CHAPTER XXXIX.

The Queen is refused Leave to see Cléry.--Madame Royale is taken Ill.--

Plans are formed for the Queen's Escape by MM. Jarjayes, Toulan, and by

the Baron de Batz.--Marie Antoinette refuses to leave her Son.--Illness of

the young King.--Overthrow of the Girondins.--Insanity of the Woman

Tison.--Kindness of the Queen to her.--Her Son is taken from her, and

intrusted to Simon.--His Ill-treatment.--The Queen is removed to the

Conciergerie.--She is tried before the Revolutionary Tribunal.--She is

condemned.--Her last Letter to the Princess Elizabeth.--Her Death and

Character.

Shouts in the streets announced to her and those around her that all was

over. All the morning she had alarmed the princesses by the speechless,

tearless stupor into which she seemed plunged; but at last she roused

herself, and begged to see Cléry, who had been with Louis till he left the

Temple, and who, therefore, she hoped, might have some last message for

her, some last words of affection, some parting gift. And so indeed he

had;[1] for the last act of Louis had been to give that faithful servant

his seal for the dauphin, and his ring for the queen, with a little packet

containing portions of her hair and those of his children which he had

been in the habit of wearing. And he had bid him tell them all--"the

queen, his dear children, and his sister--that he had promised to see them

that morning, but that he had desired to save them the pain of so cruel a

separation. How much," he continued, "does it cost me to go without

receiving their last embraces! You must bear to them my last farewell."

But even the poor consolation of receiving these sad tokens of unchanged

affection was refused to her. The Council refused Cléry admittance to her,

and seized the little trinkets and the packet of hair. The king's last

words never reached her. But a few days afterward, Toulan, one of the

commissioners of the Council, who sympathized with her bereavement, found

means to send her the ring and seal.[2] Her sister and her daughter were

the more anxious that she should see Cléry, from the hope that

conversation with him might bring on a flood of tears, which would have

given her some relief. But her own fortitude was her best support.

Miserable as she was, hopeless as she was, it was characteristic of her

magnanimous courage that she did not long give way to womanly

lamentations. She recollected that she had still duties to perform to the

living, to her daughter and sister, and, above all, to her son, now her

king, whom, if some happier change of fortune, when the nation should have

recovered from its present madness, should replace him on his father's

throne, it must be her care to render worthy of such a restoration. She

began to apply herself diligently to the work of giving him lessons such

as his father had given him, mingling them with the constant references to

that father's example, which she never ceased to hold up to him, dwelling

with the emphatic exaggeration of lasting affection on his gentleness, his

benevolence, his love for his subjects; qualities which, in truth, he had

possessed in sufficient abundance, had he but been gifted with the courage

and firmness indispensable to secure to his people the benefits he wished

them to enjoy.

She had too, for a time, another occupation. The princess royal was, as

she had said not long before, of an age to feel keenly the miseries of her

parents, and the agitation into which she had been thrown had its natural

effect upon her health. Her own language on the subject affords a striking

proof how well Marie Antoinette had succeeded in imbuing her with her own

forgetfulness of self. As she has recorded the occurrence in her journal,

"Fortunately her affliction increased her illness to so serious a degree

as to cause a favorable diversion to her mother's despair.[3]"

Youth, however, and a strong constitution prevailed, and the little

princess recovered; while other matters also for a time claimed a large

share of her mother's attention. For herself, Marie Antoinette felt, as

she well might feel, that, come what would, happiness and she were forever

parted; and the death to which she never doubted that her enemies destined

her could hardly have been anticipated by her as any thing but a relief,

if she had thought only of her own feelings. But, again, she had others to

think of besides herself--of her children. And she presently learned that

others were thinking of her, and were willing (it should rather be said

were eager and proud) to encounter any danger, if they might only have the

happiness and honor of securing and saving her whom they still regarded as

their queen. Two had long been attached to the royal household: the wife

of M. de Jarjayes, a gentleman of ancient family in Dauphiné, had been one

of Marie Antoinette's waiting-women, and he himself, since the fatal

expedition to Varennes, had been employed by Louis on several secret

missions. From the moment that his royal master was brought before the

Convention he had despaired of his life, and had, therefore, bent all his

thoughts on the preservation of the queen. M. Turgy, the second, was in a

humbler rank of life. He was, as we have seen, one of the officers of the

kitchen; but in the household of a king of France even the cooks had

pretensions to gentle blood. A third was a man named Toulan, who had

originally been a music-seller in Paris, but had subsequently obtained

employment under the Municipal Council, and was now a commissioner, with

duties which brought him into constant contact with the imprisoned queen.

Either he had never in his heart been her enemy, or he had been converted

by the dignified fortitude with which she bore her miseries, and by the

irresistible fascination which even in prison she still exercised over all

whose hearts had not been hardened by fanatical wickedness against every

manly or honest feeling; he won the queen's confidence by the most welcome

service, which has been already mentioned, of conveying to her her

husband's seal and ring. She gave him a letter to recommend him to the

confidence of Jarjayes; and their combined ingenuity devised a plan for

the escape of the whole family. It was in their favor that a man, who came

daily to look to the lamps, usually brought with him his two sons, who

nearly matched the size of the royal children. And Jarjayes and Toulan,

aided by another of the municipal commissioners, named Lepitre, who had

also learned to abhor the indignities practiced on fallen royalty, had

prepared full suits of male attire for the queen and princess, with red

scarfs and sashes as were worn by the different commissioners, of whom

there were too many for all of them to be known to the sentinels; and also

clothes for the two children, ill-fitting and shabby, to resemble the

dress of the lamp-lighter's boys. Passports, too, by the aid of Lepitre,

whose duties lay in the department which issued them, were provided for

the whole family; and after careful discussion of the arrangements to be

adopted when once the prisoners were clear of the Temple, it was settled

that they should take the road to Normandy in three cabriolets, which

would be less likely to attract notice than any larger and less ordinary

carriage.

The end of February or the beginning of March was fixed for the attempt;

but before that time the Government and the people had become greatly

disquieted by the operations of the German armies, which were about to

receive the powerful assistance of England. Prussia had gained decided

advantages on the Rhine. An Austrian army, under the Archduke Charles, was

making formidable progress in the Netherlands. Rumors, also, which soon

proved to be well founded, of an approaching insurrection in the western

departments of France, reached the capital. The vigilance with which the

royal prisoners were watched was increased. Information, too, though of no

precise character, that they had obtained means of communicating with

their partisans who were at liberty, was conveyed to the magistrates. And

at last Jarjayes and Toulan were forced to abandon the idea of effecting

the escape of the whole family, though they were still confident that they

could accomplish that of the queen, which they regarded as the most

important, since it was plain that it was she who was in the most

immediate danger. Elizabeth, as disinterested as herself, besought her to

embrace their offers, and to let her and the children, as being less

obnoxious to the Jacobins, take their chance of some subsequent means of

escape, or perhaps even mercy.

But such a flight was forbidden alike by Marie Antoinette's sense of duty

and by her sense of honor, if indeed the two were ever separated in her

mind. Honor forbade her to desert her companions in misery, whose danger

might even be increased by the rage of her jailers, exasperated at her

escape. Duty to her boy forbade it still more emphatically. As his

guardian, she ought not to leave him; as his mother, she could not. And

her renunciation of the whole design was conveyed to M. Jarjayes in a

letter which did honor alike to both by the noble gratitude which it

expressed, and which was long cherished by his heirs as one of their most

precious possessions, till it was destroyed, with many another valuable

record, when Paris a second time fell under the rule of wretches scarcely

less detestable than the Jacobins whom they imitated.[4] It was written by

stealth, with a pencil; but no difficulties or hurry, as no acuteness of

disappointment or depth of distress, could rob Marie Antoinette of her

desire to confer pleasure on others, or of her inimitable gracefulness of

expression. Thus she wrote:

"We have had a pleasant dream, that is all. I have gained much by still

finding, on this occasion, a new proof of your entire devotion to me. My

confidence in you is boundless. And on all occasions you will always find

strength of mind and courage in me. But the interest of my son is my sole

guide; and, whatever happiness I might find in being out of this place, I

can not consent to separate myself from him. In what remains, I thoroughly

recognize your attachment to me in all that you said to me yesterday. Rely

upon it that I feel the kindness and the force of your arguments as far as

my own interest is concerned, and that I feel that the opportunity can not

recur. But I could enjoy nothing if I were to leave my children; and this

idea prevents me from even regretting my decision.[5]"

And to Toulan she said that "her sole desire was to be reunited to her

husband whenever Heaven should decide that her life was no longer

necessary to her children." He was greatly afflicted, but he could no

longer be of use to her. Her last commission to him was to convey to her

eldest brother-in-law, the Count de Provence, her husband's ring and seal,

that they might be in safer custody than her own, and that she or her son

might reclaim them, if either should ever be at liberty. She gave Toulan

also, as a memorial of her gratitude, a small gold box, one of the few

trinkets which she still possessed, and which, unhappily, proved a fatal

present. In the summer of the next year it was found in his possession,

its history was ascertained, and he was sent to the scaffold for the sole

offense of having and valuing a relic of his murdered sovereign.

Nor was this the only plan formed for the queen's rescue. The Baron de

Batz was a noble of the purest blood in France, seneschal of the Duchy of

Albret, and bound by ancient ties of hereditary friendship to the king, as

the heir of Henry IV., whose most intimate confidence had been enjoyed by

his ancestor. He was still animated by all the antique feelings of

chivalrous loyalty, and from the first breaking-out of the troubles of the

Revolution he had brought to the service of his sovereign the most

absolute devotion, which was rendered doubly useful by an inexhaustible

fertility of resource, and a presence of mind that nothing could daunt or

perplex. On the fatal 21st of January, he had even formed a project of

rescuing Louis on his way to the scaffold, which failed, partly from the

timidity of some on whose co-operation he had reckoned, and partly, it is

said, from the reluctance of Louis himself to countenance an enterprise

which, whatever might be its result, must tend to fierce conflict and

bloodshed. Since his sovereign's death he had bent all the energies of his

mind to contrive the escape of the queen, and he had so far succeeded that

he had enlisted in her cause two men whose posts enabled them to give must

effectual resistance: Michonis, who, like Toulan, was one of the

commissioners of the Council; and Cortey, a captain of the National Guard,

whose company was one of those most frequently on duty at the Temple. It

seemed as if all that was necessary to be done was to select a night for

the escape when the chief outlets of the Temple should be guarded by

Cortey's men; and De Batz, who was at home in every thing that required

manoeuvre or contrivance, had provided dresses to disguise the persons of

the whole family while in the Temple, and passports and conveyances to

secure their escape the moment they were outside the gates. Every thing

seemed to promise success, when at the last moment secret intelligence

that some plan or other was in agitation was conveyed to the Council. It

was not sufficient to enable them to know whom they were to guard against

or to arrest, but it was enough to lead them to send down to the Temple

another commissioner whose turn of duty did not require his presence

there, but whose ferocious surliness of temper pointed him out as one not

easily to be either tricked or overborne. He was a cobbler, named Simon,

the very same to whose cruel superintendence the little king was presently

intrusted.

He came down the very evening that every thing was arranged for the escape

of the hapless family. De Batz saw that all was over if he staid, and

hesitated for a moment whether he should blow out his brains, and try to

accomplish the queen's deliverance by force; but a little reflection

showed him that the noise of fire-arms would bring up a crowd of enemies

beyond his ability to overpower, and it soon appeared that it would tax

all his resources to secure his own escape. He achieved that, hoping still

to find some other opportunity of being useful to his royal mistress; but

none offered. The Assembly did him the honor to set a price on his head;

and at last he thought himself fortunate in being able to save himself.

Those who had co-operated with him had worse fortune. Those in authority

had no proofs on which to condemn them; but in those days suspicion was a

sufficient death-warrant. Michonis and Cortey were suspected, and in the

course of the next year a belief that they had at least sympathized with

the queen's sorrows sent them both to the scaffold.

With the failure of De Batz every project of escape was abandoned; and a

few weeks later the queen congratulated herself that she had refused to

flee without her boy, since in the course of May he was seized with

illness which for some days threatened to assume a dangerous character.

With a brutality which, even in such monsters as the Jacobin rulers of the

city, seems almost inconceivable, they refused to allow him the attendance

of M. Brunier, the physician who had had the charge of his infancy. It

would be a breach of the principles of equality, they said, if any

prisoner were permitted to consult any but the prison doctor. But the

prison doctor was a man of sense and humanity, as well as of professional

skill. He of his own accord sought the advice of Brunier; and the poor

child recovered, to be reserved for a fate which, even in the next few

weeks, was so foreshadowed, that his own mother must almost have begun to

doubt whether his restoration to health had been a blessing to her or to

himself.

The spring was marked by important events. Had one so high-minded been

capable of exulting in the misfortunes of even her worst enemies, Marie

Antoinette might have triumphed in the knowledge that the murderers of her

husband were already beginning that work of mutual destruction which in

little more than a year sent almost every one of them to the same scaffold

on which he had perished. The jealousies which from the first had set the

Jacobins and Girondins at variance had reached a height at which they

could only be extinguished by the annihilation of one party or the other.

They had been partners in crime, and so far were equal in infamy; but the

Jacobins were the fiercer and the readier ruffians; and, after nearly two

months of vehement debates in the Convention, in which Robespierre

denounced the whole body of the Girondin leaders as plotters of treason

against the State, and Vergniaud in reply reviled Robespierre as a coward,

the Jacobins worked up the mob to rise in their support. The Convention,

which hitherto had been divided in something like equality between the two

factions, yielded to the terror of a new insurrection, and on the 2d of

June ordered the arrest of the Girondin leaders. A very few escaped the

search made for them by the officers--Roland, to commit suicide;

Barbaroux, to attempt it; Pétion and Buzot reached the forests to be

devoured by congenial wolves. Lanjuinais,[6] whom the decree of the

Convention had identified with them, but who, even in the moments of the

greatest excitement, had kept himself clear of their wickedness and

crimes, was the only one of the whole body who completely eluded the rage

of his enemies. The rest, with Madame Roland, the first prompter of deeds

of blood, languished in their well-deserved prisons till the close of

autumn, when they all perished on the same scaffold to which they had sent

their innocent sovereign.[7]

But it may be that Marie Antoinette never learned their fall; though that

if she had, pity would at least have mingled with, if it had not

predominated over, her natural exultation, she gave a striking proof in

her conduct toward one from whom she had suffered great and constant

indignities. From the time that her own attendants were dismissed, the

only person appointed to assist Cléry in his duties were a man and woman

named Tison, chosen for that task on account of their surly and brutal

tempers, in which the wife exceeded her husband. Both, and especially the

woman, had taken a fiendish pleasure in heaping gratuitous insults on the

whole family; but at last the dignity and resignation of the queen

awakened remorse in the woman's heart, which presently worked upon her to

such a degree that she became mad. In the first days of her frenzy she

raved up and down the courtyard declaring herself guilty of the queen's

murder. She threw herself at Marie Antoinette's feet, imploring her

pardon; and Marie Antoinette not only raised her up with her own hand, and

spoke gentle words of forgiveness and consolation to her, but, after she

had been removed to a hospital, showed a kind interest in her condition,

and amidst all her own troubles found time to write a note to express her

anxiety that the invalid should have proper attention.[8]

But very soon a fresh blow was struck at the hapless queen which made her

indifferent to all else that could happen, and even to her own fate, of

which it may be regarded as the precursor. At ten o'clock on the 3d of

July, when the little king was sleeping calmly, his mother having hung a

shawl in front of his bed to screen his eyes from the light of the candle

by which she and Elizabeth were mending their clothes, the door of their

chamber was violently thrown open, and six commissioners entered to

announce to the queen that the Convention had ordered the removal of her

boy, that he might he committed to the care of a tutor--the tutor named

being the cobbler, Simon, whose savageness of disposition was sufficiently

attested by the fact of his having been chosen on the recommendation of

Marat. At this unexpected blow, Marie Antoinette's fortitude and

resignation at last gave way. She wept, she remonstrated, she humbled

herself to entreat mercy. She threw her arms around her child, and

declared that force itself should not tear him from her. The commissioners

were not men likely to feel or show pity. They abused her; they threatened

her. She begged them rather to kill her than take her son. They would not

kill her, but they swore that they would murder both him and her daughter

before her eyes if he were not at once surrendered. There was no more

resistance. His aunt and sister took him from the bed and dressed him. His

mother, with a voice choked by her sobs, addressed him the last words he

was ever to hear from her. "My child, they are taking you from me; never

forget the mother who loves you tenderly, and never forget God! Be good,

gentle, and honest, and your father will look down on you from heaven and

bless you!" "Have you done with this preaching?" said the chief

commissioner. "You have abused our patience finely," another added; "the

nation is generous, and will take care of his education." But she had

fainted, and heard not these words of mocking cruelty. Nothing could touch

her further.

If it be not also a mockery to speak of happiness in connection with this

most afflicted queen, she was happy in at least not knowing the details of

the education which was in store for the noble boy whose birth had

apparently secured for him the most splendid of positions, and whose

opening virtues seemed to give every promise that he would be worthy of

his rank and of his mother. A few days afterward Simon received his

instructions from a committee of the Convention, of which Drouet, the

postmaster of Ste. Menehould, was the chief. "How was he to treat the wolf

cub?" he asked (it was one of the mildest names he ever gave him). "Was he

to kill him?" "No." "To poison him?" "No." "What then?" "He was to get rid

of him,[9]" and Simon carried out this instruction by the most unremitting

ill-treatment of his pupil. He imposed upon him the most menial offices;

he made him clean his shoes; he reviled him; he beat him; he compelled him

to wear the red cap and jacket which had been adopted as the Revolutionary

dress; and one day, when his mother obtained a glimpse of him as he was

walking on the leads of the tower to which he had been transferred, it

caused her an additional pang to see that he had been stripped of the suit

of mourning for his father, and had been clothed in the garments which, in

her eyes, were the symbol, of all that was most impious and most

loathsome.

All these outrages were but the prelude of the final blow which was to

fall on herself; and it shows how great was the fear with which her lofty

resolution had always had inspired the Jacobins--fear with such natures

being always the greatest exasperation of hatred and the keenest incentive

to cruelty--that, when they had resolved to consummate her injuries by her

murder, they did not leave her in the Temple as they had left her husband,

but removed her to the Conciergerie, which in those days, fitly

denominated the Reign of Terror, rarely led but to the scaffold. On the

night of the 1st of August (the darkest hours were appropriately chosen

for deeds of such darkness) another body of commissioners entered her

room, and woke her up to announce that they had come to conduct her to the

common prison. Her sister and her daughter begged in vain to be allowed to

accompany her. She herself scarcely spoke a word, but dressed herself in

silence, made up a small bundle of clothes, and, after a few words of

farewell and comfort to those dear ones who had hitherto been her

companions, followed her jailers unresistingly, knowing, and for her own

sake certainly not grieving, that she was going to meet her doom. As she

passed through the outer door it was so low that she struck her head. One

of the commissioners had so much decency left as to ask if she was hurt.

"No," she replied, "nothing now can hurt me.[10]" Six weeks later, an

English gentleman saw her in her dungeon. She was freely exhibited to any

one who desired to behold her, on the sole condition--a condition worthy

of the monsters who exacted it, and of them alone--that he should show no

sign of sympathy or sorrow.[11] "She was sitting on an old worn-out chair

made of straw which scarcely supported her weight. Dressed in a gown which

had once been white, her attitude bespoke the immensity of her grief,

which appeared to have created a kind of stupor, that fortunately rendered

her less sensible to the injuries and reproaches which a number of inhuman

wretches were continually vomiting forth against her."

Even after all the atrocities and horrors of the last twelve months, the

news of the resolution to bring her to a trial, which, it was impossible

to doubt, it was intended to follow up by her execution, was received as a

shook by the great bulk of the nation, as indeed by all Europe. And

Necker's daughter, Madame de Staël, who, as we have seen, had been

formerly desirous to aid in her escape, now addressed an energetic and

eloquent appeal to the entire people, calling on all persons of all

parties, "Republicans, Constitutionalists, and Aristocrats alike, to unite

for her preservation." She left unemployed no fervor of entreaty, no depth

of argument. She reminded them of the universal admiration which the

queen's beauty and grace had formerly excited, when "all France thought

itself laid under an obligation by her charms;[12]" of the affection that

she had won by her ceaseless acts of beneficence and generosity. She

showed the absurdity of denouncing her as "the Austrian"--her who had left

Vienna while still little more than a child, and had ever since fixed her

heart as well as her home in France. She argued truly that the vagueness,

the ridiculousness, the notorious falsehood of the accusations brought

against her were in themselves her all-sufficient defense. She showed how

useless to every party and in every point of view must be her

condemnation. What danger could any one apprehend from restoring to

liberty a princess whose every thought was tenderness and pity? She

reproached those who now held sway in France with the barbarity of their

proscriptions, with governing by terror and by death, with having

overthrown a throne only to erect a scaffold in its place; and she

declared that the execution of the queen would exceed in foulness all the

other crimes that they had yet committed. She was a foreigner, she was a

woman; to put her to death would be a violation of all the laws of

hospitality as well as of all the laws of nature. The whole universe was

interesting itself in the queen's fate. Woe to the nation which knew

neither justice nor generosity! Freedom would never be the destiny of such

a people.[13]

It had not been from any feeling of compunction or hesitation that those

who had her fate in their hands left her so long in her dungeon, but from

the absolute impossibility of inventing an accusation against her that

should not be utterly absurd and palpably groundless. So difficult did

they find their task, that the jailer, a man named Richard, who, when

alone, ventured to show sympathy for her miseries, sought to encourage her

by the assurance that she would be replaced in the Temple. But Marie

Antoinette indulged in no such illusion. She never doubted that her death

was resolved on. "No," she replied to his well-meant words of hope, "they

have murdered the king; they will kill me in the same way. Never again

shall I see my unfortunate children, my tender and virtuous sister." And

the tears which her own sufferings could not wring from her flowed freely

when she thought of what they were still enduring.

But at last the eagerness for her destruction overcame all difficulties or

scruples. The principal articles of the indictment charged her with

helping to overthrow the republic and to effect the reestablishment of the

throne; with having exerted her influence over her husband to mislead his

judgment, to render him unjust to his people, and to induce him to put his

veto on laws of which they desired the enactment; with having caused

scarcity and famine; with having favored aristocrats; and with having kept

up a constant correspondence with her brother, the emperor; and the

preamble and the peroration compared her to Messalina, Agrippina,

Brunehaut, and Catherine de' Medici--to all the wickedest women of whom

ancient or modern history had preserved a record. Had she been guided by

her own feelings alone, she would have probably disdained to defend

herself against charges whose very absurdity proved that they were only

put forward as a pretense for a judgment that had been previously decided

on. But still, as ever, she thought of her child, her fair and good son,

her "gentle infant," her king. While life lasted she could never wholly

relinquish the hope that she might see him once again, perhaps even that

some unlooked-for chance (none could be so unexpected as almost every

occurrence of the last four years) might restore him and her to freedom,

and him to his throne; and for his sake she resolved to exert herself to

refute the charges, and at least to establish her right to acquittal and

deliverance.

Louis had been tried before the Convention. Marie Antoinette was to be

condemned by the, if possible, still more infamous court that had been

established in the spring under the name of the Revolutionary Tribunal;

and on the 13th of October she was at last conducted before a small

sub-committee, and subjected to a private examination. To every question

she gave firm and clear answers.[14] She declared that the French people

had indeed been deceived, but not by her or by her husband. She affirmed

"that the happiness of France always had been, and still was, the first

wish of her heart;" and that "she should not even regret the loss of her

son's throne, if it led to the real happiness of the country." She was

taken back to her cell. The next day the four judges of the tribunal took

their seats in the court. Fouquier-Tinville, the public prosecutor, a man

whose greed of blood stamped him with an especial hideousness, even in

those days of universal barbarity, took his seat before them; and eleven

men, the greater part of whom had been carefully picked from the very

dregs of the people--journeymen carpenters, tailors, blacksmiths, and

discharged policemen--were constituted the jury.

Before this tribunal--we will not dignify it with the name of a court of

justice--Marie Antoinette, the widow Capet, as she was called in the

indictment, was now brought. Clad in deep mourning for her murdered

husband, and aged beyond her years by her long series of sorrows, she

still preserved the fearless dignity which became her race and rank and

character. As she took her place at the bar and cast her eyes around the

hall, even the women who thronged the court, debased as they were, were

struck by her lofty demeanor. "How proud she is!" was the exclamation, the

only sign of nervousness that she gave being that, as those who watched

her closely remarked, she moved her fingers up and down on the arm of her

chair, as if she had been playing on the harpsichord. The prosecutor

brought up witness after witness; some whom it was believed that some

ancient hatred, others whom it was expected that some hope of pardon for

themselves, might induce to give evidence such as was required. The Count

d'Estaing had always been connected with her enemies. Bailly, once Mayor

of Paris, as has been seen, had sought a base popularity by the wantonness

of the unprovoked insults which he had offered to the king. Michonis knew

that his head was imperiled by suspicions of his recent desire to assist

her. But one and all testified to her entire innocence of the different

charges which they had been brought forward to support, and to the

falsehood of the statements contained in the indictment. Her own replies,

when any question was addressed to herself, were equally in her favor.

When accused of having been the prompter of the political mesures of the

king's government, her answer could not be denied to be in accordance with

the law: "That she was the wife and subject of the king, and could not be

made responsible for his resolutions and actions." When charged with

general indifference or hostility to the happiness of the people, she

affirmed with equal calmness, as she had previously declared at her

private examination, that the welfare of the nation had been, and always

was, the first of her wishes.

Once only did a question provoke an answer in any other tone than that of

a lofty imperturbable equanimity. She had not known till that moment the

depth of her enemies' wickedness, or the cruelty with which her son's mind

had been dealt with, worse ten thousand times than the foulest tortures

that could be applied to the body. Both her children had been subjected to

an examination, in the hope that something might be found to incriminate

her in the words of those who might hardly be able to estimate the exact

value of their expressions. The princess had been old enough to baffle the

utmost malice of her questioners; and the boy had given short and plain

replies from which nothing to suit their purpose could be extracted, till

they forced him to drink brandy, and, when he was stupefied with drink,

compelled him to sign depositions in which he accused both the queen and

Elizabeth of having trained him in lessons of vice. At first, horror at so

monstrous a charge had sealed the queen's lips; but when she gave no

denial, a juryman questioned her on the subject, and insisted on an

answer. Then at last Marie Antoinette spoke in sublime indignation. "If I

have not answered, it was because nature itself rejects such an accusation

made against a mother. I appeal from it to every mother who hears me."

Marie Antoinette had been allowed two counsel, who, perilous as was the

duty imposed upon them, cheerfully accepted it as an honor; but it was not

intended that their assistance should be more than nominal. She had only

known their names on the evening preceding the trial; but when she

addressed a letter to the President of the Convention, demanding a

postponement of the trial for three days, as indispensable to enable them

to master the case, since as yet they had not had time even to read the

whole of the indictment, adding that "her duty to her children bound her

to leave nothing undone which was requisite for the entire justification

of their mother," the request was rudely refused; and all that the lawyers

could do was to address eloquent appeals to the judges and jurymen, being

utterly unable, on so short notice, to analyze as they deserved the

arguments of the prosecutor or the testimony by which he had professed to

support them. But before such a tribunal it signified little what was

proved or disproved, or what was the strength or weakness of the arguments

employed on either side. It was long after midnight of the second day that

the trial concluded. The jury at once pronounced the prisoner guilty. The

judges as instantly passed sentence of death, and ordered it to be

executed the next morning.

It was nearly five in the morning of the 16th of October when the favorite

daughter of the great Empress-queen, herself Queen of France, was led from

the court, not even to the wretched room which she had occupied for the

last ten weeks, but to the condemned cell, never tenanted before by any

but the vilest felons. Though greatly exhausted by the length of the

proceedings, she had heard the sentence without betraying the slightest

emotion by any change of countenance or gesture. On reaching her cell she

at once asked for writing materials. They had been withheld from her for

more than a year, but they were now brought to her; and with them she

wrote her last letter to that princess whom she had long learned to love

as a sister of her own, who had shared her sorrows hitherto, and who, at

no distant period, was to share the fate which was now awaiting herself.

"16th October, 4.30 A.M.

"It is to you, my sister, that I write for the last time. I have just been

condemned, not to a shameful death, for such is only for criminals, but to

go and rejoin your brother. Innocent like him, I hope to show the same

firmness in my last moments. I am calm, as one is when one's conscience

reproaches one with nothing. I feel profound sorrow in leaving my poor

children: you know that I only lived for them and for you, my good and

tender sister. You who out of love have sacrificed everything to be with

us, in what a position do I leave you! I have learned from the proceedings

at my trial that my daughter was separated from you. Alas! poor child; I

do not venture to write to her; she would not receive my letter. I do not

even know whether this will reach you. Do you receive my blessing for both

of them. I hope that one day when they are older they may be able to

rejoin you, and to enjoy to the full your tender care. Let them both think

of the lesson which I have never ceased to impress upon them, that the

principles and the exact performance of their duties are the chief

foundation of life; and then mutual affection and confidence in one

another will constitute its happiness. Let my daughter feel that at her

age she ought always to aid her brother by the advice which her greater

experience and her affection may inspire her to give him. And let my son

in his turn render to his sister all the care and all the services which

affection can inspire. Let them, in short, both feel that, in whatever

positions they may be placed, they will never be truly happy but through

their union. Let them follow our example. In our own misfortunes how much

comfort has our affection for one another afforded us! And, in times of

happiness, we have enjoyed that doubly from being able to share it with a

friend; and where can one find friends more tender and more united than in

one's own family? Let my son never forget the last words of his father,

which I repeat emphatically; let him never seek to avenge our deaths. I

have to speak to you of one thing which is very painful to my heart, I

know how much pain the child must have caused you. Forgive him, my dear

sister; think of his age, and how easy it is to make a child say whatever

one wishes, especially when he does not understand it.[15] It will come to

pass one day, I hope, that he will better feel the value of your kindness

and of your tender affection for both of them. It remains to confide to

you my last thoughts. I should have wished to write them at the beginning

of my trial; but, besides that they did not leave me any means of writing,

events have passed so rapidly that I really have not had time.

"I die in the Catholic Apostolic and Roman religion, that of my fathers,

that in which I was brought up, and which I have always professed. Having

no spiritual consolation to look for, not even knowing whether there are

still in this place any priests of that religion[16] (and indeed the place

where I am would expose them to too much danger if they were to enter it

but once), I sincerely implore pardon of God for all the faults which I

may have committed during my life. I trust that, in his goodness, he will

mercifully accept my last prayers, as well as those which I have for a

long time addressed to him, to receive my soul into his mercy. I beg

pardon of all whom I know, and especially of you, my sister, for all the

vexations which, without intending it, I may have caused you. I pardon all

my enemies the evils that they have done me. I bid farewell to my aunts

and to all my brothers and sisters. I had friends. The idea of being

forever separated from them and from all their troubles is one of the

greatest sorrows that I suffer in dying. Let them at least know that to

my latest moment I thought of them.

"Farewell, my good and tender sister. May this letter reach you. Think

always of me; I embrace you with all my heart, as I do my poor dear

children. My God, how heart-rending it is to leave them forever! Farewell!

farewell! I must now occupy myself with my spiritual duties, as I am not

free in my actions. Perhaps they will bring me a priest; but I here

protest that I will not say a word to him, but that I will treat him as a

person absolutely unknown."

Her forebodings were realized; her letter never reached Elizabeth, but was

carried to Fouquier, who placed it among his special records. Yet, if in

those who had thus wrought the writer's destruction there had been one

human feeling, it might have been awakened by the simple dignity and

unaffected pathos of this sad farewell. No line that she ever wrote was

more thoroughly characteristic of her. The innocence, purity, and

benevolence of her soul shine through every sentence. Even in that awful

moment she never lost her calm, resigned fortitude, nor her consideration

for others. She speaks of and feels for her children, for her friends, but

never for herself. And it is equally characteristic of her that, even in

her own hopeless situation, she still can cherish hope for others, and can

look forward to the prospect of those whom she loves being hereafter

united in freedom and happiness. She thought, it may be, that her own

death would be the last sacrifice that her enemies would require. And for

even her enemies and murderers she had a word of pardon, and could address

a message of mercy for them to her son, who, she trusted, might yet some

day have power to show that mercy she enjoined, or to execute the

vengeance which with her last breath she deprecated.

She threw herself on her bed and fell asleep. At seven she was roused by

the executioner. The streets were already thronged with a fierce and

sanguinary mob, whose shouts of triumph were so vociferous that she asked

one of her jailers whether they would tear her to pieces. She was assured

that, as he expressed it, they would do her no harm. And indeed the

Jacobins themselves would have protected her from the populace, so anxious

were they to heap on her every indignity that would render death more

terrible. Louis had been allowed to quit the Temple in his carriage. Marie

Antoinette was to be drawn from the prison to the scaffold in a common

cart, seated on a bare plank; the executioner by her side, holding the

cords with which her hands were already bound. With a refinement of

barbarity, those who conducted the procession made it halt more than once,

that the people might gaze upon her, pointing her out to the mob with

words and gestures of the vilest insult. She heard them not; her thoughts

were with God: her lips were uttering nothing but prayers. Once for a

moment, as she passed in sight of the Tuileries, she was observed to cast

an agonized look toward its towers, remembering, perhaps, how reluctantly

she had quit it fourteen months before. It was midday before the cart

reached the scaffold. As she descended, she trod on the executioner's

foot. It might seem to have been ordained that her very last words might

be words of courtesy. "Excuse me, sir," she said, "I did not do it on

purpose;" and she added, "make haste." In a few moments all was over.

Her body was thrown into a pit in the common cemetery, and covered with

quicklime to insure its entire destruction. When, more than twenty years

afterward, her brother-in-law was restored to the throne, and with pious

affection desired to remove her remains and those of her husband to the

time-honored resting-place of their royal ancestors at St. Denis, no

remains of her who had once been the admiration of all beholders could be

found beyond some fragments of clothing, and one or two bones, among which

the faithful memory of Châteaubriand believed that he recognized the mouth

whose sweet smile had been impressed on his memory since the day on which

it acknowledged his loyalty on his first presentation, while still a boy,

at Versailles.

Thus miserably perished, by a death fit only for the vilest of criminals,

Marie Antoinette, the daughter of one sovereign, the wife of another, who

had never wronged or injured one human being. No one was ever more richly

endowed with all the charms which render woman attractive, or with all the

virtues that make her admirable. Even in her earliest years, her careless

and occasionally undignified levity was but the joyous outpouring of a

pure innocence of heart that, as it meant no evil, suspected none; while

it was ever blended with a kindness and courtesy which sprung from a

genuine benevolence. As queen, though still hardly beyond girlhood when

she ascended the throne, she set herself resolutely to work by her

admonitions, and still more effectually by her example, to purify a court

of which for centuries the most shameless profligacy had been the rule and

boast; discountenancing vice and impiety by her marked reprobation, and

reserving all her favor and protection for genius and patriotism, and

honor and virtue. Surrounded at a later period by unexampled dangers and

calamities, she showed herself equal to every vicissitude of fortune, and

superior to its worst frowns. If her judgment occasionally erred, it was

in cases where alternatives of evil were alone offered to her choice, and

in which it is even now scarcely possible to decide what course would have

been wiser or safer than that which she adopted. And when at last the long

conflict was terminated by the complete victory of her combined enemies--

when she, with her husband and her children, was bereft not only of power,

but even of freedom, and was a prisoner in the hands of those whose

unalterable object was her destruction--she bore her accumulated miseries

with a serene resignation, an intrepid fortitude, a true heroism of soul,

of which the history of the world does not afford a brighter example.

FOOTNOTES

PREFACE

[1] One entitled "Marie-Antoinette, correspondance secrète entre Marie-

Thérèse et le Comte Mercy d'Argenteau, avec des lettres de Marie-Thérèse

et de Marie-Antoinette." (The edition referred to in this work is the

greatly enlarged second edition in three volumes, published at Paris,

1875.) The second is entitled "Marie-Antoinette, Joseph II., and Leopold

II," published at Leipsic, 1866.

[2] Entitled "Louis XVI, Marie-Antoinette, et Madame Elizabeth," in six

volumes, published at intervals from 1864 to 1873.

[3] In his "Nouveau Lundi," March 5th, 1866, M. Sainte-Beuve challenged M.

Feuillet de Conches to a more explicit defense of the authenticity of his

collection than he had yet vouchsafed; complaining, with some reason, that

his delay in answering the charges brought against it "was the more

vexatious because his collection was only attacked in part, and in many

points remained solid and valuable." And this challenge elicited from M.F.

de Conches a very elaborate explanation of the sources from which he

procured his documents, which he published in the _Revue des Deux Mondes_,

July 15th, 1866, and afterward in the Preface to his fourth volume. That

in a collection of nearly a thousand documents he may have occasionally

been too credulous in accepting cleverly executed forgeries as genuine

letters is possible, and even probable; in fact, the present writer

regards it as certain. But the vast majority, including all those of the

greatest value, can not be questioned without imputing to him a guilty

knowledge that they were forgeries--a deliberate bad faith, of which no

one, it is believed, has ever accused him.

It may be added that it is only from the letters of this later period that

any quotations are made in the following work; and the greater part of the

letters so cited exists in the archives at Vienna, while the others, such

as those, addressed by the Queen, to Madame de Polignac, etc., are just

such as were sure to be preserved as relics by the families of those to

whom they were addressed, and can therefore hardly be considered as liable

to the slightest suspicion.

CHAPTER I.

[1] Sainte-Beuve, "Nouveaux Lundis," August 8th, 1864.

CHAPTER II.

[1] "Histoire de Marie Antoinette," par E. and J. de Goncourt, p. 11.

[2] How popular masked halls were in London at this time may be learned

from Walpole's "Letters," and especially from a passage in which he gives

an account of one given by "sixteen or eighteen young Lords" just two

months before this ball at Vienna.--_Walpole to Mann_, dated February

27th, 1770. Some one a few years later described the French nation as half

tiger and half monkey; and it is a singular coincidence that Walpole's

comment on this masquerading fashion should be, "It is very lucky, seeing

how much of the tiger enters into the human composition, that there should

be a good dose of the monkey too."

[3] "Mémoires concernant Marie Antoinette," par Joseph Weber (her foster-

brother), i., p. 6.

[4] "Goethe's Biography," p. 287.

[5] "Mémoires de Bachaumont," January 30th, 1770.

[6] La maison du roi.

[7] Chevalier d'honneur. We have no corresponding office at the English

court.

[8] The king said, "Vous étiez déjà de la famille, car votre mère a l'âme

de Louis le Grand."--SAINTE-BEUVE, _Nouveaux Lundis_, viii., p. 322.

[9] In the language of the French heralds, the title princes of the royal

family was confined to the children or grandchildren of the reigning

sovereign. His nephews and cousins were only princes of the blood.

CHAPTER III.

[1] The word is Maria Teresa's own; "anti-français" occurring in more than

one of her letters.

[2] Quoted by Mme. du Deffand in a letter to Walpole, dated May 19th, 1770

("Correspondance complète de Mme. du Deffand," ii., p.59).

[3] Mercy to Marie-Thérèse, August 4th, 1770; "Correspondance secrète

entre Marie-Thérèse et la Comte de Mercy Argenteau, avec des Lettres de

Marie-Thérèse et Marie Antoinette," par M. le Chevalier Alfred d'Arneth,

i., p. 29. For the sake of brevity, this Collection will be hereafter

referred to as "Arneth."

[4] "The King of France is both hated and despised, which seldom happens

to the same man."--LORD CHESTERFIELD, _Letter to Mr. Dayrolles_, dated May

19th, 1752.

[5] Maria Teresa died in December, 1780.

[6] Mme. du Deffand, letter of May 19th, 1770.

[7] Chambier, i., p. 60.

[8] Mme. de Campan, i., p. 3.

[9] He told Mercy she was "'vive et un peu enfant, mais," ajouta-t-il,

"cela est bien de son âge.'"--ARNETH, i., p. 11.

[10] Arneth, i., p.9-16

CHAPTER IV.

[1] Dates 9th and 12th., Arneth, i., pp. 16, 18.

[2] Marly was a palace belonging to the king, but little inferior in

splendor to Versailles itself, and a favorite residence of Louis XV.,

because a less strict etiquette had been established there. Choisy and

Bellevue, which will often be mentioned in the course of this narrative,

were two others of the royal palaces on a somewhat smaller scale. They

have both been destroyed. Marly, Choisy, and Bellevue were all between

Versailles and Paris.

[3] Mém. de Goncourt, quoting a MS. diary of Hardy, p. 35.

[4] De Vermond, who had accompanied her from Vienna as her reader.

[5] See St. Simon's account of Dangeau, i., p. 392.

[6] The Duc de Noailles, brother-in-law of the countess, "l'homme de

France qui a peut-être le plus d'esprit et qui connait le mieux son

souverain et la cour," told Mercy in August that "jugeant d'après son

expérience et d'après les qualités qu'il voyait dans cette princesse, il

était persuadé qu'elle gouvernerait un jour l'esprit du roi."--ARNETH, i.,

p. 34.

[7] La petite rousse.

[8] "De monter à cheval gâte le teint, et votre taille à la longue s'en

ressentira."--_Marie-Thérèse à Marie-Antoinette_, Arneth, i., p. 104.

[9] "On fit chercher partout des ânes fort doux et tranquilles. Le 21 on

répéta la promenade sur les ânes. Mesdames voulurent être de la partie

ainsi que le Comte de Provence et le Comte d'Artois."--_Mercy à Marie-

Thérèse_, September 19, 1770, Arneth, i., p. 49.

[10] "Madame la Dauphine, à laquelle le trésor royal doit remettre 6000

frs. par mois, n'a réellement pas un écu dont elle peut disposer elle-même

et sans le concours de personne" (Octobre 20).--ARNETH, i. p. 69.

[11] "Ses garçons de chambre reçoivent cent louis [a louis was twenty-four

francs, so that the hundred made 2100 francs out of her 6000] par mois

pour la dépense du jeu de S.A.R.; et soit qu'elle perde ou qu'elle gagne,

on ne revoit rien de cette somme."--ARNETH, i.

[12] "Mme. Adelaide ajouta, 'On voit bien que vous n'êtes pas de notre

sang.'"--ARNETH, i., p. 94.

[13] Arneth, i., p. 95.

[14] "Finalement, Mme. la Dauphine se fait adorer de ses entours et du

public; il n'est pas encore survenu un seul inconvénient grave dans sa

conduite."--_Mercy à Marie-Thérèse_, Novembre 16, Arneth, i., p. 98.

[15] Prince de Ligne, "Mém." ii., p. 79.

[16] Mercy to Maria Teresa, dated November 17th, 1770, Arneth, i., p. 94.

[17] Mercy to Maria Teresa, dated February 25th, 1771, Arneth, i, p. 134.

CHAPTER V

[1] See the "Citizen of the World," Letter 55. Reference has often been

made to Lord Chesterfield's prediction of the French Revolution. But I am

not aware that any one has remarked on the equally acute foresight of

Goldsmith.

[2] Letter of April 16th, 1771, Arneth, i., p. 148.

[3] Arneth, i., p. 186.

[4] Maria Teresa to Marie Antoinette, July 9th, and August 17th, Arneth,

i., p. 196.

[5] "Ne soyez pas honteuse d'être allemande jusqu'aux gaucheries.... Le

Français vous estimera plus et fera plus de compte sur vous s'il vous

trouve la solidité et la franchise allemande."--_Maria Teresa to Marie

Antoinette._ May 8th, 1771, Arneth, i., p. 159.

[6] Walpole's letter to Sir H. Mann, June 8th, 1771, v., p. 301.

[7] Mercy to Maria Teresa, January 23d, 1772, Arneth, i., p. 265.

[8] The Duc de la Vauguyon, who, after the dauphin's marriage, still

retained his post with his younger brother.

CHAPTER VI

[1] Mercy's letter to the empress, August 14th, 1772, Arneth, i., p. 335.

[2] Mercy to Maria Teresa, November 14th, 1772, Arneth, i., p. 307.

[3] Marie Antoinette to Maria Teresa, December 15th, 1772, Arneth, i., p.

382.

[4] Her sister Caroline, Queen of Naples.

[5] Her brother Leopold, at present Grand Duke of Tuscany, afterward

emperor. His wife, Marie Louise, was a daughter of Charles III. of Spain.

[6] They, with several of the princes of the blood and some of the peers,

as already mentioned, had been banished for their opposition to the

abolition of the Parliaments; but now, in the hopes of obtaining the

king's consent to his marriage with Madame de Montessan, a widow of

enormous wealth, the Due d'Orléans made overtures for forgiveness,

accompanying them, however, with a letter so insolent that it might we be

regarded as an aggravation of his original offense. According to Madame du

Deffand (letter to Walpole, December 18th, 1772, vol. ii., p. 283), he was

only prevented from reconciling himself to the king some months before by

his son, the Due de Chartres (afterward the infamous Égalité), whom she

describes as "a young man, very obstinate, and who hopes to play a great

part by putting himself at the head of a faction." The princes, however,

in the view of the shrewd old lady, had made the mistake of greatly

overrating their own importance. "These great princes, since their

protest, have been just citizens of the Rue St. Denis. No one at court

ever perceived their absence, and no one in the city ever noticed their

presence."

[7] Lord Stormont, the English Embassador at Vienna, from which city he

was removed to Paris. In the preceding September Maria Teresa had

complained to him of being "animated against her cabinet, from indignation

at the partition of Poland."

[8] That is, sisters-in-law--the Princesses Clotilde and Elizabeth.

[9] The Hotel-Dieu was the most ancient hospital in Paris. It had already

existed several hundred years when Philip Augustus enlarged it, and gave

it the name of Maison de Dieu. Henry IV. and his successors had further

enlarged it, and enriched it with monuments; and even the revolutionists

respected it, though when they had disowned the existence of God they

changed its name to that of L'Hospice de l'Humanité. It had been almost

destroyed by fire a fortnight before the date of this letter, on the night

of the 29th of December.

[10] St. Anthony's Day was June 14th, and her name of Antoinette was

regarded as placing her under his especial protection.

CHAPTER VII

[1] They have not, however, been preserved.

[2] Mercy to Maria Teresa, June 16th, 1773, Arneth, i., p. 467.

[3] "Marie Antoinette, Louis XVI., et la Famille Royale", p. 23.

[4] Marie Antoinette to Maria Theresa, July 17th, Arneth, ii., p. 8.

[5] "Histoire de Marie Antoinette," par M. de Goncourt, p. 50. Quoting an

unpublished journal by M.M. Hardy, in the Royal Library.

[6] It is the name by which she is more than once described in Madame du

Deffand's letters. See her "Correspondence," ii., p. 357.

[7] Mercy to Maria Teresa, December 11th, 1773, Arneth, ii., p. 81.

[8] "Mémoires de Besenval," i., p. 304.

CHAPTER VIII

[1] Mercy to Maria Teresa, August 14th, 1773, Arneth, ii., p. 31.

[2] The money was a joint gift from herself as well as from him. Great

distress, arising from the extraordinarily high price of bread, was at

this time prevailing in Paris.

[3] The term most commonly used by Marie Antoinette in her letters to her

mother to describe Madame du Barri. She was ordered to retire to the Abbey

of Pont-aux-Dames, near Meaux. Subsequently she was allowed to return to

Luciennes, a villa which her royal lover had given her.

[4] Madame de Mazarin was the lady who, by the fulsomeness of her

servility to Madame du Barri, provoked Madame du Deffand (herself a lady

not altogether _sans reproche_) to say that it was not easy to carry "the

heroism of baseness and absurdity farther."

[5] Lorraine had become a French province a few years before, on the death

of Stanislaus Leczinsky, father of the queen of Louis XV.

[6] Maria Teresa to Marie Antoinette, May 18th, and to Mercy on the same

day, Arneth, ii., p. 149.

[7] See his letter of 8th May to Maria Teresa. "Il faut que pour la suite

de son bonheur, elle commence à s'emparer de l'autorité que M. le Dauphin

n'exercera jamais que d'une façon convenable, et ... ce serait du dernier

danger et pour l'état et pour le système général que qui ce soit s'emparât

de M. le Dauphin et qu'il fut conduit par autre que par Madame la

Dauphine."--ARNETH, ii., p. 137.

[8] "Je parle à l'amie, à la confidente du roi."--_Maria Teresa to Marie

Antoinette_, May 30th, 1770, Arneth, ii., p. 155.

[9] "Jusqu'à présent l'étiquette de cette cour a toujours interdit aux

reines et princesses royales de manger avec des hommes."--_Mercy to Maria

Teresa_, June 7th, 1774, Arneth, ii, p. 164

[10] "Elle me traite, à mon arrivée, comme tous les jeunes gens qui

composaient ses pages, qu'elle comblait de bontés, en leur montrant une

bienveillance pleine de dignité, mais qu'on pouvait aussi appeler

maternelle."--_Marie Thérèse, Mémoires de Tilly_, i., p. 25.

[11] Le don, ou le droit, de joyeux avènement.

[12] La ceinture de la reine. It consisted of three pence (deniers) on

each hogs-head of wine imported into the city, and was levied every three

years in the capital.--ARNETH, ii, p. 179.

[13] The title "ceinture de la reine" had been given to it because in the

old times queens and all other ladies had carried their purses at their

girdles.

CHAPTER IX

[1] The title by which the count was usually known: that of the countess

was madame.

[2] St. Simon, 1709, ch. v., and 1715, ch. i, vols. vii. and xiii., ed.

1829.

[3] Ibid., 1700, ch xxx., vol. ii., p. 469.

[4] Arneth, ii, p. 206.

[5] Madame de Campan, ch. iv.

[6] Madame de Campan, ch. v., p. 106.

[7] _Id._, p. 101.

[8] "_Sir Peter_. Ah, madam, true wit is more neatly allied to good--

nature than your ladyship is aware of."--_School for Scandal_, act ii.,

sc. 2.

CHAPTER X

[1] "Elle avait entièrement le défaut contraire [à la prodigalité], et je

pouvais prouver qu'elle portait souvent l'économie jusqu'à des détails

d'une mesquinerie blâmable, surtout dans une souveraine."--MADAME DE

CAMPAN, ch. v., p. 106, ed. 1858.

[2] Arneth, ii., p. 307.

[3] See the author's "History of France under the Bourbons," iii., p.

418. Lacretelle, iv., p. 368, affirms that this outbreak, for which in his

eyes "une prétendue disette" was only a pretext, was "évidemment fomenté

par des hommes puissans," and that "un salaire qui était payé par des

hommes qu'on ne pouvait nommer aujourd'hui avec assez de certitude,

excitait leurs fureurs factices."

[4] La Guerre des Farines.

[5] Arneth, ii., p. 342.

[6] "Souvenirs de Vaublanc," i., p. 231.

[7] August 23d, 1775, No. 1524, in Cunningham's edition, vol. vi., p. 245.

[8] The Prince of Wales and the Duke of York, who were just at this time

astonishing London with their riotous living.

CHAPTER XI

[1] "Gustave III. et la Cour de France," i. p. 279.

[2] The Duc d'Angoulême, afterward dauphin, when the Count d'Artois

succeeded to the throne as Charles X.

[3] Marie Antoinette to Maria Teresa, August 12th, 1775, Arneth, ii., p.

366.

[4] "Le projet de la reine était d'exiger du roi que le Sieur Turgot fût

chassé, même envoyé à la Bastille ... et il a fallu les représentations

les plus fortes et les plus instantes pour arrêter les effets de la colère

de la Reine."--_Mercy to Maria Teresa_, May 16th, 1776, Arneth, ii., p.

446.

[5] The compiler of "Marie Antoinette, Louis XVI., et La Famille Royale"

(date April 24th, 1776) has a story of a conversation between the king and

queen which illustrates her feeling toward the minister. She had just come

in from the opera. He asked her "how she had been received by the

Parisians; if she had had the usual cheers." She made no reply; the king

understood her silence. "Apparently, madame, you had not feathers enough."

"I should have liked to have seen you there, sir, with your St. Germain

and your Turgot; you would have been rudely hissed." St. Germain was the

minister of war.

[6] Mercy to Maria Teresa, May 16th, 1776, Arneth, ii., p. 446.

[7] January 14th, 1776, Arneth, ii., p. 414.

[8] The ground-floor of the palace was occupied by the shops of jewelers

and milliners, some of whom were great sufferers by the fire.

[9] In a letter written at the end of 1775, Mercy reports to the empress

that some of Turgot's economical reforms had produced real discontent

among those "qui trouvent leur intérêt dans le désordre," which they had

vented in scandalous and seditious writings. Many songs of that character

had come out, some of which were attributed to Beaumarchais, "le roi et la

reine n'y ont point été respectés."--_December 17th_, 1775. Arneth, ii, p.

410.

[10] Mercy to Maria Teresa, November 15th, 1776, Arneth, ii., p. 524.

CHAPTER XII.

[1] "Le petit nombre de ceux que la Reine appelle 'sa société'"--_Mercy to

Marie Teresa_, February 15th, 1777, Arneth, iii., p. 18.

[2] "Il faut cependant convenir que dans ces circonstances si rapprochées

de la familiarité, la Reine, par un maintien qui tient à son âme, a

toujours su imprimer à ceux qui l'entouraient une contenance de respect

qui contrebalançait un peu la liberté des propos."--_Mercy to Maria

Teresa_, Arneth, ii, p.520.

[3] Brunoy is about fifteen miles from Paris.

[4] "Au reste il est temps pour la santé de la Reine que le carnaval

finisse. On remarque qu'elle s'en altère, et que sa Majesté maigrit

beaucoup."--_Marie Thérèse à Louis XVI._, la date Février 1, 1777, p 101.

[5] Once when he had spoken to her with a severity which alarmed Mercy,

who feared it might irritate the queen, "Il me dit en riant qu'il en avait

agi ainsi pour sonder l'âme de la reine, et voir si par la force il n'y

aurait pas moyen d'obtenir plus que par la douceur."--_Mercy to Maria

Teresa_, Arneth, iii., p. 79.

[6] Arneth, iii., p. 73.

CHAPTER XIII.

[1] When Mercy remonstrated with her on her relapse into some of her old

habits from which at first she seemed to have weaned herself, "La seule

réponse que j'aie obtenu a été la crainte de s'ennuyer."--_Mercy to Maria

Teresa_, November 19th, 1777, Arneth, iii., p. 13.

[2] See Marie Antoinette's account to her mother of his quarrel with the

Duchess de Bourbon at a _bal de l'opéra_, Arneth, iii., p. 174.

[3] "Il y a apparence que notre marine dont on s'occupe depuis longtemps

va bientôt être en activité. Dieu veuille que tous ces mouvements

n'amènent pas la guerre de terre."--_Marie Antoinette to Maria Teresa_,

March 18th, 1777, Arneth, iii., p. 174.

[4] "Jamais les Anglais n'ont eu tant de supériorité sur mer; mais ils en

eurent sur les Français dans tous les temps."--_Siècle de Louis_, ch xxxv.

[5] The Comte de la Marck, who knew him well, says of him, "Il était

gauche dans toutes ses manières; sa taille était très élevée, ses cheveux

très roux, il dansait sans grâce, montait mal à cheval, et les jeunes gens

avec lesquels il vivait se montraient plus adroits que lui dans les

diverses exercices d'alors à la mode." He describes his income as "une

fortune de 120,000 livres de rente," a little under £5000 a year.--

_Correspondance entre le Comte de Mirabeau et le Comte de la Marck_, i. p.

47.

[6] "On a parlé de moi dans tous les cercles, même après que la bonté de

la reine m'eut valu le régiment du roi dragons."--_Mémoires de ma Main,

Mémoires de La Fayette_, i., p 86.

[7] "La lettre où Votre Majesté, parlant du Roi de Prusse, s'exprime ainsi

.... 'cela ferait un changement dans notre alliance, ce qui me donnerait

la mort,' j'ai vu la reine pâlir en me lisant cet article."--_Mercy to

Maria Teresa_, February 18th, 1778, Arneth, iii., p. 170.

[8] See Coxe's "House of Austria," ch. cxxi. The war, which was marked by

no action or event of importance, was terminated by the treaty of Teschen,

May 10th, 1779.

[9] "Il n'a pas voulu y consentir, et a toujours été attentif à exciter

lui-même la reine aux choses qu'il jugeait pouvoir lui être agréables."--

_Mercy to Maria Teresa_, March 29th, 1778, Arneth, iii., p. 177.

[10] Marie Antoinette to Joseph II, and Leopold II., p. 21, date January

16th, 1778.

[11] Louis.

[12] Marie Antoinette to Maria Teresa, May 16th, Arneth, iii., p. 200.

[13] Weber, i., p.40.

[14] One of his admirers, seeing his mortification, said to him: "You are

very simple to have wished to go to court. Do you know what would have

happened to you? I will tell you. The king, with his usual affability,

would have laughed in your face, and talked to you of your converts at

Ferney. The queen would have spoken of your plays. Monsieur would have

asked you what your income was. Madame would have quoted some of your

verses. The Countess of Artois would have said nothing at all; and the

count would have conversed with you about 'the Maid of Orleans.'"--_Marie

Antoinette, Louis XVI. et la Famille Royale_, p. 125, March 3d.

CHAPTER XIV.

[1] "La cour se précipite pêle-mêle avec la foule, car l'étiquette de

France veut que tous entrent à ce moment, que nul ne soit refusé, et que

le spectacle soit public d'une reine qui va donner un héritier à la

couronne, ou seulement un enfant au roi."--_Mém. de Goncourt_, p. 105.

[2] Arneth, iii., p. 270.

[3] Madame de Campan, ch. ix.

[4] _Ibid_., ch. ix.

[5] Chambrier, i., p. 394.

[6] "Marie Antoinette, Louis XVI., et la Famille Royale," p. 147, December

24th, 1778.

[7] _Garde-malades_ was the name given to them.

[8] "Du moment qu'ils [les enfants] peuvent être à l'air on les y

accoutume petit à petit, et ils finissent par y être presque toujours; je

crois que c'est la manière la plus saine et la meilleure des les élever."

[9] Letter of Marie Antoinette to Maria Teresa, May 15th, 1779, Arneth,

iii., p. 311.

[10] Maria Teresa had offered the mediation of the empire to restore peace

between England and France.

[11] Spain had recently entered into the alliance against England in the

hope of recovering Gibraltar. And just at the date of this letter the

combined fleet of sixty-six sail of the line sailed into the Channel,

while a French army of 50,000 men was waiting at St. Malo to invade

England so soon as the British Channel fleet should have been defeated;

but, though Sir Charles Hardy had only forty sail under his orders,

D'Orvilliers and his Spanish colleague retreated before him, and at the

beginning of September, from fear of the equinoctial gales, of which the

queen here speaks with such alarm, retired to their own harbors, without

even venturing to come to action with a foe of scarcely two-thirds of

their own strength. See the author's "History of the British Navy," ch.

xiv.

[12] Letter of September 15th.

[13] Letter of October 14th.

[14] Letter of November 16th.

[15] Letter of November 17th.

[16] Kaunitz had been the prime minister of the empress, who negotiated

the alliances with France and Russia, which were the preparations for the

Seven Years' War.

CHAPTER XV.

[1] "On assure que sa majesté ne joue pas bien; ce que personne, excepté

le roi, n'a osé lui dire. Au contraire, on l'applaudit à tout rompre."--

_Marie Antoinette, Louis XVI. et la Famille Royale_ p. 203, date September

28th, 1780.

[2] In May, 1780, Sir Henry Clinton took Charleston, with a great number

of prisoners, a great quantity of stores and four hundred guns.--LORD

STANHOPE'S _History of England_, ch. lxii.

[3] "Cette disposition a été faite deux ans plutôt que ne le comporte

l'usage établi pour les enfants de France."--_Mercy to Maria Teresa_,

October 14th, Arneth, iii. p. 476.

[4] Madame de Campan, ch. ix.

[5] "Gustave III. et la Cour de France," i., p. 349.

[6] An order known as that "du Mérite" had been recently distributed for

foreign Protestant officers, whose religion prevented them from taking the

oath required of the Knights of the Grand Order of St. Louis.

[7] "Sa figure et son air convenaient parfaitement à un héros de roman,

mais non pas d'un roman français; il n'en avait ni le brillant ni

légèreté."--_Souvenirs et Portraits_, par M. de Levis, p. 130.

[8] "La Marck et Mirabeau," p. 32.

[9] See his letter to Lord North proposing peace, date December 1st, 1780.

Lord Stanhope's "History of England," vol. vii., Appendix, p. 13.

CHAPTER XVI.

[1] "Gustave III. et la Cour de France," i., p. 357.

[2] Chambrier, i., p. 430; "Gustave III.," etc., i., p. 353.

[3] "Gustave III.," etc., i., p. 353.

[4] "Mémoires de Weber," i., p. 50.

[5] "On s'arrêtait dans les rues, on se parlait sans se connaître."--

Madame de Campan, ch. ix.

[6] L'Oeil de Boeuf.

[7] Madame de Campan, ch. ix.; "Marie Antoinette, Louis XII., et la

Famille Royale," p. 238.

[8] "Un soleil d'été"--Weber, i., p. 53.

[9] La Muette derived its name from _les mues_ of the deer who were reared

there. It had been enlarged by the Regent d'Orléans, who gave it to his

daughter, the Duchess de Berri; and it, was the frequent scene of the

orgies of that infamous father and daughter, while more recently it had

been known as the Parc aux Cerfs, under which title it had acquired a

still more infamous reputation.

[10] "Après le dîner il y eut appartement jeu, et la fête fut terminée par

un feu d'artifice."--Weber, i., p. 57, from whom the greater part of those

details are taken. For the etiquette of the "jeu," see Madame de Campan,

ch. ix., p. 17, and 2 ed. 1858.

CHAPTER XVII.

[1] Mercy to Maria Teresa, June 18th, 1780, Arneth iii., p. 440.

[2] Le tabouret. See St. Simon.

[3] See _infra_, the queen's letter to Madame de Tourzel, date July 25th,

1789.

[4] "Souvenirs de Quarante Ans," by Mademoiselle de Tourzel, p. 20.

[5] "Filia dolorosa."--Châteaubriand.

[6] Napoleon, in 1814, called her the only man of her family.

[7] Madame de Campan, ch. x.

[8] Mémoires de Madame d'Oberkirch, i., p. 279

[9] The Marshal Prince de Soubise, whose incapacity and cowardice caused

the disgraceful rout of Rosbach, was the head of this family; his sister,

Madame Marsan, as governess of the "children of France", had brought up

Louis XVI.

[10] "Il [Rohan] a même menacé, si on ne veut pas prendre le bon chemin

qui lui indique, que ma fille s'en ressentira."--_Marie-Thérèse à Mercy_,

August 28th, 1774, Arneth, ii., p. 226.

[11] "Ils paraissent si excédés du grand monde et des fêtes, qu'avec

d'autres petites difficultés qui se sont élevées, nous avons décidé qu'il

n'y aurait rien à Marly."--_Marie Antoinette to Mercy; Marie Antoinette,

Joseph II., and Leopold II_., p. 27.

[12] "No fewer than five actions were fought in 1782, and the spring of

1783, by those unwearied foes. De Suffrein's force was materially the

stronger of the two; it consisted of ten sail of the line, one fifty-gun

ship, and four frigates; while Sir E. Hughes had but eight sail of the

line, a fifty-gun ship, and one frigate," See the author's "History of the

British Navy," i., p. 400.

[13] Weber, i., p. 77. For the importance at this time attached to a

reception at court, see Châteaubriand, "Mémoires d'Outre-tombe," i., p.

221.

CHAPTER XVIII.

[1] Joseph to Marie Antoinette, date September 9th, 1783.--_Marie

Antoinette, Joseph II., and Leopold II._, p.30, which, to save such a

lengthened reference, will hereafter be referred to as "Arneth."

[2] She was again expecting a confinement; but, as had happened between

the birth of Madame Royale and that of the dauphin, an accident

disappointed her hope, and her third child was not born till 1785.

[3] Date September 29th, 1783, Arneth, p. 35.

[4] Ministre de la maison du roi.

[5] Arneth, p. 38.

CHAPTER XIX.

[1] "Le roi signa une lettre de cachet qui défendait cette

représentation."--Madame de Campan, ch. xi.; see the whole chapter. Madame

de Campan's account of the queen's inclinations on the subject differs

from that given by M. de Loménie, in his "Beaumarchais et son Temps," but

seems more to be relied on, as she had certainly better means of

information.

[2] See M. Gaillard's report to the lieutenant of police.--_Beaumarchais

et son Temps_, ii., p. 313.

[3] "Il n'y a que les petits hommes qui redoutent les petits écrits."--

_Act v., scene_ 3.

[4] "Avec _Goddam_ en, Angleterre on ne manque de rien nulle part. Voulez-

vous tâter un bon poulet gras ... _Goddam_ ... Aimez-vous à boire un coup

d'excellent Bourgogne ou de clairet? rien que celui-ci _Goddam_. Les

Anglais à la vérité ajoutent par-ci par-là autres mots en conversant, mais

il est bien aisé de voir que _Goddam_ est le fond de la langue."--_Act_

iii., _scene_ 5.

[5] "Gustave III. et la Cour de France," ii., p.22

[6] _Ibid_., p. 35.

CHAPTER XX.

[1] "De par la reine."

[2] Madame de Campan, ch. xi.

[3] "'La légèreté à tout croire et à tout dire des souverains,' écrit très

justement M. Nisard (_Moniteur_ du 22 Janvier, 1886), 'est un des travers

de notre pays, et comme le défaut de notre qualité de nation monarchique.

C'est ce travers qui a tué Marie Antoinette par la main des furieux qui

eurent peut-être des honnêtes gens pour complices. Sa mort devait rendre à

jamais impossible en France la calomnie politique.'"--Chambrier, i., p.

494.

[4] "Mémoires de la Reine de France," par M. Lafont d'Aussonne, p. 42.

[5] See her letters to Mercy, December 26th, 1784, and to the emperor,

December 31st, 1784, and February 4th, 1785, Arneth, p. 64, _et seq._

[6] "J'ai été réellement touchée, de la raison et de la fermeté que le roi

a mises dans cette rude séance."--_Marie Antoinette to Joseph II._, August

22d, 1785, Arneth, p. 93.

[7] "La calomnie s'est attachée à poursuivre la reine, même avant cette

époque où l'esprit de parti a fait disparaître la vérité de la terre."--

Madame de Staël, _Procès de la Reine_, p. 2

[8] Madame de Campan, "Éclaircissements Historiques," p. 461; "Marie

Antoinette et le Procès du Collier," par M. Émile Campardon, p. 144,

_seq._

[9] "Permet au Cardinal de Rohan et au dit de Cagliostro de faire imprimer

et afficher le présent arrêt partout où bon leur semblera."--Campardon, p.

152.

[10] "Sans doute le cardinal avait les mains pures de toute fraude; sans

doute il n'était pour rien dans l'escroquerie commise par les époux de La

Mothe."--Campardon, p. 155.

[11] Campardon, p. 153, quoting Madame de Campan.

[12] The most recent French historian, M.H. Martin, sees in this trial a

proof of the general demoralization of the whole French nation.

"L'impression qui en résulte pour nous est l'impossibilité que la reine

ait été coupable. Mais plus les imputations dirigées contre elle étaient

vraisemblables, plus la créance accordée à ces imputations était

caractéristique, et attestait la ruine morale de la monarchie. C'était

l'ombre du Parc aux Cerfs qui couvrait toujours Versailles."--_Histoire de

France_, xvi., p. 559, ed. 1860.

[13] Feuillet de Conches, i., p. 161.

[14] Feuillet de Conches, i., p. 162. Some of the critics of M.F. de

Conches's collection have questioned without sufficient reason the

probability of there having been any correspondence between the queen and

her elder sister. But the genuineness of this letter is strongly

corroborated by a mistake into which no forger would have fallen. The

queen speaks as if the cardinal had alleged that he had given her a rose;

while his statement really was that Oliva, personating the queen, had

dropped a rose at his feet. A forger would have made the letter Correspond

with the evidence and the fact. The queen, in her agitation, might easily

make a mistake.

[15] "Il se retira dans son évêché de l'autre côté du Rhin. Là sa noble

conduite fit oublier les torts de sa vie passée," etc.--Campardon, p. 156.

[16] Campardon, p. 156.

[17] It was from Ettenheim that the Duke d'Enghien was carried off in

March, 1804. The cardinal died in February, 1803.

CHAPTER XXI.

[1] "Le duc déclarait de son côté à Mr. Elliott que ... si la reine l'eût

mieux traité il eut peut-être mieux fait."--Chambrier, i., p.519

[2] Sophie Hélène Béatrix, born July 9th, 1786, died June 9th, 1787, F. de

Conches, i. p. 195.

[3] See her letter to her brother, February, 1788, Arneth, p. 112.

[4] "C'est un vrai enfant de paysan, grand frais et gros."--Arneth, pp.

113.

[5] Feuillet de Conches, i, p. 195.

[6] Apparently she means the Notables and the Parliament.

[7] The Duc de Guines.

[8] See _ante_, ch. xviii.

[9] "'Il faut,' dit-il, avec un mouvement d'impatience qui lui fit

honneur, 'que, du moins, l'archevêque de Paris croie en Dieu.'"--

_Souvenirs par le Duc de Levis_, p. 102.

[10] The continuer of Sismondi's history, A. Renée, however, attributes

the archbishop's appointment to the influence of the Baron de Breteuil.

[11] "Son grand art consistait à parler à chacun des choses qu'il croyait

qu'on ignorait."--De Levis, p. 100.

[12] The loan he proposed in June was eighty millions (of francs); in

October, that which he demanded was four hundred and forty millions.

[13] It is worth noticing that the French people in general did not regard

the power of arbitrary imprisonment exercised by their kings as a

grievance. In their eyes it was one of his most natural prerogatives. A

year or two before the time of which we are speaking, Dr. Moore, the

author of "Zeluco," and father of Sir John Moore, who fell at Corunna, was

traveling in France, and was present at a party of French merchants and

others of the same rank, who asked him many questions about the English

Constitution, When he said that the King of England could not impose a tax

by his own authority, "they said, with some degree of satisfaction,

'Cependant c'est assez beau cela.'"... But when he informed them "that the

king himself had not the power to encroach upon the liberty of the meanest

of his subjects, and that if he or the minister did so, damages were

recoverable in a court of law, a loud and prolonged 'Diable!' issued from

every mouth. They forgot their own situation, and turned to their natural

bias of sympathy with the king, who, they all seemed to think, must be the

most oppressed and injured of manhood. One of them at last, addressing

himself to the English politician, said, 'Tout ce que je puis vous dire,

monsieur, c'est que votre pauvre roi est bien à plaindre.'"--_A View of

the Society and Manners in France_, etc., by Dr. John Moore, vol. i., p.

47, ed. 1788.

CHAPTER XXII.

[1] Feuillet de Conches, i., p. 205.

[2] M. Foulon was about this time made paymaster of the army and navy, and

was generally credited with ability as a financier; but he was unpopular,

as a man of ardent and cruel temper, and was brutally murdered by the mob

in one of the first riots of the Revolution.

[3] The king.

[4] Necker.

[5] Feuillet de Conches, i., p. 214.

[6] _Ibid_., p. 217.

[7] On one occasion when the Marquis de Bouillé pointed out to him the

danger of some of his plans as placing the higher class at the mercy of

the mob, "dirigé par les deux passions les plus actives du coeur humain,

l'intérêt et l'amour propre, ... il me répondit froidement, en levant les

yeux au ciel, qu'il fallait bien compter sur les vertus morales des

hommes."--_Mémoires de M. de Bouillé_, p. 70; and Madame de Staël admits

of her father that he was "se fiant trop, il faut l'avouer, à l'empire de

la raison," and adds that he "étudia constamment l'esprit public, comme la

boussole à laquelle les décisions du roi devaient se conformer."--

_Considérations sur la Révolution Française_, i., pp. 171, 172.

[8] Her exact words are "si ... il fasse reculer l'autorité du roi" (if he

causes the king's authority to retreat before the populace or the

Parliament).

[9] "Histoire de Marie Antoinette," par M. Montjoye, p. 202.

[10] Madame de Campan, p. 412.

[11] This edict was registered in the "Chambre Syndicate," September 13th,

1787.--_La Reine Marie Antoinette et la Rév. Française, Recherches

Historiques_, par le Comte de Bel-Castel, p. 246.

[12] There is at the present moment so strong a pretension set up in many

constituencies to dictate to the members whom they send to Parliament as

if they were delegates, and not representatives, that it is worth while to

refer to the opinion which the greatest of philosophical statesman, Edmund

Burke, expressed on the subject a hundred years ago, in opposition to that

at a rival candidate who admitted and supported the claim of constituents

to furnish the member whom they returned to Parliament with "instructions"

of "coercive authority." He tells the citizens of Bristol plainly that

such a claim he ought not to admit, and never will. The "opinion" of

constituents is "a weighty and respectable opinion, which a representative

ought always to rejoice to hear, and which he ought most seriously to

consider; but _authoritative instruction_, mandates issued which the

member is bound blindly and implicitly to obey, to vote, and to argue for,

though contrary to the clearest conviction of his judgment and his

conscience; these are things utterly unknown to the laws of this land, and

which arise from a fundamental mistake of the whole order and tenor of our

constitution. Parliament is not a _congress_ of embassadors from different

and hostile interests...but Parliament is a _deliberative_ assembly of

_one_ nation, with _one_ interest, that of the whole, where not local

purposes, not local prejudices ought to guide, but the general good

resulting from the general reason of the whole. You choose a member

indeed; but when you have chosen him, he is not member of Bristol, but he

is a member of Parliament."--_General Election Speech at the Conclusion of

the Poll at Bristol_, November 3d, 1774, Burke's Works, vol. iii., pp. 19,

20, ed. 1803.

[13] De Tocqueville considers the feudal system in France in many points

more oppressive than that of Germany.--_Ancien Régime_, p. 43.

[14] Silence des grenouilles. Arthur Young, "Travels in France during

1787, '88, '89," p. 537. It is singular proof how entirely research into

the condition of the country and the people of France had been neglected

both by its philosophers and its statesmen, that there does not seem to

have been any publication in the language which gave information on these

subjects. And this work of Mr. Young's is the one to which modern French

writers, such as M. Alexis de Tocqueville, chiefly refer.

[15] "The _lettres de cachet_ were carried to an excess hardly credible;

to the length of being sold, with blanks, to be filled up with names at

the pleasure of the purchaser, who was thus able, in the gratification of

private revenge, to tear a man from the bosom of his family, and bury him

in a dungeon, where he would exist forgotten and die unknown."--A. Young,

p. 532. And in a note he gives an instance of an Englishman, named Gordon,

who was imprisoned in the Bastile for thirty years without even knowing

the reason of his arrest.

[16] Arthur Young, writing January 10th, 1790, identifies Les Enragés with

the club afterward so infamous as the Jacobins. "The ardent democrats who

have the reputation of being so much republican in principle that they do

not admit any political necessity for having even the name of the king,

are called the Enragés. They have a meeting at the Jacobins', the

Revolution Club which assembles every night in the very room in which the

famous League was formed in the reign of Henry III." (p. 267).

[17] M. Droz asserts that a collector of such publications bought two

thousand five hundred in the last three months of 1788, and that his

collection was far from complete.--_Histoire de Louis XVI_., ii., p. 180.

[18] "Tout auteur s'érige en législateur."--_Memorial of the Princes to

the King_, quoted in a note to the last chapter of Sismondi's History, p.

551, Brussels ed., 1849.

[19] In reality the numbers were even more in favor of the Commons: the

representatives of the clergy were three hundred and eight, and those of

the nobles two hundred and eighty-five, making only five hundred and

ninety-three of the two superior orders, while the deputies of the Tiers-

État were six hundred and twenty-one.--_Souvenirs de la Marquise de

Créquy_, vii., p. 58.

[20] "Se levant alors, 'Non,' dit le roi, 'ce ne peut être qu'à

Versailles, à cause des chasses.'"--LOUIS BLANC, ii., p. 212, quoting

Barante.

[21] "La reine adopta ce dernier avis [that the States should meet forty

or sixty leagues from the capital], et elle insista auprès du roi que l'on

s'eloignât de l'immense population de Paris. Elle craignait dès lors que

le peuple n'influençât les délibérations des députés."--MADAME DE CAMPAN,

ch 83.

[22] Chambrier, i., p. 562.

CHAPTER XXIII.

[1] It was called "L'insurrection du Faubourg St. Antoine."

[2] The best account of this riot is to be found in Dr. Moore's "Views of

the Causes and Progress of the French Revolution," i., p. 189.

[3] Madame de Campan specially remarks that the disloyal cry of "Vive le

Duc d'Orléans" came from "les femmes du peuple" (ch. xiii.).

[4] Afterward Louis Philippe, King of the French.

[5] "View of the Causes and Progress of the French Revolution," by Dr.

Moore, i., p. 144.

[6] The dauphin was too ill to be present. The children were Madame Royale

and the Duc de Normandie, who became dauphin the next month by the death

of his elder brother.

[7] "Aucun nom propre, excepté le sien, n'était encore célèbre dans les

six cents députés du Tiers."--_Considérations sur la Révolution

Française_, pp. 186, 187

[8] In the first weeks of the session he told the Count de la Marck, "On

ne sortira plus de là sans un gouvernement plus ou moins semblable à celui

d'Angleterre."--_Correspondance entre le comte de la Marck_, i., p. 67.

[9] He employed M. Malouet, a very influential member of the Assembly, as

his agent to open his views to Necker, saying to him, "Je m'adresse donc à

votre probité. Vous êtes lié avec MM. Necker et de Montmorin, vous devez

savoir ce qu'ils veulent, et s'ils ont un plan; si ce plan est raisonnable

je le défendrai."--_Correspondance de Mirabeau et La Marck_, i., p. 219.

[10] There is some uncertainty about Mirabeau's motives and connections at

this time. M. de Bacourt, the very diligent and judicious editor of that

correspondence with De la Marck which has been already quoted, denies that

Mirabeau ever received money from the Duc d'Orléans, or that he had any

connection with his party or his views. The evidence on the other side

seems much stronger, and some of the statements of the Comte de la Marck

contained in that volume go to exculpate Mirabeau from all complicity in

the attack on Versailles on the 9th of October, which seems established by

abundant testimony.