The ever-memorable oath of the States General, taken at the Tennis Court
of Versailles, was followed by the royal sitting of the 23d of June. In
this seance the King declared that the Orders must vote separately, and
threatened, if further obstacles were met with, to himself act for the
good of the people. The Queen looked on M. Necker's not accompanying the
King as treachery or criminal cowardice: she said that he had converted a
remedy into poison; that being in full popularity, his audacity, in openly
disavowing the step taken by his sovereign, had emboldened the factious,
and led away the whole Assembly; and that he was the more culpable
inasmuch as he had the evening before given her his word to accompany the
King. In vain did M. Necker endeavour to excuse himself by saying that
his advice had not been followed.
Soon afterwards the insurrections of the 11th, 12th, and 14th of
July--[The Bastille was taken on the 14th July, 1789.]--opened the
disastrous drama with which France was threatened. The massacre of M. de
Flesselles and M. de Launay drew bitter tears from the Queen, and the idea
that the King had lost such devoted subjects wounded her to the heart.
The character of the movement was no longer merely that of a popular
insurrection; cries of "Vive la Nation! Vive le Roi! Vive la Liberte!"
threw the strongest light upon the views of the reformers. Still the
people spoke of the King with affection, and appeared to think him
favourable to the national desire for the reform of what were called
abuses; but they imagined that he was restrained by the opinions and
influence of the Comte d'Artois and the Queen; and those two august
personages were therefore objects of hatred to the malcontents. The
dangers incurred by the Comte d'Artois determined the King's first step
with the States General. He attended their meeting on the morning of the
15th of July with his brothers, without pomp or escort; he spoke standing
and uncovered, and pronounced these memorable words: "I trust myself to
you; I only wish to be at one with my nation, and, counting on the
affection and fidelity of my subjects, I have given orders to the troops
to remove from Paris and Versailles." The King returned on foot from the
chamber of the States General to his palace; the deputies crowded after
him, and formed his escort, and that of the Princes who accompanied him.
The rage of the populace was pointed against the Comte d'Artois, whose
unfavourable opinion of the double representation was an odious crime in
their eyes. They repeatedly cried out, "The King for ever, in spite of
you and your opinions, Monseigneur!" One woman had the impudence to come
up to the King and ask him whether what he had been doing was done
sincerely, and whether he would not be forced to retract it.
The courtyards of the Chateau were thronged with an immense concourse of
people; they demanded that the King and Queen, with their children, should
make their appearance in the balcony. The Queen gave me the key of the
inner doors, which led to the Dauphin's apartments, and desired me to go
to the Duchesse de Polignac to tell her that she wanted her son, and had
directed me to bring him myself into her room, where she waited to show
him to the people. The Duchess said this order indicated that she was not
to accompany the Prince. I did not answer; she squeezed my hand, saying,
"Ah! Madame Campan, what a blow I receive!" She embraced the child and me
with tears. She knew how much I loved and valued the goodness and the
noble simplicity of her disposition. I endeavoured to reassure her by
saying that I should bring back the Prince to her; but she persisted, and
said she understood the order, and knew what it meant. She then retired to
her private room, holding her handkerchief to her eyes. One of the
under-governesses asked me whether she might go with the Dauphin; I told
her the Queen had given no order to the contrary, and we hastened to her
Majesty, who was waiting to lead the Prince to the balcony.
Having executed this sad commission, I went down into the courtyard, where
I mingled with the crowd. I heard a thousand vociferations; it was easy
to see, by the difference between the language and the dress of some
persons among the mob, that they were in disguise. A woman, whose face
was covered with a black lace veil, seized me by the arm with some
violence, and said, calling me by my name, "I know you very well; tell
your Queen not to meddle with government any longer; let her leave her
husband and our good States General to effect the happiness of the
people." At the same moment a man, dressed much in the style of a
marketman, with his hat pulled down over his eyes, seized me by the other
arm, and said, "Yes, yes; tell her over and over again that it will not be
with these States as with the others, which produced no good to the
people; that the nation is too enlightened in 1789 not to make something
more of them; and that there will not now be seen a deputy of the 'Tiers
Etat' making a speech with one knee on the ground; tell her this, do you
hear?" I was struck with dread; the Queen then appeared in the balcony.
"Ah!" said the woman in the veil, "the Duchess is not with her."--"No,"
replied the man, "but she is still at Versailles; she is working
underground, molelike; but we shall know how to dig her out." The
detestable pair moved away from me, and I reentered the palace, scarcely
able to support myself. I thought it my duty to relate the dialogue of
these two strangers to the Queen; she made me repeat the particulars to
the King.
About four in the afternoon I went across the terrace to Madame Victoire's
apartments; three men had stopped under the windows of the throne-chamber.
"Here is that throne," said one of them aloud, "the vestiges of which will
soon be sought for." He added a thousand invectives against their
Majesties. I went in to the Princess, who was at work alone in her
closet, behind a canvass blind, which prevented her from being seen by
those without. The three men were still walking upon the terrace; I
showed them to her, and told her what they had said. She rose to take a
nearer view of them, and informed me that one of them was named
Saint-Huruge; that he was sold to the Duc d'Orleans, and was furious
against the Government, because he had been confined once under a 'lettre
de cachet' as a bad character.
The King was not ignorant of these popular threats; he also knew the days
on which money was scattered about Paris, and once or twice the Queen
prevented my going there, saying there would certainly be a riot the next
day, because she knew that a quantity of crown pieces had been distributed
in the faubourgs.
[I have seen a six-franc crown piece, which certainly served to pay some
wretch on the night of the 12th of July; the words "Midnight, 12th July,
three pistols," were rather deeply engraven on it. They were, no doubt, a
password for the first insurrection. --MADAME COMPAN]
On the evening of the 14th of July the King came to the Queen's
apartments, where I was with her Majesty alone; he conversed with her
respecting the scandalous report disseminated by the factious, that he had
had the Chamber of the National Assembly undermined, in order to blow it
up; but he added that it became him to treat such absurd assertions with
contempt, as usual; I ventured to tell him that I had the evening before
supped with M. Begouen, one of the deputies, who said that there were very
respectable persons who thought that this horrible contrivance had been
proposed without the King's knowledge. "Then," said his Majesty, "as the
idea of such an atrocity was not revolting to so worthy a man as M.
Begouen, I will order the chamber to be examined early to-morrow morning."
In fact, it will be seen by the King's, speech to the National Assembly,
on the 15th of July, that the suspicions excited obtained his attention.
"I know," said he in the speech in question, "that unworthy insinuations
have been made; I know there are those who have dared to assert that your
persons are not safe; can it be necessary to give you assurances upon the
subject of reports so culpable, denied beforehand by my known character?"
The proceedings of the 15th of July produced no mitigation of the
disturbances. Successive deputations of poissardes came to request the
King to visit Paris, where his presence alone would put an end to the
insurrection.
On the 16th a committee was held in the King's apartments, at which a most
important question was discussed: whether his Majesty should quit
Versailles and set off with the troops whom he had recently ordered to
withdraw, or go to Paris to tranquillise the minds of the people. The
Queen was for the departure. On the evening of the 16th she made me take
all her jewels out of their cases, to collect them in one small box, which
she might carry off in her own carriage. With my assistance she burnt a
large quantity of papers; for Versailles was then threatened with an early
visit of armed men from Paris.
The Queen, on the morning of the 16th, before attending another committee
at the King's, having got her jewels ready, and looked over all her
papers, gave me one folded up but not sealed, and desired me not to read
it until she should give me an order to do so from the King's room, and
that then I was to execute its contents; but she returned herself about
ten in the morning; the affair was decided; the army was to go away
without the King; all those who were in imminent danger were to go at the
same time. "The King will go to the Hotel de Ville to-morrow," said the
Queen to me; "he did not choose this course for himself; there were long
debates on the question; at last the King put an end to them by rising and
saying, 'Well, gentlemen, we must decide; am I to go or to stay? I am
ready to do either.' The majority were for the King staying; time will
show whether the right choice has been made." I returned the Queen the
paper she had given me, which was now useless; she read it to me; it
contained her orders for the departure; I was to go with her, as well on
account of my office about her person as to serve as a teacher to Madame.
The Queen tore the paper, and said, with tears in her eyes, "When I wrote
this I thought it would be useful, but fate has ordered otherwise, to the
misfortune of us all, as I much fear."
After the departure of the troops the new administration received thanks;
M. Necker was recalled. The artillery soldiers were undoubtedly
corrupted. "Wherefore all these guns?" exclaimed the crowds of women who
filled the streets. "Will you kill your mothers, your wives, your
children?"--"Don't be afraid," answered the soldiers; "these guns shall
rather be levelled against the tyrant's palace than against you!"
The Comte d'Artois, the Prince de Conde, and their children set off at the
same time with the troops. The Duc and Duchesse de Polignac, their
daughter, the Duchesse de Guiche, the Comtesse Diane de Polignac, sister
of the Duke, and the Abbe de Baliviere, also emigrated on the same night.
Nothing could be more affecting than the parting of the Queen and her
friend; extreme misfortune had banished from their minds the recollection
of differences to which political opinions alone had given rise. The
Queen several times wished to go and embrace her once more after their
sorrowful adieu, but she was too closely watched. She desired M. Campan
to be present at the departure of the Duchess, and gave him a purse of
five hundred Louis, desiring him to insist upon her allowing the Queen to
lend her that sum to defray her expenses on the road. The Queen added
that she knew her situation; that she had often calculated her income, and
the expenses occasioned by her place at Court; that both husband and wife
having no other fortune than their official salaries, could not possibly
have saved anything, however differently people might think at Paris.
M. Campan remained till midnight with the Duchess to see her enter her
carriage. She was disguised as a femme de chambre, and got up in front of
the Berlin; she requested M. Campan to remember her frequently to the
Queen, and then quitted for ever that palace, that favour, and that
influence which had raised her up such cruel enemies. On their arrival at
Sens the travellers found the people in a state of insurrection; they
asked all those who came from Paris whether the Polignacs were still with
the Queen. A group of inquisitive persons put that question to the Abbe
de Baliviere, who answered them in the firmest tone, and with the most
cavalier air, that they were far enough from Versailles, and that we had
got rid of all such bad people. At the following stage the postilion got
on the doorstep and said to the Duchess, "Madame, there are some good
people left in the world: I recognised you all at Sens." They gave the
worthy fellow a handful of gold.
On the breaking out of these disturbances an old man above seventy years
of age gave the Queen an extraordinary proof of attachment and fidelity.
M. Peraque, a rich inhabitant of the colonies, father of M. d'Oudenarde,
was coming from Brussels to Paris; while changing horses he was met by a
young man who was leaving France, and who recommended him if he carried
any letters from foreign countries to burn them immediately, especially if
he had any for the Queen. M. Peraque had one from the Archduchess, the
Gouvernante of the Low Countries, for her Majesty. He thanked the
stranger, and carefully concealed his packet; but as he approached Paris
the insurrection appeared to him so general and so violent, that he
thought no means could be relied on for securing this letter from seizure.
He took upon him to unseal it, and learned it by heart, which was a
wonderful effort for a man at his time of life, as it contained four pages
of writing. On his arrival at Paris he wrote it down, and then presented
it to the Queen, telling her that the heart of an old and faithful subject
had given him courage to form and execute such a resolution. The Queen
received M. Peraque in her closet, and expressed her gratitude in an
affecting manner most honourable to the worthy old man. Her Majesty
thought the young stranger who had apprised him of the state of Paris was
Prince George of Hesse-Darmstadt, who was very devoted to her, and who
left Paris at that time.
The Marquise de Tourzel replaced the Duchess de Polignac. She was
selected by the Queen as being the mother of a family and a woman of
irreproachable conduct, who had superintended the education of her own
daughters with the greatest success.
The King went to Paris on the 17th of July, accompanied by the Marechal de
Beauvau, the Duc de Villeroi, and the Duc de Villequier; he also took the
Comte d'Estaing, and the Marquis de Nesle, who were then very popular, in
his carriage. Twelve Body Guards, and the town guard of Versailles,
escorted him to the Pont du Jour, near Sevres, where the Parisian guard
was waiting for him. His departure caused equal grief and alarm to his
friends, notwithstanding the calmness he exhibited. The Queen restrained
her tears, and shut herself up in her private rooms with her family. She
sent for several persons belonging to her Court; their doors were locked.
Terror had driven them away. The silence of death reigned throughout the
palace; they hardly dared hope that the King would return? The Queen had
a robe prepared for her, and sent orders to her stables to have all her
equipages ready. She wrote an address of a few lines for the Assembly,
determining to go there with her family, the officers of her palace, and
her servants, if the King should be detained prisoner at Paris. She got
this address by heart; it began with these words: "Gentlemen, I come to
place in your hands the wife and family of your sovereign; do not suffer
those who have been united in heaven to be put asunder on earth." While
she was repeating this address she was often interrupted by tears, and
sorrowfully exclaimed: "They will not let him return!"
It was past four when the King, who had left Versailles at ten in the
morning, entered the Hotel de Ville. At length, at six in the evening, M.
de Lastours, the King's first page, arrived; he was not half an hour in
coming from the Barriere de la Conference to Versailles. Everybody knows
that the moment of calm in Paris was that in which the unfortunate
sovereign received the tricoloured cockade from M. Bailly, and placed it
in his hat. A shout of "Vive le Roi!" arose on all sides; it had not been
once uttered before. The King breathed again, and with tears in his eyes
exclaimed that his heart stood in need of such greetings from the people.
One of his equerries (M. de Cubieres) told him the people loved him, and
that he could never have doubted it. The King replied in accents of
profound sensibility:
"Cubieres, the French loved Henri IV., and what king ever better deserved
to be beloved?"
[Louis XVI. cherished the memory of Henri IV.: at that moment he thought
of his deplorable end; but he long before regarded him as a model.
Soulavie says on the subject: "A tablet with the inscription 'Resurrexit'
placed upon the pedestal of Henri IV.'s statue on the accession of Louis
XVI. flattered him exceedingly. 'What a fine compliment,' said he, 'if it
were true! Tacitus himself never wrote anything so concise or so happy.'
Louis XVI. wished to take the reign of that Prince for a model. In the
following year the party that raised a commotion among the people on
account of the dearness of corn removed the tablet inscribed Resurrexit
from the statue of Henri IV., and placed it under that of Louis XV., whose
memory was then detested, as he was believed to have traded on the
scarcity of food. Louis XVI., who was informed of it, withdrew into his
private apartments, where he was found in a fever shedding tears; and
during the whole of that day he could not be prevailed upon either to
dine, walk out, or sup. From this circumstance we may judge what he
endured at the commencement of the Revolution, when he was accused of not
loving the French people."--NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]
His return to Versailles filled his family with inexpressible joy; in the
arms of the Queen, his sister, and his children, he congratulated himself
that no accident had happened; and he repeated several times, "Happily no
blood has been shed, and I swear that never shall a drop of French blood
be shed by my order,"--a determination full of humanity, but too openly
avowed in such factious times!
The King's last measure raised a hope in many that general tranquillity
would soon enable the Assembly to resume its, labours, and promptly bring
its session to a close. The Queen never flattered herself so far; M.
Bailly's speech to the King had equally wounded her pride and hurt her
feelings. "Henri IV. conquered his people, and here are the people
conquering their King." The word "conquest" offended her; she never
forgave M. Bailly for this fine academical phrase.
Five days after the King's visit to Paris, the departure of the troops,
and the removal of the Princes and some of the nobility whose influence
seemed to alarm the people, a horrible deed committed by hired assassins
proved that the King had descended the steps of his throne without having
effected a reconciliation with his people.
M. Foulon, adjoint to the administration while M. de Broglie was
commanding the army assembled at Versailles, had concealed himself at
Viry. He was there recognised, and the peasants seized him, and dragged
him to the Hotel de Ville. The cry for death was heard; the electors, the
members of committee, and M. de La Fayette, at that time the idol of
Paris, in vain endeavoured to save the unfortunate man. After tormenting
him in a manner which makes humanity shudder, his body was dragged about
the streets, and to the Palais Royal, and his heart was carried by women
in the midst of a bunch of white carnations! M. Berthier, M. Foulon's
son-in-law, intendant of Paris, was seized at Compiegne, at the same time
that his father-in-law was seized at Viry, and treated with still more
relentless cruelty.
The Queen was always persuaded that this horrible deed was occasioned by
some indiscretion; and she informed me that M. Foulon had drawn up two
memorials for the direction of the King's conduct at the time of his being
called to Court on the removal of M. Necker; and that these memorials
contained two schemes of totally different nature for extricating the King
from the dreadful situation in which he was placed. In the first of these
projects M. Foulon expressed himself without reserve respecting the
criminal views of the Duc d'Orleans; said that he ought to be put under
arrest, and that no time should be lost in commencing a prosecution
against him, while the criminal tribunals were still in existence; he
likewise pointed out such deputies as should be apprehended, and advised
the King not to separate himself from his army until order was restored.
His other plan was that the King should make himself master of the
revolution before its complete explosion; he advised his Majesty to go to
the Assembly, and there, in person, to demand the cahiers,
[Cahiers, the memorials or lists of complaints, grievances, and
requirements of the electors drawn up by the primary assemblies and sent
with the deputies.]
and to make the greatest sacrifices to satisfy the legitimate wishes of
the people, and not to give the factious time to enlist them in aid of
their criminal designs. Madame Adelaide had M. Foulon's two memorials
read to her in the presence of four or five persons. One of them, Comte
Louis de Narbonne, was very intimate with Madame de Stael, and that
intimacy gave the Queen reason to believe that the opposite party had
gained information of M. Foulon's schemes.
It is known that young Barnave, during an aberration of mind, since
expiated by sincere repentance, and even by death, uttered these atrocious
words: "Is then the blood now, flowing so pure?" when M. Berthier's son
came to the Assembly to implore the eloquence of M. de Lally to entreat
that body to save his father's life. I have since been informed that a
son of M. Foulon, having returned to France after these first ebullitions
of the Revolution, saw Barnave, and gave him one of those memorials in
which M. Foulon advised Louis XVI. to prevent the revolutionary explosion
by voluntarily granting all that the Assembly required before the 14th of
July. "Read this memorial," said he; "I have brought it to increase your
remorse: it is the only revenge I wish to inflict on you." Barnave burst
into tears, and said to him all that the profoundest grief could dictate.