vigorous terms, condemns the reckless extravagance
with which Louis XIV. wasted on a pleasure-residence money urgently
wanted for the maintenance of his troops.
“When all had been finished,” says the duke, “it appeared that water was
everywhere wanting; and this in spite of the millions which had been
spent in establishing seas of reservoirs on mud and moving sand. Who
would have thought it? This lack of water proved the ruin of the king’s
infantry. Madame de Maintenon was in power. The minister, De Louvois,
was on the best terms with her, and we were at peace. It occurred to him
under these circumstances to turn the course of the river Eure between
Chartres and Maintenon, and to conduct it to Versailles. Who can say
what gold and what suffering this experiment cost us? It was forbidden
under the severest penalties to speak, among the troops employed to turn
the stream, about the sickness, the deaths caused by the exhalations
from the ancient bed of the river. How many took years to recover from
the contagion! How many never regained health at all! The officers,
colonels, brigadiers, and others employed were not allowed, whoever they
might be, to absent themselves for a quarter of an hour, nor to rest for
a quarter of an hour at their work.
“At length the king, tired of glitter and of the crowd, persuaded
himself that he wanted occasional solitude: he accordingly set out for
the environs. People pressed him to stay at Lucienne; he replied that
this happy situation would ruin him, and that, as he wished for absolute
rest, he must seek a situation which would permit him to do nothing.
“He found behind Lucienne a deep and narrow valley, with steep sides,
inaccessible by its marshes, commanding no view, shut in by hills, and
with a wretched village built on its sides. It was called Marly. This
enclosure had its advantages; its narrowness kept a resident within
bounds. It was an enormous task to dry up the sewers into which the
surrounding parts poured their refuse; but at length the hermitage was
prepared. Yet the king only slept there for three nights, from Wednesday
to Saturday, two or three times a year, with a dozen courtiers at the
most. By degrees the hermitage was enlarged. The hills were levelled to
afford space for building-sites, and a large portion of the one at the
extremity carried away to produce at least the glimpse of a
landscape-view.
“Finally, what with buildings, gardens, lakes, aqueducts, parks,
forests, statues, etc., Marly became what one sees it to-day, despoiled
as it has been since the death of the king. Its vast woods and obscure
avenues suddenly changed into immense stretches of water on whose
surface people glided about in gondolas; I am speaking of what I have
seen, within six weeks; basins changed a hundred times--cascades of
ever-varying form.
“It is little to say that Versailles has not cost so much as Marly: and
if one adds the expense of continual journeys, particularly towards the
end of the king’s life, Marly cost billions. Such was the fortune of a
repository of snakes and carrion, spiders and frogs, only chosen because
the expense would be nothing!
“Such was the bad taste of the king in everything and his keen passion
for forcing nature, which neither the most pressing war nor his devotion
could blunt!
“The establishment of the Court at Versailles was another instance of
the king’s policy. We all know how he derided, humiliated, confounded
the very first grandees, gave pre-eminence to ministers, whom he
promoted to equal authority and power with princes of the blood and to
an importance exceeding that of the foremost noblemen in the land. It is
necessary to show the progress in every direction of such policy on the
part of the king. Several causes contributed to draw the court out of
Paris, and to keep it incessantly in the country.
“The troubles of the minority, of which this city was the great theatre,
had inspired the king with an aversion for it: and people had persuaded
him that his stay there was dangerous, and that the residence of the
court elsewhere would render cabals at Paris less easy through sheer
distance, and more difficult to hide through the ease with which
absences could be remarked.
“The number of his mistresses, and the danger of creating great scandals
in the heart of a capital so populous and full of such turbulent
spirits, now induced the king to remove farther away. At Paris he found
himself importuned by the crowd every time he went out, came in, or
showed himself in the streets.... A passion for exercise and the chase,
much more easy to gratify in the country than at Paris, remote as it was
from forests and sterile in places of promenade, and the love of
buildings which came next and constantly grew, forbade to him the
amusements of a town where he could not avoid being continually on view.
The idea, moreover, of rendering himself more venerable by abstracting
himself from the eyes of the multitude and from daily appearance in
public, was one of the considerations which decided the king to fix upon
Saint-Germain, soon after the death of the queen, his mother.
“It was there that he began to attract the world by his fêtes and his
gallantries, and to make people feel that he wished to be often seen.
The flirtation with Mme. de Vallière, which was at first a mystery,
resulted in frequent walks to Versailles--a little cardboard castle at
that time, built by Louis XIII., himself disgusted, and his suite still
more so, at having had to sleep in a vile inn frequented by waggoners,
or in a windmill, after long, fatiguing hunts in the forest of
Saint-Léger, or even beyond that, and reserved for his son at a period
far distant, when roadways, the fleetness of trained dogs, and the skill
of a large staff of keepers and huntsmen had rendered the chase easy and
short. This monarch never slept at Versailles, or at least, very rarely,
passing a night there only from necessity.
“The king, his son, in order to be more in private with his mistress,
was there more often. Then its unknown pleasures, its little parties,
caused the immense edifices to spring up which have been built there,
with their accommodation for a numerous court, so different from the
residences at Saint-Germain. Finally he transported his entire household
to it, previously to the death of the queen, and built an infinitude of
abodes there in compliance with the petitions made to him on the
subject; whereas at Saint-Germain almost everyone was put to the
inconvenience of staying in the town; those few who were lodged at the
castle being terribly cramped for room there.
“Frequent fêtes, select promenades at Versailles, and journeys were the
means seized upon by the king for distinguishing or mortifying,
according to the part he assigned to those participating in such
ceremonies; though he took care that everyone without the slightest
difference should be assiduous and attentive to please him.”
Marly was afterwards much used by him as well as Trianon, where
absolutely everyone could come and pay court to him, but where ladies
alone had the honour to eat at his table. The wax candle which every
evening he caused to be held by some courtier whom he wished to
distinguish, and the brevet-doublet, were two more of his inventions.
This garment was lined with red, and embroidered with a magnificent and
unique design in gold with a little silver. Only a limited number could
wear it, including the king, his family, and the princes of the blood;
and the latter, like the rest of the courtiers, could only obtain
possession of such doublets as they were vacated by their previous
holders. The most distinguished members of the court, either directly or
by favour, demanded them of the king, and it was a great honour to
receive one.
“Not only (says Saint-Simon) was the king sensible of the continual
presence of whatever was distinguished--he was likewise so of the
inferior classes. He turned his gaze to right and left on rising and
going to rest, at his meals, on passing through chambers, in the gardens
of Versailles, or where courtiers, alone were privileged to follow him.
He saw and noticed everybody: no one escaped him--not even those who
would never have hoped to attract his eye. He carefully observed the
absence of those belonging to the court, and of the visitors who came
more or less frequently; noted the general or particular causes of such
absence, and, recording these in his memory, never missed the slightest
opportunity of acting in consequence of them.
“It was a demerit in some, and in all whom he had favoured, not to make
the court their ordinary residence; in others a demerit to visit it
rarely; and it was a sure disgrace never to visit it at all. When it
became a question of doing something for such persons, he would say, of
this last class, in a lofty tone, ‘I do not know them;’ and of a rare
visitor, ‘He is a man I never see.’ These words were irrevocable. It was
another crime not to go to Fontainebleau, which he regarded like
Versailles. He could not endure people who were fond of Paris. He could
easily put up with those who loved the country places to which they
belonged, though they had to take care to moderate their expressions of
this local affection, and, moreover, before going to stay in the
country, to make a longer sojourn at the court. This was not confined to
office-bearers or favourites, nor to those whom their age or their
capacity marked out from others; anyone frequenting the court was liable
to be called to account for his destination. To such a point did the
thing go that during a journey I made to Rouen about a law-suit, the
king caused a letter to be written to me, young as I was, by
Pontchartrain, to demand the reason.”
Of the magnificence of Versailles under Louis XIV. many records remain.
A vivid description of one of the most gorgeous fetes ever held is
contained in a letter which was addressed at the time by an eye-witness
to the Marquis de la Fuente. Nothing grander than this fête could have
been devised even by Louis XIV., who offered it to his courtiers and
subjects in 1668.
“The day appointed was the 18th of this month,” says the correspondent,
who in July of the year named was writing to the marquis by orders of
the queen, “and it is impossible to conceive the vast concourse which
flocked to the place. The whole aristocratic world, Parisian and
provincial, together with many persons who had crossed the sea in the
suite of the Duke of Monmouth, had assembled there; never was a
gathering so numerous, so select, so sumptuously adorned. The king,
wishing that on this occasion all the expense might be his, and that
others might have nothing but pleasure, had severely forbidden anything
in the nature of tinsel or ornamentation. But what can laws do against
fashion?...
[Illustration: VERSAILLES. (_From an old Print._)]
“Of the numerous ladies present there were only three hundred who were
to have the honour of eating at the royal tables. On their arrival they
found all the apartments of the château open to them, perfumed and ready
for their reception. In order not to cause them constraint, the royal
family had retired into one of the further pavilions. Leisure was
allowed these guests for refreshment, after which, towards evening, when
the sweetness of the air invited people out of doors, they followed the
queen into the garden, where carriages were in waiting to convey them
towards one of the woods which lie to the right as you enter, and which
has about it something more solitary and more mysterious than the
others. The beauty of the evening and of the place compelled them to
alight; they had reached a kind of labyrinth intersected by several
avenues, many of which compose a circumference round five others, these
latter starting out in different directions from one common centre and
forming a very agreeable star. A thousand dwarf trees, laden with
excellent fruits, fringed these avenues, which were embellished in the
five angles with so many niches full of flowers, haunted by some rustic
deity or other. In the middle of the star played a fountain whose basin
was surrounded by five tables without cloths or covers, and which were
made so ingeniously to imitate the natural that, however splendid the
collation might be, it appeared to have been created on the spot rather
than served.
“The first table was bounded, at that end of it which rested against the
basin, by a mossy bank covered with truffles and mushrooms, six
different _entrées_ garnishing the table, of which the remainder, like a
fertile valley, was strewn with salads and green stuff.
“The second table had at one end of it, as though in perspective, an
architectural fabric of pastry, the rest of the table being furnished
with pies and other produce from the oven.
“The third was terminated by pyramids of dried preserves, the rest of
the table looking like a flower-bed through a skilful arrangement of
almond cakes and stewed fruits.
“The fourth seemed to spring out of a rock where nature had commenced to
form divers crystals, the remainder of the table being laden with
crystal vases full of all sorts of iced waters.
“The fifth was bordered by a heap of caramels similar to that shapeless
mass of amber which the sea sometimes throws up on shore, and the table
was covered with porcelain vessels full of cream.
“All this was due more to the magic of fairies than to human industry.
As a matter of fact, no one could be seen in the place when the company
entered; and even during the repast you only got half a glimpse of the
hands which through the foliage presented, on handsome salvers,
beverages to all who wished to drink. For some time the feast was simply
contemplated with wonder; but at length temptation overcame scruple, and
the assembly set themselves to eat all these things as though they had
never believed them enchanted.
“The repast at an end, the company promptly re-entered their carriages,
which, after a few turns here and there, stopped at an edifice of rustic
appearance, which, rising nearly to the height of the trees and having
for external decoration nothing but what had come from the forests or
gardens, effaced the pomp of the palace and gave brilliancy to things
simple and rustic. At the time of the Druids one would have taken this
structure for the palace where they delivered their judgments, or for
the temple of the gods presiding over the forests. You could see, on
entering, that it was a temple designed for spectacles: contained within
it was a theatre, superb no less by its dimensions than by its
ornaments. Two twisted columns dazzling with gold and azure, between
which marble statues were ranged, supported on each side a very rich
ceiling, greatly elevated to facilitate the working of the machines....
Who would have thought, sir, that a work which displayed so much order,
industry, and invention could have been completed in fifteen days for
the purpose of lasting only twenty-four hours! Who would have imagined
that so much expense and profusion had no other object than the glory of
a day and the representation of a comedy! To a vast audience the troop
of Molière played one in his style, new and comic, and agreeably varied
with ballet music.
“Darkness had now crept upon us; but although night arrests the
operations of nature, she is no enemy to pleasure, and on this occasion
spoiled nothing by her arrival. People almost wished she had come
sooner; the shadows were blessed, partly for the freshness of the air
which they brought, partly for the obscurity which enhanced the
brilliancy of the jewels, partly because they announced the hour of
supper, to which hunger had already looked forward. Everyone began to
think seriously of this meal, though no one fancied that Her Majesty was
preoccupied with it when she invited the company to go to the other side
of the garden and visit a kind of enchanted palace, so rare and so
singular that writers of fiction have imagined nothing like it.”
An elaborate description of this structure follows, and then the supper
is described. To avoid confusion, the invited guests were divided up
into nine bands, and the respective tables at which they sat were each
presided over by some lady of rank.
The first was graced by the presence of the queen. To this table only
the princesses of the blood were admitted. Other tables were beneath the
charge of the Countess de Soissons, the Princess of Baden, the Duchesse
de Créquy, and a number of other distinguished ladies. Besides this
accommodation, which was only for invited lady guests, there were,
continues the correspondent, “a great number of tables laid in the
different avenues where anyone who wished could eat; and in the grotto
which, as you know, is the most charming spot at Versailles, three
tables of thirty covers each had been laid for the ambassadors. It was
noticed that you, sir, were absent, and your absence was to be regretted
in view both of the king’s glory and of your own satisfaction. Friend of
magnificence as you are, you would have been more affected by the scene
than another. But do not regard your absence from the scene as one of
your misfortunes; if you knew who it was that wished you present, you
would have been amply consoled for the pleasure you lost; and the honour
of being remembered by their Majesties should more than recompense you
for all the fêtes in the world.
“Good cheer does not usually inspire melancholy thoughts; gaiety shone
upon all faces, and still more of it was concealed in each heart. The
evening was cool, and the company were longing for a dance. In this
disposition the king directed the company to a superb saloon where
everything was ordered so regularly, where the ornaments were so natural
and so gorgeous, and the place so vast and new, that it was easy to see
that this must be the work of the architect of the Louvre--of a man,
that is to say, accustomed to great designs and to the most noble
ideas.”
After a description of the magnificent saloon in question, the
correspondent adds: “I will not speak of the pomp of the ball, or the
grace of the Majesties, nor of the beauty and personal ornament of those
who danced; I will leave you to imagine the scene.
“You know, sir, that it is useless for pleasures to be natural unless
art is employed to conduct them. Then instinct must not always be their
rule; they would destroy themselves if one gave them full liberty--in a
word, their votaries exhaust them far too rapidly. They should be
quitted with regret and not with satiety. The king was aware of this
when he closed the ball sooner than the assembly would have wished.
People rose with His Majesty, and no one now thought of anything but
departure and repose.
“But scarcely had the company emerged from the thick of the wood and
arrived at the first flower-bed, where a moment before we had seen
nothing but fountains and flowers, when our eyes were startled with the
strangest and most prodigious illumination that could possibly be
conceived. The order of nature seemed confounded; darkness seemed to
have fallen from the heavens and daylight to have sprung out of the
earth. A lurid, dazzling light illuminated the whole of the surrounding
country, though there was not a trace of smoke in the air, and not a
sound of flickering flames or of crackling sparks disturbed the silence
of the night. Along the principal avenue of the garden motionless giants
could be seen glowing internally with fire: at all the windows of the
château great luminous phantoms appeared which, without consuming
themselves, seemed penetrated with a fire more lively and more ardent
than is the element of fire itself.... This terrible and surprising
spectacle troubled and fascinated the sightseers. There are horrors
which please, and the soul athirst for novelty feeds on what astonishes
it. Whilst people were eagerly revelling in these visions, they were
suddenly aroused by claps of thunder, often redoubled, accompanied by an
infinitude of lightning flashes and fires which, darting towards the
heavens like rockets or hovering in the air like stars, burst to pieces
or fell into some lake where they rekindled themselves instead of being
extinguished, or, finally, creeping along the ground like serpents,
augmented the horrors of darkness by dissipating it, and seemed to
threaten the universe with its last conflagration. Nevertheless, we soon
recognised the ingenious imposture of these phantoms of light which had
dazzled us, of this artificial thunder by which we had been so
astonished.
“All present continued to enjoy the spectacle until the peep of dawn
seemed to give the signal for the assembly to retreat. Such, sir, was
the display that happily crowned the gallant and magnificent fête with
which His Majesty regaled his subjects in order that they might have a
taste of the peace which he had just established for them, and in order
that they might see that he limited his ambition thenceforth to ensuring
repose and spreading joy throughout the length and breadth of the land.”
The splendour of Versailles came to an end with the Great Monarch, the
Roi Soleil as he was also called.
The Regent cared only for Paris, and neither lived at Versailles himself
nor allowed the heir to the throne to live there. Occasionally he
visited the place; and Peter the Great, on visiting Paris, was put up
for a time at Trianon in the Versailles park. The Tsar of Muscovy
arrived in Paris from Holland (he had not yet been recognised by Europe
as Emperor of Russia) on the 8th of May, 1717, and remained partly in
the capital, partly at Versailles, for upwards of six weeks.
Saint-Simon describes him as tall, well-made, rather thin, his face
somewhat round, with a broad forehead, fine eyebrows, short nose, thick
lips, reddish-brown complexion, and fine black eyes, large, bright,
piercing, open. His look was majestic and graceful when he was on his
guard; but, at other times, severe and fierce, with a nervous twitching
which did not often show itself, but at times quite changed the
expression of his eyes and his physiognomy. For a moment his look was
wild and terrible, but he at once recovered his habitual expression. His
general air gave evidence of wit, reflection, greatness of mind, all
marked by grace. He wore a round brown wig almost without powder; he was
generally dressed in a brown suit with gold buttons, and with stockings
of the same colour, without gloves or cuffs. When this prince visited
St. Cyr, he was received like the king. He wished to see Madame de
Maintenon, who, suspecting that his chief desire was to see how old she
looked, determined to receive him in bed. Her conjecture proved correct.
On entering the room, the Tsar drew aside the window-curtains, and then
the curtains of the bed, which Madame de Maintenon had closed, with the
exception of one which remained half-drawn, looked at her attentively
without saying a word or going through any form of civility, and then
went away just as he had come.
[Illustration: THE COLONNADE, VERSAILLES.]
Peter, at Versailles, Marly, and St. Cyr, as in Paris itself, visited
everything which piqued his curiosity and enabled him to satisfy his
passion for information. “This passion,” says Saint-Simon, “made him
adopt all possible means for getting away from the importunate crowd
which constantly surrounded him, and he frequently escaped the vigilance
of the noblemen whom the king had attached to his person to accompany
him wherever he went. The first carriage he found at hand--any hackney
carriage was quite good enough for him--he got into it with no matter
what member of his suite, and drove wherever he wanted to go. The king
paid the first visit to his royal guest, who went down to receive him as
he got out of his carriage, and then accompanied the young monarch,
keeping on his left until they reached the apartment, when the two
princes sat down side by side and quite on an equality. The Tsar,
however, insisted on giving the place of honour to the king. The same
ceremonial was followed in the visit which Peter afterwards returned. On
this occasion the Tsar, after taking the young king beneath the arms,
raised him to his own height, kissed him several times, flattered him
and caressed him in the most tender and affectionate way. Those present
were much surprised at the way the young prince received these
attentions, without being in the least disconcerted and without showing
any emotion.
“The Regent, having taken the Tsar to his grand box, and Peter, in the
middle of the piece, having asked for some beer, the Duke of Orleans,
standing up, presented to him a glass on a saucer. The Russian prince
received it with a graceful gesture, drinking the contents and putting
back the glass on the saucer, which the Duke of Orleans, always
standing, held in his hand, afterwards offering the Tsar a napkin in the
same manner.”
Louis XV. lived for a time at Versailles, and it was there that his
Parc-aux-Cerfs--with the young girls dressed in virginal blue, whom,
with strange inappropriateness and shocking irreverence, he had
dedicated to Our Lady--was established. But he formed an aversion for
the place after the attack made upon him by Damiens, who struck at him
and slightly wounded him with a penknife in the marble court just as he
was getting into his carriage.
The royal suburb which Louis XIV. had created, which the Paris-loving
Regent disdained, and which Louis XV. feared as associated with an
attempt on his life, was destined to become the favourite residence of
the homely, kindhearted Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette, his charming
wife; and Versailles has since been as closely associated with
revolutions and with the disasters of France as formerly with the
splendour and luxury of the monarchy at its supreme point of
development. Versailles was the scene of the strange intrigues known
collectively as “the affair of the necklace,” and it was at Versailles
that the king and queen were openly threatened by the revolutionary mob.
[Illustration: THE GALLERY OF BATTLES, VERSAILLES.
(_From a Photograph by X., Paris._)]
The affair of the diamond necklace was turned to the disadvantage and
grave injury of the queen by all her enemies, though it is certain that
Marie Antoinette had nothing whatever to do with the matter. A certain
Countess de Lamotte-Valois was the prime mover in the affair, and she
acted throughout with an ingenuity which surprised the good faith of
many. Born in a comparatively humble position, she became the wife of a
dissipated and ruined count; when, determined to turn her newly acquired
position to account, she went to Paris, where she succeeded in getting
presented to Marie Antoinette and also to Cardinal de Rohan, the king’s
grand almoner. She persuaded the cardinal, that to secure the eternal
gratitude of the queen it was only necessary to obtain for her a
necklace worth a million and a half francs which was in the possession
of the court jewellers. De Rohan, moreover, was assured that the queen
entertained for him the most tender affection, and, in order to carry
conviction to the cardinal’s mind, a Mlle. d’Olivia, who much resembled
Marie Antoinette, was induced to personate her at a midnight interview
with His Eminence in the gardens of Versailles. Armed with the real
signature of Cardinal de Rohan and a forged signature of the queen, the
countess got possession of the necklace (February 2, 1786), which she
forthwith carried to London and there sold it in fragments. Meanwhile,
she pretended that she had delivered the necklace to Marie Antoinette,
and she succeeded in concealing her robbery for several months by
producing fictitious notes in handwriting imitated from that of Marie
Antoinette. At last a direct application was made by the jewellers to
the queen herself, which resulted in a public trial before the
Parliament of Paris. The affair caused the greatest excitement
throughout France. There was no evidence which really told against the
queen, and all that could be urged against the cardinal was that his
folly and fatuity had enabled the Countess de Lamotte to make him an
easy dupe. De Rohan, then, was acquitted, while the countess was
sentenced to be whipped, branded on the shoulder, and imprisoned for
life. After two years confinement at the Salpêtrière, she escaped in
June, 1787, and fled to London, where she published scandalous libels
against the queen. In spite of her innocence, Marie Antoinette was
suspected by the common people of having played the part attributed to
her by the infamous Lamotte, and even when, five years later, she was
being carried to the guillotine, sarcasms in reference to the affair of
the necklace were hurled at the unfortunate woman by the mob.
That a queen should, in her wanton extravagance, have ordered a necklace
worth some £60,000, and afterwards have neglected to pay for it, and
thrown the odium of the transaction upon other persons, seemed natural
enough to the embittered populace, driven wild by oppression and hunger,
and the feeling caused by the Countess de Lamotte’s shameful calumnies
against Marie Antoinette (the Revolution having meanwhile begun) had
doubtless much to do with the menacing attitude of the crowd, who soon
afterwards threatened both king and queen in their palace at Versailles.
The people of Paris entertained the gravest distrust of the king and
queen. As the crisis was drawing near the queen entreated her husband to
leave Versailles for Compiègne or Fontainebleau. She counted, above all
things, on the Marquis de Bouillé, who commanded the troops on the
eastern frontier, with headquarters at Metz. The Comte d’Estaing,
commanding the National Guards at Versailles, was ready not only to aid
the escape of the royal family, but, if necessary, to protect their
flight; and the municipality of Versailles had empowered him to act
freely against any movement made from Paris upon Versailles. It was
essential to secure the co-operation of the king’s body-guard and of the
Versailles garrison; and with this view the king, queen, and royal
family assisted at a grand banquet given on the 1st of October by the
king’s body-guard to the Regiment of Flanders in the theatre of the
Palace. The population of Paris saw in these marks of goodwill towards
the troops proofs of treachery. The excitement led to insurrection, and
Versailles was invaded by the Parisian mob. On the 15th of October, at
six in the morning, the tocsin was sounded in Paris. The National Guards
quickly assembled, and a market-woman collected other market-women
around her by beating a big drum. The women were animated less by
political ideas than by a determination, by all possible means, to save
their children from starvation. They had been told that there would be
bread enough in Paris if the king and queen were there. Several
volunteers belonging to the band which had played a leading part in
taking the Bastille placed themselves at the head of the infuriated
women and of the rabble who accompanied them. In the rear marched the
conquerors of the Bastille in a body; not, it was said, to co-operate
with the women, but, if necessary, to protect them. The municipality of
Paris ordered General Lafayette to take measures in view of the
threatened conflict; and, calling out the force distinctively known as
the “paid battalion”--the former Gardes Françaises--he at the same time
concentrated various volunteer battalions at different points. He
delayed, however, ordering an advance until four o’clock in the
afternoon. He wished, as Mr. Morse Stephens puts it, “to be the saviour
of the king, and it would not be sufficiently glorious to forestall the
danger.”
The news that a mob was marching on Versailles reached the king while he
was hunting. Receiving the intelligence with his usual indifference, he
nevertheless went back to the palace, where he found the body-guard, six
hundred strong, and the Regiment of Flanders drawn up in order of
battle. About two hundred of the National Guards at Versailles had taken
up their position at some distance from the troops, but with no
intention of assisting them. The women of Paris arrived between three
and four o’clock in the afternoon. Some went at once to the palace and
demanded food, which was readily given to them. Versailles had been made
the meeting-place of the National Assembly, and the first French
Parliament (not, of course, to be confounded with the judicial
Parliament of Paris) was engaged in a debate when Maillard, representing
the conquerors of the Bastille, entered the hall and demanded, on behalf
of the women, that the price of bread should be lowered by a formal
decree. The Assembly appointed a deputation of its own members to
accompany a deputation of the women to the king. The deputations were
most graciously received. But this only increased the difficulty; and on
returning to their sisters, the women who had waited upon the king were
furiously attacked for having condescended to such a step. Towards
evening the royal travelling-carriages were seen issuing from the
stables; and the cry at once arose that the king must not be allowed to
escape. Several of the Versailles National Guards rushed forward and
insisted on the carriages being driven back. An hour afterwards the
body-guard, which was to have accompanied the king in his flight,
retired to their barracks. As they did so they were fired upon by the
National Guards of Versailles, and one of their horses was killed. It
was immediately roasted and eaten by the Parisian mob.
At last, towards eleven o’clock, Lafayette arrived with the greater part
of the National Guards of Paris, the paid battalion, and several guns.
He at once sought an interview with the king, and after assuring him of
his power and willingness to protect him, called upon him to accept the
“Declaration of the Rights of Man.” The king complied, and Lafayette,
thinking, or pretending to think, that peace had been secured at least
for the night, retired to his hotel. About five o’clock the next morning
a portion of the mob, after supping on horseflesh and washing down the
unaccustomed food with plentiful libations, had got into the gardens of
the palace, and, finding a back-door unguarded, forced their way towards
the queen’s apartments, killing, as they did so, two of the body-guards
who defended the ante-chamber and staircase. Two other body-guards,
however, defended her bed-chamber until she had time to escape by a
private staircase to the king’s own room. The noise of the fighting
brought up the paid battalion of the Paris National Guard, who in a few
minutes cleared the palace of its invaders; and at about seven o’clock
Lafayette came upon the scene. He persuaded the king, queen, and royal
family to appear on the balcony, where they were greeted with shouts,
“Le roi à Paris!” and after a brief parley with the king, the popular
general announced that the king had accepted unconditionally the
Declaration of the Rights of Man, and that he would start that afternoon
for the capital. “Maillard,” says Mr. Morse Stephens, “with a body of
followers, including men carrying the heads of slaughtered body-guards,
started off at once to take the good news to Paris, where he was warmly
received by the municipality. At a little past one the royal carriages
left Versailles, and late in the evening, escorted by Lafayette on his
white horse, the Parisian National Guards and the mob, reached the
capital. The royal family first went to the Hôtel de Ville, where they
had to listen to an harangue from Bailly, and then went to the
Tuileries, which had been so long unoccupied that there were not even
sufficient beds to sleep in. Thus ended the memorable days of October 5
and 6, 1789, to the great glory of General Morpheus, as the royalists
called him, and to the real destruction of monarchical power in France.”
The Assembly had originally taken up its quarters at Versailles in order
to be free from all pressure on the part of the Paris population. It now
debated under the eyes of the Parisians, who were able to influence its
deliberations in more ways than one. The hall set apart for it at
Versailles had presented some material inconveniences. It was so large
that the speeches of members were sometimes inaudible; and another
disadvantage (which surely might have been prevented) is said to have
been that the immense size of the hall allowed strangers to enter,
interrupt the debates, and occasionally even vote.
It was only by express order of the king, after he had taken up his
residence at the Tuileries, that the National Assembly forsook
Versailles for Paris; and it now established itself in the Manège, or
Riding School, an oblong building some 240 feet in length by 60 feet in
width, situated on the north side of the Tuileries Gardens, just where
the Rue de Rivoli now joins the Rue Castiglione. When the necessary
alterations had been completed, it was found that the new building was
much better adapted for the debates than the immense hall at Versailles.
Even at the Manège there was plenty of room; and the Assembly having
magnanimously invited “the whole nation” to be present at the debates,
the galleries were crowded all day by the people of Paris, and
especially by women of all classes, who took the keenest delight in the
proceedings, applauding or hissing as they thought fit. Fruit-sellers
and newspaper-girls wandered about with discordant cries, so that the
galleries resembled in many respects the gallery of a theatre.
The French deputies were not to assemble again at Versailles until after
the disasters of 1870 and 1871, when, as during the first months of the
Revolution, it was thought desirable to avoid immediate contact with the
too-excitable Parisians.
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