Editors Commentary:
The reader will not, I trust, be dissatisfied at reposing for a moment
from the sad story of the Princesse de Lamballe to hear some ridiculous
circumstances which occurred to me individually; and which, though they
form no part of the history, are sufficiently illustrative of the temper
of the times.
I had been sent to England to put some letters into the postoffice for
the Prince de Conde, and had just returned. The fashion then in England
was a black dress, Spanish hat, and yellow satin lining, with three
ostrich feathers forming the Prince of Wales’s crest, and bearing his
inscription, ‘Ich dien,’ (“I serve.”) I also brought with me a white
satin cloak, trimmed with white fur. This crest and motto date as far
back, I believe, as the time of Edward, the Black Prince.
In this dress, I went to the French opera. Scarcely was I seated in the
bog, when I heard shouts of, “En bas les couleurs de d’empereur! En
bas!”
I was very busy talking to a person in the box, and, having been
accustomed to hear and see partial riots in the pit, I paid no attention;
never dreaming that my poor hat and feathers, and cloak, were the cause
of the commotion, till an officer in the national guard very politely
knocked at the door of the box, and told me I must either take them off
or leave the theatre.
There is nothing I more dislike than the being thought particular, or
disposed to attract attention by dress. The moment, therefore, I found
myself thus unintentionally the object of a whole theatre’s disturbance,
in the first impulse of indignation, I impetuously caught off the cloak
and hat, and flung them into the pit, at the very faces of the rioters.
The theatre instantly rang with applause. The obnoxious articles were
carefully folded up and taken to the officer of the guard, who, when I
left the box, at the end of the opera, brought them to me and offered to
assist me in putting them on; but I refused them with true cavalier-like
loftiness, and entered my carriage without either hat or cloak.
There were many of the audience collected round the carriage at the time,
who, witnessing my rejection of the insulted colours, again loudly
cheered me; but insisted on the officer’s placing the hat and cloak in
the carriage, which drove off amidst the most violent acclamations.
Another day, as I was going to walk in the Tuileries (which I generally
did after riding on horseback), the guards crossed their bayonets at the
gate and forbade my entering. I asked them why. They told me no one was
allowed to walk there without the national ribbon.
Now, I always had one of these national ribbons about me, from the time
they were first worn; but I kept it in the inside of my riding-habit; and
on that day, in particular, my supply was unusually ample, for I had on a
new riding-habit, the petticoat of which was so very long and heavy that
I bought a large quantity to tie round my waist, and fasten up the dress,
to prevent it from falling about my feet.
However, I was determined to plague the guards for their impudence. My
English beau, who was as pale as death, and knew I had the ribbon, kept
pinching my arm, and whispering, “Show it, show it; zounds, madame, show
it! We shall be sent to prison! show it! show it!” But I took care to
keep my interrupters in parley till a sufficient mob was collected, and
then I produced my colours.
The soldiers were consequently most gloriously hissed, and would have
been maltreated by the mob, and sent to the guard-house by their officer,
but for my intercession; on which I was again applauded all through the
gardens as La Brave Anglaise. But my beau declared he would never go
out with me again: unless I wore the ribbon on the outside of my hat,
which I never did and never would do.
At that time the Queen used to occupy herself much in fancy needle-works.
Knowing, from arrangements, that I was every day in a certain part of the
Tuileries, Her Majesty, when she heard the shout of La Brave Anglaise!
immediately called the Princesse de Lamballe to know if she had sent me
on any message. Being answered in the negative, one of the pages was
despatched to ascertain the meaning of the cry. The Royal Family lived
in so continual a state of alarm that it was apprehended I had got into
some scrape; but I had left the Tuileries before the messenger arrived,
and was already with the Princesse de Lamballe, relating the
circumstances. The Princess told Her Majesty, who graciously observed,
“I am very happy that she got off so well; but caution her to be more
prudent for the future. A cause, however bad, is rather aided than
weakened by unreasonable displays of contempt for it. These unnecessary
excitements of the popular jealousy do us no good.”
I was, of course, severely reprimanded by the Princess for my frolic,
though she enjoyed it of all things, and afterwards laughed most
heartily.
The Princess told me, a few days after these circumstances of the
national ribbon and the Austrian colours had taken place at the theatre,
that some one belonging to the private correspondence at the palace had
been at the French opera on the night the disturbance took place there,
and, without knowing the person to whom it related, had told the whole
story to the King.
The Queen and the Princesses Elizabeth and de Lamballe being present,
laughed very heartily. The two latter knew it already from myself, the
fountain head, but the Princesse Elizabeth said:
“Poor lady! what a fright she must have been in, to have had her things
taken away from her at the theatre.”
“No fright at all,” said the King; “for a young woman who could act thus
firmly under such an insolent outrage will always triumph over cowards,
unmanly enough to abuse their advantages by insulting her. She was not a
Frenchwoman, I’ll answer for it.”
“Oh, no, Sire. She is an Englishwoman,” said the Princesse de Lamballe.
“I am glad of it,” exclaimed the King; “for when she returns to England
this will be a good personal specimen for the information of some of her
countrymen, who have rejoiced at what they call the regeneration of the
French nation; a nation once considered the most polished in Europe, but
now become the most uncivil, and I wish I may never have occasion to add,
the most barbarous! An insult offered, wantonly, to either sex, at any
time, is the result of insubordination; but when offered to a woman, it
is a direct violation of civilised hospitality, and an abuse of power
which never before tarnished that government now so much the topic of
abuse by the enemies of order and legitimate authority. The French
Princes, it is true, have been absolute; still I never governed
despotically, but always by the advice of my counsellors and Cabinet
Ministers. If they have erred, my conscience is void of reproach. I
wish the National Assembly may govern for the future with equal prudence,
equity, and justice; but they have given a poor earnest in pulling down
one fabric before they have laid the solid foundation of another. I am
very happy that their agents, who, though they call themselves the
guardians of public order have hitherto destroyed its course, have, in
the courage of this English lady, met with some resistance to their
insolence, in foolishly occupying themselves with petty matters, while
those of vital import are totally neglected.”
It is almost superfluous to mention that, at the epoch of which I am
speaking in the Revolution, the Royal Family were in so much distrust of
every one about them, and very necessarily and justly so, that none were
ever confided in for affairs, however trifling, without first having
their fidelity repeatedly put to the test. I was myself under this
probation long before I knew that such had ever been imposed.
With the private correspondence I had already been for some time
entrusted; and it was only previous to employing me on secret missions of
any consequence that I was subject to the severer scrutiny. Even before
I was sent abroad, great art was necessary to elude the vigilance of
prying eyes in the royal circle; and, in order to render my activity
available to important purposes, my connection with the Court was long
kept secret. Many stratagems were devised to mislead the Arguses of the
police. To this end, after the disorders of the Revolution began, I
never entered the palaces but on an understood signal, for which I have
been often obliged to attend many hours in the gardens of Versailles, as
I had subsequently done in that of the Tuileries.
To pass the time unnoticed, I used generally to take a book, and seat
myself, occupied in reading, sometimes in one spot, sometimes in another;
but with my man and maid servant always within call, though never where
they could be seen.
On one of these occasions, a person, though not totally masked yet
sufficiently disguised to prevent my recognising his features, came
behind my seat, and said he wished to speak to me. I turned round and
asked his business.
“That’s coming to the point!” he answered. “Walk a little way with me,
and I will tell you.”
Not to excite suspicion, I walked into a more retired part of the garden,
after a secret signal to my man servant, who followed me unperceived by
the stranger.
“I am commissioned,” said my mysterious companion, “to make you a very
handsome present, if you will tell me what you are waiting for.”
I laughed, and was turning from him, saying, “Is this all your business?”
“No,” he replied.
“Then keep it to yourself. I am not waiting here for any one or
anything; but am merely occupied in reading and killing time to the best
advantage.”
“Are you a poetess?”
“No.”
“And scarcely a woman; for your answers are very short.”
“Very likely.”
“But I have something of importance to communicate-----”
“That is impossible.”
“But listen to me-----”
“You are mistaken in your person.”
“But surely you will not be so unreasonable as not to hear what I have to
say?”
“I am a stranger in this country, and can have nothing of importance with
one I do not know.”
“You have quarrelled with your lover and are in an ill-humour.
“Perhaps so. Well! come! I believe you have guessed the cause.”
“Ah! it is the fate of us all to get into scrapes! But you will soon
make it up; and now let me entreat your attention to what I have to
offer.”
I became impatient, and called my servant.
“Madame,” resumed the stranger, “I am a gentleman, and mean no harm. But
I assure you, you stand in your own light. I know more about you than
you think I do.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes, madame, you are waiting here for an august personage.”
At this last sentence, my lips laughed, while my heart trembled.
“I wish to caution you,” continued he, “how you embark in plans of this
sort.”
“Monsieur, I repeat, you have taken me for some other person. I will no
longer listen to one who is either a maniac or an officious intruder.”
Upon this, the stranger bowed and left me; but I could perceive that he
was not displeased with my answers, though I was not a little agitated,
and longed to see Her Highness to relate to her this curious adventure.
In a few hours I did so. The Princess was perfectly satisfied with my
manner of proceeding, only she thought it singular, she said, that the
stranger should suspect I was there in attendance for some person of
rank; and she repeated, three or four times, “I am heartily glad that you
did not commit yourself by any decided answer. What sort of a man was
he?”
“Very much of the gentleman; above the middle stature; and, from what I
could see of his countenance, rather handsome than otherwise.”
“Was he a Frenchman?”
“No. I think he spoke good French and English, with an Irish accent.”
“Then I know who it is,” exclaimed she. “It is Dillon: I know it from
some doubts which arose between Her Majesty, Dillon, and myself,
respecting sending you upon a confidential mission. Oh, come hither!
come hither!” continued Her Highness, overwhelming me with kisses. “How
glad, how very glad I am, that the Queen will be convinced I was not
deceived in what I told Her Majesty respecting you. Take no notice of
what I am telling you; but he was sent from the Queen, to tempt you into
some imprudence, or to be convinced, by your not falling into the snare,
that she might rely on your fidelity.”
“What! doubt my fidelity?” said I.
“Oh, my dear, you must excuse Her Majesty. We live in critical times.
You will be the more rewarded, and much more esteemed, for this proof of
your firmness. Do you think you should know him, if you were to see him
again?”
“Certainly, I should, if he were in the same disguise.
“That, I fear, will be rather difficult to accomplish. However, you
shall go in your carriage and wait at the door of his sister, the
Marquise of Desmond; where I will send for him to come to me at four
o’clock to-morrow. In this way, you will have an opportunity of seeing
him on horseback, as he always pays his morning visits riding.”
I would willingly have taken a sleeping draught, and never did I wait
more anxiously than for the hour of four.
I left the Princess, and, in crossing from the Carrousel to go to the
Place Vendome, it rained very fast, and there glanced by me, on
horseback, the same military cloak in which the stranger had been
wrapped. My carriage was driving so fast that I still remained in doubt
as to the wearer’s person.
Next day, however, as appointed, I repaired to the place of rendezvous;
and I could almost have sworn, from the height of the person who alighted
from his horse, that he was my mysterious questioner.
Still, I was not thoroughly certain. I watched the Princess coming out,
and followed her carriage to the Champs Elysees and told her what I
thought.
“Well,” replied she, “we must think no more about it; nor must it ever be
mentioned to him, should you by any chance meet him.”
I said I should certainly obey Her Highness.
A guilty conscience needs no accuser. A few days after I was riding on
horseback in the Bois de Boulogne, when Lord Edward Fitzgerald came up to
speak to me. Dillon was passing at the time, and, seeing Lord Edward,
stopped, took off his hat, and observed, “A very pleasant day for riding,
madame!” Then, looking me full in the face, he added, “I beg your
pardon, madame, I mistook you for another lady with whom Lord Edward is
often in company.”
I said there was no offence; but the moment I heard him speak I was no
longer in doubt of his being the identical person.
When I had learnt the ciphering and deciphering, and was to be sent to
Italy, the Queen acknowledged to the Princesse de Lamballe that she was
fully persuaded I might be trusted, as she had good reason to know that
my fidelity was not to be doubted or shaken.
Dear, hapless Princess! She said to me, in one of her confidential
conversations on these matters, “The Queen has been so cruelly deceived
and so much watched that she almost fears her own shadow; but it gives me
great pleasure that Her Majesty had been herself confirmed by one of her
own emissaries in what I never for a moment doubted.
“But do not fancy,” continued the Princess, laughing, “that you have had
only this spy to encounter. Many others have watched your motions and
your conversations, and all concur in saying you are the devil, and they
could make nothing of you. But that, ‘mia cara piccola diavolina’, is
just what we want!”