From the moment of my departure from Paris on the 2d of August, 1792, the
tragedy hastened to its denouement. On the night of the 9th, the tocsin
was sounded, and the King and the Royal Family looked upon their fate as
sealed. Notwithstanding the personal firmness of His Majesty, he was a
coward for others. He dreaded the responsibility of ordering blood to be
shed, even in defence of his nearest and dearest interests. Petion,
however, had given the order to repel force by force to De Mandat, who
was murdered upon the steps of the Hotel de Ville. It has been generally
supposed that Petion had received a bribe for not ordering the cannon
against the Tuileries on the night of the 9th, and that De Mandat was
massacred by the agents of Petion for the purpose of extinguishing all
proof that he was only acting under the instructions of the Mayor.
I shall not undertake to judge of the propriety of the King’s impression
that there was no safety from the insurgents but in the hall, and under
the protection of the Assembly. Had the members been well disposed
towards him, the event might have proved very different. But there is
one thing certain. The Queen would never have consented to this step but
to save the King and her innocent children. She would have preferred
death to the humiliation of being under obligations to her sworn enemies;
but she was overcome by the King declaring, with tears in his eyes, that
he would not quit the palace without her. The Princesses Elizabeth and
de Lamballe fell at her feet, implored Her Majesty to obey the King, and
assured her there was no alternative between instant death and refuge
from it in the Assembly. “Well,” said the Queen, “if our lot be death,
let us away to receive it with the national sanction.”
I need not expatiate on the succession of horrors which now overwhelmed
the royal sufferers. Their confinement at the Feuillans, and their
subsequent transfer to the Temple, are all topics sufficiently enlarged
upon by many who were actors in the scenes to which they led. The
Princesse de Lamballe was, while it was permitted, the companion of their
captivity. But the consolation of her society was considered too great
to be continued. Her fate had no doubt been predetermined; and,
unwilling to await the slow proceedings of a trial, which it was thought
politic should precede the murder of her royal mistress, it was found
necessary to detach her from the wretched inmates of the Temple, in order
to have her more completely within the control of the miscreants, who
hated her for her virtues. The expedient was resorted to of casting
suspicion upon the correspondence which Her Highness kept up with the
exterior of the prison, for the purpose of obtaining such necessaries as
were required, in consequence of the utter destitution in which the Royal
Family retired from the Tuileries. Two men, of the names of Devine and
Priquet, were bribed to create a suspicion, by their informations against
the Queen’s female attendant. The first declared that on the 18th of
August, while he was on duty near the cell of the King, he saw a woman
about eleven o’clock in the day come from a room in the centre, holding
in one hand three letters, and with the other cautiously opening the door
of the right-hand chamber, whence she presently came back without the
letters and returned into the centre chamber. He further asserted that
twice, when this woman opened the door, he distinctly saw a letter
half-written, and every evidence of an eagerness to hide it from
observation. The second informant, Priquet, swore that, while on duty as
morning sentinel on the gallery between the two towers, he saw, through
the window of the central chamber, a woman writing with great earnestness
and alarm during the whole time he was on guard.
All the ladies were immediately summoned before the authorities. The
hour of the separation between the Princess and her royal friend accorded
with the solemnity of the circumstance. It was nearly midnight when they
were torn asunder, and they never met again.
The examinations were all separate. That of the Princesse de Lamballe
was as follows:
Q. Your name?
A. Marie-Therese-Louise de Savoy, Bourbon Lamballe.
Q. What do you know of the events which occurred on the 10th of August?
A. Nothing.
Q. Where did you pass that day?
A. As a relative I followed the King to the National Assembly.
Q. Were you in bed on the nights of the 9th and 10th?
A. No.
Q. Where were you then?
A. In my apartments, at the chateau.
Q. Did you not go to the apartments of the King in the course of that
night?
A. Finding there was a likelihood of a commotion, went thither towards
one in the morning.
Q. You were aware, then, that the people had arisen?
A. I learnt it from hearing the tocsin.
Q. Did you see the Swiss and National Guards, who passed the night on
the terrace?
A. I was at the window, but saw neither.
Q. Was the King in his apartment when you went thither?
A. There were a great number of persons in the room, but not the King.
Q. Did you know of the Mayor of Paris being at the Tuileries?
A. I heard he was there.
Q. At what hour did the King go to the National Assembly?
A. Seven.
Q. Did he not, before he went, review the troops? Do you know the oath
he made them swear?
A. I never heard of any oath.
Q. Have you any knowledge of cannon being mounted and pointed in the
apartments?
A. No.
Q. Have you ever seen Messrs. Mandat and d’Affry in the chateau?
A. No.
Q. Do you know the secret doors of the Tuileries?
A. I know of no such doors.
Q. Have you not, since you have been in the Temple, received and written
letters, which you sought to send away secretly?
A. I have never received or written any letters, excepting such as have
been delivered to the municipal officer.
Q. Do you know anything of an article of furniture which is making for
Madame Elizabeth?
A. No.
Q. Have you not recently received some devotional books?
A. No.
Q. What are the books which you have at the Temple?
A. I have none.
Q. Do you know anything of a barred staircase?
A. No.
Q. What general officers did you see at the Tuileries, on the nights of
the 9th and 10th?
A. I saw no general officers, I only saw M. Roederer.
For thirteen hours was Her Highness, with her female companions in
misfortune, exposed to these absurd forms, and to the gaze of insulting
and malignant curiosity. At length, about the middle of the day, they
were told that it was decreed that they should be detained till further
orders, leaving them the choice of prisons, between that of la Force and
of la Salpetriere.
Her Highness immediately decided on the former. It was at first
determined that she should be separated from Madame de Tourzel, but
humanity so far prevailed as to permit the consolation of her society,
with that of others of her friends and fellow-sufferers, and for a moment
the Princess enjoyed the only comfort left to her, that of exchanging
sympathy with her partners in affliction. But the cell to which she was
doomed proved her last habitation upon earth.
On the 1st of September the Marseillois began their murderous operations.
Three hundred persons in two days massacred upwards of a thousand defence
less prisoners, confined under the pretext of malpractices against the
State, or rather devotedness to the royal cause. The spirit which
produced the massacres of the prisons at Paris extended them through the
principal towns and cities all over France.
Even the universal interest felt for the Princesse de Lamballe was of no
avail against this frenzy. I remember once (as if it were from a
presentiment of what was to occur) the King observing to her, “I never
knew any but fools and sycophants who could keep themselves clear from
the lash of public censure. How is it, then, that you, my dear Princess,
who are neither, contrive to steer your bark on this dangerous coast
without running against the rocks on which so many good vessels like your
own have been dashed to pieces?” “Oh, Sire,” replied Her Highness, “my
time is not yet come--I am not dead yet!” Too soon, and too horribly, her
hour did come!
The butchery of the prisons was now commenced. The Duc de Penthievre set
every engine in operation to save his beloved daughter-in-law. He sent
for Manuel, who was then Procureur of Paris. The Duke declared that half
his fortune should be Manuel’s if he could but save the Princesse de
Lamballe and the ladies who were in the same prison with her from the
general massacre. Manuel promised the Duke that he would instantly set
about removing them all from the reach of the blood-hunters. He began
with those whose removal was least likely to attract attention, leaving
the Princesse de Lamballe, from motives of policy, to the last.
Meanwhile, other messengers had been dispatched to different quarters for
fear of failure with Manuel. It was discovered by one of these that the
atrocious tribunal,--[Thibaudeau, Hebert, Simonier, etc.]--who sat in
mock judgment upon the tenants of these gloomy abodes, after satiating
themselves with every studied insult they could devise, were to pronounce
the word “libre!” It was naturally presumed that the predestined
victims, on hearing this tempting sound, and seeing the doors at the same
moment set open by the clerks of the infamous court, would dart off in
exultation, and, fancying themselves liberated, rush upon the knives of
the barbarians, who were outside, in waiting for their blood! Hundreds
were thus slaughtered.
To save the Princess from such a sacrifice, it was projected to prevent
her from appearing before the tribunal, and a belief was encouraged that
means would be devised to elude the necessity. The person who interested
himself for her safety contrived to convey a letter containing these
words: “Let what will happen, for God’s sake do not quit your cell. You
will be spared. Adieu.”
Manuel, however, who knew not of this cross arrangement, was better
informed than its projector.
He was aware it would be impossible for Her Highness to escape from
appearing before the tribunal. He had already removed her companions.
The Princesse de Tarente, the Marquise de Tourzel, her daughter, and
others, were in safety. But when, true to his promise, he went to the
Princesse de Lamballe, she would not be prevailed upon to quit her cell.
There was no time for parley. The letter prevailed, and her fate was
inevitable.
The massacre had begun at daybreak. The fiends had been some hours busy
in the work of death. The piercing shrieks of the dying victims brought
the Princess and her remaining companion upon their knees, in fervent
prayer for the souls of the departed. The messengers of the tribunal now
appeared. The Princess was compelled to attend the summons. She went,
accompanied by her faithful female attendant.
A glance at the seas of blood, of which she caught a glimpse upon her way
to the Court, had nearly shocked her even to sudden death. Would it had!
She staggered, but was sustained by her companion. Her courage
triumphed. She appeared before the gore-stained tribunes.
After some questions of mere form, Her Highness was commanded to swear to
be faithful to the new order of government, and to hate the King, the
Queen, and royalty.
“To the first,” replied Her Highness, “I willingly submit. To the
second, how can I accede? There is nothing of which I can accuse the
Royal Family. To hate them is against my nature. They are my
Sovereigns. They are my friends and relations. I have served them for
many years, and never have I found reason for the slightest complaint.”
The Princess could no longer articulate. She fell into the arms of her
attendant. The fatal signal was pronounced. She recovered, and,
crossing the court of the prison, which was bathed with the blood of
mutilated victims, involuntarily exclaimed, “Gracious Heaven! What a
sight is this!” and fell into a fit.
Nearest to her in the mob stood a mulatto, whom she had caused to be
baptized, educated, and maintained; but whom, for ill-conduct, she had
latterly excluded from her presence. This miscreant struck at her with
his halbert. The blow removed her cap. Her luxuriant hair (as if to
hide her angelic beauty from the sight of the murderers, pressing
tiger-like around to pollute that form, the virtues of which equalled its
physical perfection)--her luxuriant hair fell around and veiled her a
moment from view. An individual, to whom I was nearly allied, seeing the
miscreants somewhat staggered, sprang forward to the rescue; but the
mulatto wounded him. The Princess was lost to all feeling from the
moment the monster first struck at her. But the demons would not quit
their prey. She expired gashed with wounds.
Scarcely was the breath out of her body, when the murderers cut off her
head. One party of them fixed it, like that of the vilest traitor, on an
immense pole, and bore it in triumph all over Paris; while another
division of the outrageous cannibals were occupied in tearing her clothes
piecemeal from her mangled corpse. The beauty of that form, though
headless, mutilated and reeking with the hot blood of their foul
crime--how shall I describe it?--excited that atrocious excess of lust,
which impelled these hordes of assassins to satiate their demoniac
passions upon the remains of this virtuous angel.
This incredible crime being perpetrated, the wretches fastened ropes
round the body, arms, and legs, and dragged it naked through the streets
of Paris, till no vestige remained by which it could be distinguished as
belonging to the human species; and then left it among the hundreds of
innocent victims of that awful day, who were heaped up to putrefy in one
confused and disgusting mass.
The head was reserved for other purposes of cruelty and horror. It was
first borne to the Temple, beneath the windows of the royal prisoners.
The wretches who were hired daily to insult them in their dens of misery,
by proclaiming all the horrors vomited from the national Vesuvius, were
commissioned to redouble their howls of what had befallen the Princesse
de Lamballe.
[These horrid circumstances I had from the Chevalier Clery, who was the
only attendant allowed to assist Louis XVI. and his unhappy family,
during their last captivity; but who was banished from the Temple as soon
as his royal master was beheaded, and never permitted to return. Clery
told me all this when I met him at Pyrmont, in Germany. He was then in
attendance upon the late Comtesse de Lisle, wife of Louie XVIII., at
whose musical parties I had often the honour of assisting, when on a
visit to the beautiful Duchesse de Guiche. On returning to Paris from
Germany, on my way back into Italy, I met the wife of Clery, and her
friend M. Beaumont, both old friends of mine, who confirmed Clery’s
statement, and assured me they were all for two years in hourly
expectation of being sent to the Place de Greve for execution. The death
of Robespierre saved their lives.
Madame Clery taught Marie Antoinette to play upon the harp. Madame
Beaumont was a natural daughter of Louis XV. I had often occasion to be
in their agreeable society; and, as might be expected, their minds were
stored with the most authentic anecdotes and information upon the topics
of the day.]
The Queen sprang up at the name of her friend. She heard subjoined to,
it, “la voila en triomphe,” and then came shouts and laughter. She
looked out. At a distance she perceived something like a Bacchanalian
procession, and thought, as she hoped, that the Princess was coming to
her in triumph from her prison, and her heart rejoiced in the
anticipation of once more being, blessed with her society. But the King,
who had seen and heard more distinctly from his apartment, flew to that
of the Queen. That the horrid object might not escape observation, the
monsters had mounted upon each other’s shoulders so as to lift the
bleeding head quite up to the prison bars. The King came just in time to
snatch Her Majesty from the spot, and thus she was prevented from seeing
it. He took her up in his arms and carried her to a distant part of the
Temple, but the mob pursued her in her retreat, and howled the fatal
truth even at her, very door, adding that her head would be the next, the
nation would require. Her Majesty fell into violent hysterics. The
butchers of human flesh continued in the interior of the Temple, parading
the triumph of their assassination, until the shrieks of the Princesse
Elizabeth at the state in which she saw the Queen, and serious fears for
the safety of the royal prisoners, aroused the commandant to treble the
national guards and chase the barbarians to the outside, where they
remained for hours.