While Her Highness was thus pondering on the dreadful situation of
France, strengthening her arguments by those historical illustrations,
which, from the past, enabled her to look into the future, a message came
to her from Her Majesty. She left me, and, in a few minutes, returned to
her apartment, accompanied by the Queen and Her Royal Highness the
Princesse Elizabeth. I was greatly surprised at seeing these two
illustrious and august personages bathed in tears. Of course, I could
not be aware of any new motive to create any new or extraordinary
emotion; yet there was in the countenances of all of the party an
appearance different from anything I had ever witnessed in them, or any
other person before; a something which seemed to say, they no longer had
any affinity with the rest of earthly beings.
They had all been just writing to their distant friends and relations. A
fatal presentiment, alas! too soon verified, told them it was for the
last time.
Her Highness the Princesse de Lamballe now approached me.
“Her Majesty,” observed the Princess, “wishes to give you a mark of her
esteem, in delivering to you, with her own hands, letters to her family,
which it is her intention to entrust to your especial care.
“On this step Her Majesty has resolved, as much to send you out of the
way of danger, as from the conviction occasioned by the firm reliance
your conduct has created in us, that you will faithfully obey the orders
you may receive, and execute our intentions with that peculiar
intelligence which the emergency of the case requires.
“But even the desirable opportunity which offers, through you, for the
accomplishment of her mission, might not have prevailed with Her Majesty
to hasten your departure, had not the wretch Danton twice inquired at the
palace for the ‘little milliner,’ whom he rescued and conducted safe to
the apartments of the Pavilion of Flora. This, probably, may be a matter
of no real consequence whatever; but it is our duty to avoid danger, and
it has been decided that you should, at least for a time, absent Paris.
“Per cio, mia cara Inglesina, speak now, freely and candidly: is it your
wish to return to England, or go elsewhere? For though we are all sorry
to lose you, yet it would be a source of still greater sorrow to us,
prizing your services and fidelity as we do, should any plans and
purposes of ours lead you into difficulty or embarrassment.”
“Oh, mon Dieu! c’est vrai!” interrupted Her Majesty, her eyes at the
same time filled with tears.
“I should never forgive myself,” continued the Princess, “if I should
prove the cause of any misfortune to you.”
“Nor I!” most graciously subjoined the Queen.
“Therefore,” pursued the Princess, “speak your mind without reserve.”
Here my own feelings, and the sobs of the illustrious party, completely
overcame me, and I could not proceed. The Princesse de Lamballe clasped
me in her arms. “Not only letters,” exclaimed she, “but my life I would
trust to the fidelity of my vera, verissima, cara Inglesina! And now,”
continued Her Highness, turning round to the Queen, “will it please Your
Majesty to give Inglesina your commands.”
“Here, then,” said the Queen, “is a letter for my dear sister, the Queen
of Naples, which you must deliver into her own hands. Here is another
for my sister, the Duchess of Parma. If she should not be at Parma, you
will find her at Colorno. This is for my brother, the Archduke of Milan;
this for my sister-in-law, the Princesse Clotilde Piedmont, at Turin; and
here are four others. You will take off the envelope when you get to
Turin, and then put them into the post yourself. Do not give them to, or
send them by, any person whatsoever.
“Tell my sisters the state of Paris. Inform them of our cruel situation.
Describe the riots and convulsions you have seen. Above all, assure them
how dear they are to me, and how much I love them.”
At the word love, Her Majesty threw herself on a sofa and wept bitterly.
The Princesse Elizabeth gave me a letter for her sister, and two for her
aunts, to be delivered to them, if at Rome; but if not, to be put under
cover and sent through the post at Rome to whatever place they might have
made their residence.
I had also a packet of letters to deliver for the Princesse de Lamballe
at Turin; and another for the Duc de Serbelloni at Milan.
Her Majesty and the Princesse Elizabeth not only allowed me the honour to
kiss their hands, but they, both gave me their blessing, and good wishes
for my safe return, and then left me with the Princesse de Lamballe.
Her Majesty had scarcely left the apartment of the Princess, when I
recollected she had forgotten to give me the cipher and the key for the
letters. The Princess immediately went to the Queen’s apartment, and
returned with them shortly after.
“Now that we are alone,” said Her Highness, “I will tell you what Her
Majesty has graciously commanded me to signify to you in her royal name.
The Queen commands me to say that you are provided for for life; and
that, on the first vacancy which may occur, she intends fixing you at
Court.
“Therefore mia cara Inglesina, take especial care what you are about, and
obey Her Majesty’s wishes when you are absent, as implicitly as you have
hitherto done all her commands during your abode near her. You are not
to write to any one. No one is to be made acquainted with your route.
You are not to leave Paris in your own carriage. It will be sent after
you by your man servant, who is to join you at Chalon sur Saone.
“I have further to inform you that Her Majesty the Queen, on sending you
the cipher, has at the same time graciously condescended to add these
presents as further marks of her esteem.”
Her Highness then showed me a most beautiful gold watch, chain and seals.
“These,” said she, placing them with her own hands, “Her Majesty desired
me to put round your neck in testimony of her regard.”
At the same time Her Highness presented me, on her own part, with a
beautiful pocketbook, the covers of which were of gold enamelled, with
the word “SOUVENIR” in diamonds on one side, and a large cipher of her
own initials on the other. The first page contained the names of the
Queen and Her Royal Highness the Princesse Elizabeth, in their own
handwriting. There was a cheque in it on a Swiss banker, at Milan, of
the name of Bonny.
Having given me these invaluable tokens, Her Highness proceeded with her
instructions.
“At Chalon,” continued she, “mia cara, your man servant will perhaps
bring you other letters. Take two places in the stage for yourself and
your femme de chambre, in her name, and give me the memorandum, that our
old friend, the driver, may procure the passports. You must not be seen;
for there is no doubt that Danton has given the police a full description
of your person. Now go and prepare: we shall see each other again before
your departure.”
Only a few minutes afterwards my man servant came to me to say that it
would be some hours before the stage would set off, and that there was a
lady in her carriage waiting for me in the Bois de Boulogne. I hastened
thither. What was my surprise on finding it was the Princess. I now saw
her for the last time!
Let me pass lightly over this sad moment. I must not, however, dismiss
the subject, without noticing the visible changes which had taken place
in the short space of a month, in the appearance of all these illustrious
Princesses. Their very complexions were no longer the same, as if grief
had changed the whole mass of their blood. The Queen, in particular,
from the month of July to the 2d of August, looked ten years older. The
other two Princesses were really worn out with fatigue, anxiety, and the
want of rest, as, during the whole month of July, they scarcely ever
slept, for fear of being murdered in their beds, and only threw
themselves on them, now and then, without undressing. The King, three or
four times in the night, would go round to their different apartments,
fearful they might be destroyed in their sleep, and ask, “Etes vous la?”
when they would answer him from within, “Nous sommes encore ici.” Indeed,
if, when nature was exhausted, sleep by chance came to the relief of
their worn-out and languid frames, it was only to awaken them to fresh
horrors, which constantly threatened the convulsion by which they were
finally annihilated.
It would be uncandid in me to be silent concerning the marked difference
I found in the feelings of the two royal sisters of Her Majesty.
I had never had the honour before to execute any commissions for her
Royal Highness the Duchess of Parma, and, of course, took that city in my
way to Naples.
I did not reach Parma till after the horrors which had taken place at the
Tuileries on the 10th of August, 1792. The whole of the unfortunate
Royal Family of France were then lodged in the Temple. There was not a
feeling heart in Europe unmoved at their afflicting situation.
I arrived at Colorno, the country residence of the Duchess of Parma, just
as Her Royal Highness was going out on horseback.
I ordered my servant to inform one of the pages that I came by express
from Paris, and requested the honour to know when it would be convenient
for Her Royal Highness to allow me a private audience, as I was going,
post-haste, to Rome and Naples. Of course, I did not choose to tell my
business either to my own or Her Royal Highness’s servant, being in
honour and duty bound to deliver the letter and the verbal message of her
then truly unfortunate sister in person and in privacy.
The mention of Paris I saw somewhat startled and confused her. Meantime,
she came near enough to my carriage for me to say to her in German, in
order that none of the servants, French or Italian, might understand,
that I had a letter to deliver into her own hands, without saying from
whom.
She then desired I would alight, and she soon followed me; and, after
having very graciously ordered me some refreshments, asked me from whom I
had been sent.
I delivered Her Majesty’s letter. Before she opened it, she exclaimed,
“‘O Dio! tutto e perduto e troppo tardi’! Oh, God! all is lost, it is
too late!” I then gave her the cipher and the key. In a few minutes I
enabled her to decipher the letter. On getting through it, she again
exclaimed, “‘E tutto inutile’! it is entirely useless! I am afraid they
are all lost. I am sorry you are so situated as not to allow of your
remaining here to rest from your fatigue. Whenever you come to Parma, I
shall be glad to see you.”
She then took out her pocket handkerchief, shed a few tears, and said
that, as circumstances were now so totally changed, to answer the letter
might only commit her, her sister, and myself; but that if affairs took
the turn she wished, no doubt, her sister would write again. She then
mounted her horse, and wished me a good journey; and I took leave, and
set off for Rome.
I must confess that the conduct of the Duchess of Parma appeared to me
rather cold, if not unfeeling. Perhaps she was afraid of showing too
much emotion, and wished to encourage the idea that Princesses ought not
to give way to sensibility, like common mortals.
But how different was the conduct of the Queen of Naples! She kissed the
letter: she bathed it with her tears! Scarcely could she allow herself
time to decipher it. At every sentence she exclaimed, “Oh, my dear, oh,
my adored sister! What will become of her! My brothers are now both no
more! Surely, she will soon be liberated!” Then, turning suddenly to
me, she asked with eagerness, “Do you not think she will? Oh, Marie,
Marie! why did she not fly to Vienna? Why did she not come to me
instead of writing? Tell me, for God’s sake, all you know!”
I said I knew nothing further of what had taken place at Paris, having
travelled night and day, except what I had heard from the different
couriers, which I had met and stopped on my route; but I hoped to be
better informed by Sir William Hamilton, as all my letters were to be
sent from France to Turin, and thence on to Sir William at Naples; and if
I found no letters with him, I should immediately set off and return to
Turin or Milan, to be as near France as possible for my speedy return if
necessary. I ventured to add that it was my earnest prayer that all the
European Sovereigns would feel the necessity of interesting themselves
for the Royal Family of France, with whose fate the fate of monarchy
throughout Europe might be interwoven.
“Oh, God of Heaven!” cried the Queen, “all that dear family may ere now
have been murdered! Perhaps they are already numbered among the dead!
Oh, my poor, dear, beloved Marie! Oh, I shall go frantic! I must send
for General Acton.”
Wringing her hands, she pulled the bell, and in a few minutes the general
came. On his entering the apartment, she flew to him like one deprived
of reason.
“There!” exclaimed she. “There! Behold the fatal consequences!” showing
him the letter. “Louis XVI. is in the state of Charles the First of
England, and my sister will certainly be murdered.”
“No, no, no!” exclaimed the general. “Something will be done. Calm
yourself, madame.” Then turning to me, “When,” said he, “did you leave
Paris?”
“When all was lost!” interrupted the Queen.
“Nay,” cried the general; “pray let me speak. All is not lost, you will
find; have but a little patience.”
“Patience!” said the Queen. “For two years I have heard of nothing else.
Nothing has been done for these unfortunate beings.” She then threw
herself into a chair. “Tell him!” cried she to me, “tell him! tell
him!”
I then informed the general that I had left Paris on the 2d of August,
but did not believe at the time, though the daily riots were horrible,
that such a catastrophe could have occurred so soon as eight days after.
The Queen was now quite exhausted, and General Acton rang the bell for
the lady-in-waiting, who entered accompanied by the Duchesse Curigliano
Marini, and they assisted Her Majesty to bed.
When she had retired, “Do not,” said the general to me, “do not go to Sir
William’s to-night. He is at Caserte. You seem too much fatigued.”
“More from grief,” replied I, “and reflection on the fatal consequences
that might result to the great personages I have so lately left, than
from the journey.”
“Take my advice,” resumed he. “You had much better go to bed and rest
yourself. You look very ill.”
I did as he recommended, and went to the nearest hotel I could find. I
felt no fatigue of mind or body till I had got into bed, where I was
confined for several days with a most violent fever. During my illness I
received every attention both from the Court, and our Ambassador and Lady
Hamilton, who kindly visited me every day. The Queen of Naples I never
again saw till my return in 1793, after the murder of the Queen of
France; and I am glad I did not, for her agony would have acted anew upon
my disordered frame, and might have proved fatal.
I was certainly somewhat prepared for a difference of feeling between the
two Princesses, as the unfortunate Marie Antoinette, in the letters to
the Queen of Naples, always wrote, “To my much beloved sister, the Queen
of the two Sicilies, etc.,” and to the other, merely, “To the Duchess of
Parma, etc.” But I could never have dreamt of a difference so little
flattering, under such circumstances, to the Duchess of Parma.