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FAMOUS WOMEN OF THE FRENCH COURT.

From th« French of lmb«rt d« Saint-Amand. <

Each with Portrait, 12mo, $1,25.
Three Volumes on Marie Antoinette.

MARIE ANTOINETTE AND THE END OF THE OLD REGIME.

MARIE ANTOINETTE AT THE TUILERIES.

MARIE ANTOINETTE AND THE DOWNFALL OF ROYALTY.

Three Volumes on the Empress Josephine.

CITIZEN ESS BONAPARTE.

THE WIFE OF THE FIRST CONSUL.

THE COURT OF THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE.

Four Volumes on the Empress Marie Louise.

THE HAPPY DAYS OF MARIE LOUISE.

MARIE LOUISE AND THE DECADENCE OF THE EMPIRE.

MARIE LOUISE AND THE INVASION OF 1814.

MARIE LOUISE, THE RETURN FROM ELBA AND THE HUNDRED DAYS.

Marie Antoinette

AT THE TUILERIES

1789-1791

IMBERT DE SAINT-AMAND

TRANSLATED BY
EUZABETH GILBERT MARTIN

WITH PORTRAIT

NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

1891

LIBRARY

OF THE

lEUNO STANFORD JUNIOR

UNIVERSITY.

CONTENTS.

••o#-

FIB8T PART.

CHAFTBB - PAGE

I. Thb Installation at the Tuilebies 1

II. A Visit from the National Assembly 10

III. Pabis at the Close op 1789 18

IV. The Execution of the Mabquis de Favbas 26

V. The Dauphin and Madame Hotale 33

VI. The Royal Family at Saint Cloud 41

VII. Mabie Antoinette's Intebview with Mibabeau. . . 48

VIII. The Festival of the Fedebation 68

IX. Mibabeau's Double HOle 71

X. The Depabtube op the King's Aunts 79

XI. The Knights of the Poniabd 87

XII. The Death op Mibabeau 92

XIII. The Religious Question 103

XIV. The Holy Week of 1791 112

SECOND PART.

THE VARENNES JOURNEY.

I. Pbepabations fob Flight 122

II. June Twentieth, 1791 131

III. The Depabtube 137

IV. June Twentieth, 1791 , in Pabis 144

V. The Joubney 160

VL The Abbest 169

• • •

111

IV COI^TENTS,

CHAPTER PAGB

VII. The Night at Varennes 167

VIII. The Departure from Varennes 176

IX. The Return 183

X. Marie Antoinette and Barnave 189

XI. Potion's Account 198

Xn. The Return to the Tuileries 210

THIRD PART.

THE CLOSE OF 1791.

I. The Captivity in the Tuileries 222

II. Paris during the Suspension of Royalty 231

III. The Emigration 242

IV. Acceptance of the Constitution 253

V. Marie Antoinette's Last Evenings at the Theatre, 264

VI. The Duke of Orleans in 1791 272

VII. The Return of the Princess de Lamballe to the

Tuileries 282 '

Marie Antoinette

AT THE TUILERIES

I 789- I 79 I

FIRST PART.

THE INSTALLATION AT THE TTJILEBIES.

THE drama of the Tuileries begins. It is the
sixth of October, 1789. The hour is ten in the
evening. After a day of indescribable suffering, the
royal family, who left Versailles at one in the after-
noon, had entered the H8tel de ViUe at Paris toward
nine o'clock. " It is always with pleasure and with
confidence," Louis XVI. had said, " that I find my-
self amidst the inhabitants of my good city of Paris.'^
In repeating the^ King's discourse, the mayor, Bailly,
had forgotten the words "with confidence." The
Queen instantly recalled them. " Gentlemen," went
on Bailly, "you are more fortunate than if I had
said it myself." Then Louis XVI. and his family
returned to the Tuileries. It was not without hes-
itation and sadness that they entered. The palace
seemed all the more sombre by reason of the con-
trast between its black fa9ade and the illumina-
tions in the neighboring streets. Uninhabited since
the majority of Louis XV., it was gloomy, out of

MARIE ANTOINETTE.

repair, unfurnished, and undecorated. The locks
closed badly. The aspect was bleak, disastrous.

On the morning of October 7 the Queen awakes
in the Tuileries. What things had happened, what
tragedies, what emotions within twenty-four hours I
Is it a nightmare ? Is it reality ? Yesterday it was
still the city of the Sun-King, the splendid palace of
Versailles. This morning it is the Tuileries, forbid-
ding as a prison. What formidable cries are these,
whose menacing echoes are still resounding in the
sovereign's ears? What are these luffubrious and
bloody sights which she cannot banilh from her
eyes, — the bands of pikemeu, the hideous prostitutes
of the galleries of the Palais Royal, the infernal
viragoes of the Revolution, the livid heads of the
hapless, decapitated body-guards? Will these cries
of hatred and assassination, these oaths, these blas-
phemies, these insults, cease at last? Those re-
ports of musketry, that storm of invectives and
ferocious jests — can it be that they will not
begin anew? This residence where Marie Antoi-
nette, after a short and unquiet slumber, re-opens
her eyes to the light — is it a palace or a dun-
geon? What men are these who stand about the
royal chamber? Are they servants, or jailers, or
assassins ? These ragged women who crowd beneath
the windows — what are they going to say ? what are
they going to do? Will they force the chamber
doors to-day as they did yesterday, and riddle with
pike and sabre thrusts the bed of the Queen of

THE INSTALLATION.

France, the daughter of Maria Theresa ? What has
befallen her ? What can the future have in store ?
What may be hoped ? what feared ? How shall she
hide the sentiments of indignation and sacred anger,
which burst from a noble heart? What figure can
she make in presence of this riotous upheaval ? How
support the supreme humiliations which strike at the
lineage of Saint Louis, of Henri IV., and Louis XIV. ?
The atmosphere is overcharged with storms. Doom
weighs heavily on this sinister palace which, alas !
was to be merely the vestibule of the scaffold. Marie
Antoinette feels herself surrounded by furies. One
might say that from every window, from every side
of the wall, from behind each piece of furniture,
poniards were aimed at the august victim. The most
intrepid woman would tremble. Oh I what a morn-
ing I what an awakening I

And yet the rays of hope were here and there to
shine through this overclouded sky. The presence
of the King and his family in the capital produced a
certain cessation of the storm. The bakers' shops
were no longer besieged; there was sufficient food.
The people thronged towards the Tuileries. The
avenues, the courtyards, the gardens, were encum-
bered by the crowd. In the morning of October 7,
the same women, who, astride the cannons, had yester-
day surrounded the carriage of the captive royal
family with threats and Insults, came underneath the
Queen's windows, demanding to present their homage.
Marie Antoinette showed herself to the crowd. As

MARIE ANTOINETTE.

her bonnet partially shaded her face, she was besought
to remove it, that she might be better seen. She
granted the request. Royalty was no longer more
than a plaything, with which the people amused
themselves before breaking it. The women who yes-
terday hung on to the steps of the royal carriage,
clung fast to its doors, and leaned over Marie Antoi-
nette, trying to touch her, to soil her with their
breath, were now in parley with her.

" Send away from you," said one, " all these cour-
tiers who ruin kings. Love the inhabitants of your
good city."

" I loved them at Versailles," replied the Queen ;
" I will love them just the same at Paris."

" Yes, yes, " said another ; " but on the fourteenth
of July you wanted to besiege the city and have it
bombarded."

"You were told so," answered the Queen, "and
you believed it. It was that which caused the woes
of the people and of the best of kings."

A third woman addressed the sovereign in Ger-
man.

" German I " said Marie Antoinette ; " I no longer
understand it. I have become so thorough a French-
woman that I have even forgotten my mother-
tongue."

There was a burst of applause. The women asked
the Queen for the flowers and ribbons on her bonnet.
She unfastened them herself and gave them away.
The throng cried, " Long live our good Queen I "

THE INSTALLATION,

While the courtyards and the garden of the Tuile-
ries were resounding with cheers, the body-guards,
pale, drooping, and bearing still the marks of the
distress they had endured the previous evening, werfe
making the rounds of the public promenades, under
the escort of the National Guards, yesterday their
victors, to-day their comrades. They were received
with sympathy on all sides. One would have said
the reconciliation was complete.

Throughout the day numberless deputations visited
the King. Louis XVI., always an optimist, seemed
to have forgotten totally the violence of the day be-
fore. His courtiers were far from sharing his serenity.
Etiquette was still maintained, but the gentlemen
attached to his service fulfilled their duties sadly.
The perpetual supervision of M. de Lafayette; the
presence of the National Guards, those soldiers of
the Revolution; the absence of the body-guards,
those soldiers of fidelity ; the invasion of the sanctu-
ary of monarchy by a crowd of enemies or intruders ;
the gradual diminution of the state indispensable to
the prestige of royalty ; the sadness of that fair and
good Queen whose eyes were reddened by incessant
tears; the progress of the revolutionary movement
which menaced the liberty, the possessions, and the
life of the French nobility, — all this struck unfeigned
consternation to the hearts of the King's attendants.

Many had already emigrated; but, on the other
hand, there was one woman who, at the first mention
of danger, bad hastened to the post of honor and

MARIE ANTOINETTE,

devotion. It was the Princess de Lamballe. At nine
in the evening of October 7 she was sitting tranquilly
with her father-in-law, the Duke de PenthiSvre, in the
castle of Eu, when a courier arrived at full speed,
bringing the news of what had passed at Veiisailles
during the last two days. " O papa," cried the Prin-
cess, " what horrible events ! I must go at once." At
midnight, in frightful weather and profound dark-
ness, Madame de Lamballe left the castle of Eu, to
repair in all haste to the Queen at Paris. She arrived
there during the night of October 8, and took up her
quarters on the ground-floor of the Pavilion of Flora.
In her capacity as superintendent, she gave several
soirees there, at some of which Marie Antoinette
made her appearance. But as the Queen speedily
became convinced that her position no longer per-
mitted her attendance at large receptions, she re-
mained in her own apartments, reading, praying,
sewing, and supervising the education of her chil-
dren.

Madame Elisabeth wrote to the Abb^ de Lubereac
on October 16 : " The Queen, who has had incredible
courage, begins to be in better favor with the people.
I hope that in time, and by unremitting prudence,
we may regain the love of the Parisians, who have
merely been deceived. But, sir, the people of Ver-
sailles ! Have you ever seen more frightful ingrati-
tude ? No ; I think that Heaven in wrath peopled
that city with monsters out of hell. How long it
will take to make them recognize their injustice!

THE INSTALLATION.

And if I were king, how long it would take me to
believe in their repentance ! What ingrates toward
an honest man I Would you believe, sir, that aU our
misfortunes, far from bringing me back to God, give
me a veritable disgust for all that relates to prayer?
Beg of Heaven for me the grace not to abandon
everything. . . . Ask also that the reverses of France
may recall to a better mind those who have contrib-
uted to them by their irreligion."

During several days people continued to obstruct
the courtyards of the Tuileries. Their indiscretion
was carried to such a point that several market-
women ventured to climb into the apartment of Ma-
dame Elisabeth, who had rooms on the ground-floor
of the Pavilion of Flora, on the side next the court-
yard. The Princess was obliged to quit this apart-
ment, and install herself on the first floor, in order
to be sheltered from importunate glances and the
invasions of the fishwomen.

People who had been hired by the party of disor-
der came every instant to make outrageous and in-
decent remarks beneath the windows of the chateau.
The revolutionists, in order to insult more deeply
the majesty of the crown, sent men belonging to the
dregs of the people to the King himself, under the
title of delegates. The abuse was so great, that one
of the Ministers proposed to forbid the entrance of
such deputations into the palace. "No," said the
unfortunate monarch; "they may present them-
selves; we shall have courage to listen to them."

8 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

One day when these pretended delegates were ha-
ranguing Louis XVI., one of them dared to accuse
the Queen, who was present, in most offensive terms.
" You mistake," said the King, gently ; " the Queen
and I have not the intentions with which we are cred-
ited. We act in concert for your common welfare.*'
When the deputation retired, Marie Antoinette fell
to weeping.

Augeard, her private secretary, gives an account in
his very curious Memoirs, of a conversation he had with
her soon after the days of October : " Your Majesty
is a prisoner." — " My God ! what are you saying to
me?" "Madame, it is most true. From the time
when Your Majesty ceased to have a guard of honor,
you were a prisoner." — " These men here, I contend,
are more attentive than our guards." " The atten-
tion of jailers. I will offer you no other proof of it,
Madame, than to remind you of the precaution you
have taken to see whether any one is listening at the
doors. Would you have taken it with your guards? "
— "But what must be done, then ? "

Augeard advised the Queen to rejoin her brother,
the Emperor. He added : " I know only one way —
but that is infallible — to save the King, yourself,
your children, and all France. It is for you to go
away with Madame Royale and the Dauphin, dress-
ing him as a little girl, and go as a private person, —
not as a queen or a princess. You could no longer
be set up in opposition to the new Constitution they
want to give us, and your lives would be safe."

THE INSTALLATION.

Augeard went on to develop a complete plan of
escape. The Queen, with her children, and Madame
Thibaut, her maid, were to go upon the roof, and
descend from there by a flight of stairs which led to
the Court of the Princes. She was to depart by way
of this court, leaving at the Tuileries a letter ex-
pressed in some such words as these : —

"My most Honored Lord and August Spouse:
After the attempts to assassinate me on the fifth and
sixth of this month, I cannot conceal from myself
that I have the frightful misfortune to displease my
subjects. They imagine that I am opposed to the
new Constitution they desire to give to your realm.
In order to banish every shadow of suspicion which
relates to me, I prefer to condemn myself to pro-
found retreat outside of your dominions, which I
shall not re-enter, my most honored and august
spouse, until the Constitution shall have been estab-
lished."

This letter would be delivered to the King at his
rising, the Queen having departed the night before.

" No, no ; I will not go away 1 " cried Marie
Antoinette. " My duty is to die at the King's feet."
The Queen was right. She remained courageously
at the post of devotion and danger. Those who
sought to persuade her to abandon her husband gave
counsel unworthy of her lofty heart. By following
such advice the daughter of the great Maria Theresa
might have saved her life, but she would have lost
something more desirable — her honor.

A VISIT FROM THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY.

THE monarchy, although shaken, still had tradi-
tion and memory on its side. As yet no one
spoke of a republic; and the future regicides, the
Marats and the Robespierres themselves, were still
royalists by conviction. Louis XVI. could not bring
himself to believe that the nation was being estranged
from him. The cheers with which he was greeted
when he passed by nourished fatal illusions in his
mind; and the ceremonious visit paid him by the
National Assembly on October 20, 1789, increased
the serene assurance which Marie Antoinette did not
share, and to which he was to fall a victim.

As soon as he arrived in Paris, he had written to
the Assembly: —

" Gentlemen : The affection displayed toward me
by the inhabitants of my good city of Paris, and the
urgency of the Commune, have decided me to make
it my most habitual place of residence. As I am
confident that you will be unwilling to separate from
me, I desire that you should appoint commissioners
to seek the most convenient location for you here.

A VISIT FROM THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 11

1 will at once give orders to have it got in readiness.
Thus, without relaxing your useful labors, I shall
render more prompt and easy the communications
which mutual confidence makes increasingly neces-
sary."

Provisional choice was made of the great hall of
the archbishop's palace. The Assembly sat there for
the first time on October 20, and decided to wait
on the King in a body. The visit took place at six
o'clock the same evening.

Etiquette was still maintained, and a resemblance
between the apartments of the Tuileries and those
of Versailles was soon established. There was a salon,
which they called the OEil-de-Boeuf, and the Gallery
of Diana was devoted to the same purposes as had
been the Gallery of the Mirrors. A person in the
Carrousel, opposite the chateau, could see in froAt of
him three courtyards, separated from each other by
walls seven or eight feet high : on the left the Court
of the Princes ; in the middle the Royal Court, which
led to the Central Pavilion; and on the right the
Swiss Court, leading to the Pavilion of Marsan.
Those who came to visit the King entered by the
Royal Court. On the right-hand side of the vesti-
bule of the Central Pavilion was a large and hand-
some staircase. On ite first landing, and also on
the right, was the chapel, which was very simple ; the
sacristy was behind the altar, above which was the
gallery for the musicians, opposite that of the King
and Queen. At this landing the staircase divided

12 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

into two symmetrical parts ; that on the left conduct-
ing to the hall called the Hundred Switzers, the
great hall from which could be seen both the court
and the garden, and which rose to the roof of the
Central Pavilion ; it was afterwards the Hall of the
Marshals. The King's apartment included, besides
this hall, the following rooms: the Hall of the
Guards, afterwards the Salon of the First Consul;
the royal ante-chamber, also called the OEil-de-Boeuf
and later the Hall of Apollo; the bedchamber (a
state chamber afterwards called the Throne Room) ;
the great royal cabinet (where the Council of the
Ministry sat, and known afterwards as the Salon of
Louis XIV.) ; and finally the Gallery of Diana, called
also the Ambassadors' Gallery.

At six in the evening the members of the National
Assembly met in the Tuileries in the royal ante-
chamber (the Hall of Apollo). No distinctions of
rank were observed, and, for the first time, the depu-
ties attended a royal audience without being in court
dress. Was not this a sign of the times ? The ushers
opened the two doors by which entrance is made into
the bedchamber (the future Throne Room). The
masters of ceremonies, walking on either hand of
the President, introduced the Assembly. The King
received them, seated in an armchair. He removed
his hat only during their entrance and while receiv-
ing the salutations of the President, M. Fr^teau, a
member of Parliament who, in spite of his advanced
opinions, was to perish on the scaffold like the King

A VISIT FROM THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 13

himself. M. Fr^teau made a speech in which the
following remarks occur: "The aJBEection of the
French people for their monarch seemed incapable
of increase after that memorable day when their
voice proclaimed you the restorer of liberty. There
remained, Sire, a still more touching title to be given
you, — that of the nation's best friend. Henri IV.
received it from the inhabitants of a city in which he
spent his youth. Historical monuments apprise us
that in the letters he wrote them he signed himself
*Your best friend.' This title, Sire, is due to you
from the whole of France. We have seen Your
Majesty, calm in the midst of tumults, taking on
yourself all risks and seeking to withdraw your
excited people from them by your presence and
your solicitous care; we have seen you renouncing
your pleasures, your recreations, and your tastes, in
order to come among a turbulent multitude and
announce the return of peace, to strengthen the
bonds of concord, and rally the exhausted forces of
this vast empire. How sweet it is to us, Sire, to
gather into one the benedictions with which an
immense people surround you, and offer them in
honorable tribute. We add to them the assurance
of a zeal continually more active in the mainte-
nance of lav and the defence of your protecting
authority."

The King was not prepared for this visit from the
National Assembly.

"Gentlemen," he replied with emotion, "I am

14 MARIE ANTOINETTE,

content with the attachment you express for me,
I counted on it. I receive the testimony of it with
profound feeling."

The Assembly then expressed a desire to present
their respects to the Queen. The King permitted
all the deputies to pass through his cabinet (the
Salon of Louis XIV.) in order to arrive at Marie
Antoinette's apartments by the Gallery of Diana.
The ushers opened the two leaves of the folding-
door which leads from the bedchamber to the Royal
Cabinet, and the deputies passed through, bowing
very low to Louis XVI., who had placed himself
near this door.

At the end of the Gallery of Diana, on the right-
hand side, ended a staircase which led from the
ground-floor to the first story and the rooms for-
merly occupied by the wife of Louis XIV., and
called the Queen's Apartments. They are five in all,
looking down upon the garden, and with the Gallery
of Diana just behind them. Here Marie Antoinette
received the visit of the Assembly. The Queen,
who had not been forewarned of their arrival, was
at the moment at her toUet, getting ready to play in
public. A desire not to keep the deputies waiting
decided her to give them an immediate audience
without putting on more ceremonious attire. She
seated herself in an armchair in the principal room,
and the Assembly were presented by the masters of
ceremonies as had been the case with the King.
One of them, M. de Nantouillet, who published an

A VISIT FROM THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 15

account of this visit, remarks that the Queen, accus-
tomed to receive the constituted bodies in the same
manner as the King, need not have risen at the
entrance of the Assembly, and that in doing so, and
in saying a word concerning the fact that she was
not in full dress, she wished to give them a special
mark of her esteem.

" Madame,^' said the President, " the first desire of
the National Assembly on arriving in the capital was
to present the King with the tribute of their respect
and love. They could not resist the natural oppor-
tunity to offer you also their good wishes. Receive
them, Madame, such as we form them, lively, ardent,
and sincere. It would be a real satisfaction if the
National Assembly might behold in your arms that
illustrious child, the offspring of so many kings ten-
derly cherished by their people, — the descendant of
Louis IX., of Henri IV., of him whose virtues are
the hope of France. Neither he nor the authors of
his life will ever enjoy so much prosperity as we
desire for them."

The Queen replied : " I am touched, as I ought to
be, with the sentiments expressed toward me by the
National Assembly. If I had been notified of their
intention, they would have been received in a more
befitting manner." Then Marie Antoinette com-
manded the Master of Ceremonies to go and find the
Dauphin. As soon as the child was brought, she took
him in her arms, and showed him to all the deputies.
Cries of "Long live the King!" "Long live the

16 MAELE ANTOINETTE.

Queen ! " " Long live Monseigneur the Dauphin ! **
resounded with enthusiasm. For a moment Marie
Antoinette was distracted from the thought of her
afflictions.

A few days later she changed her quarters, and,
leaving the first story, installed herself on the ground-
floor, where she had her dressing-room, her bedcham-
ber, and her salon. As to Louis XVL, he continued
to live in the apartment which, since the reign of
Louis XIV., had been called the " apartment of the
Kong." It communicated with the Great Cabinet (the
Salon of Louis XIV.), and comprised three rooms,
looking on the garden, — a small cabinet intended for
the first valet de chambre, the sovereign's bedcham-
ber, and a library. Louis XVI. had his son and
daughter placed near him in the apartment known as
" the apartment of the Queen," which Marie Antoi-
nette had just vacated for another on the ground-
floor. In addition to his rooms in the first story, he
occupied three on the ground-floor, which were sit-
uated in the angle of the intermediate pavilion, be-
tween those of Flora and the Centre, one of which
communicated with the Queen's dressing-room.
Every morning, having spent the first moments
after rising in devotional exercises, he descended to
his little apartment on the ground-floor by a narrow
private staircase. He looked first at his thermome-
ter, and then received the greetings of his wife and
children. It was there also that he breakfasted,
served by one domestic only, the Queen taking ad-

A VISIT FROM THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 17

vantage of this moment to come and chat with her
husband. From there, too, he could examine what
was going on in the garden without being seen, and
listen to the remarks made just under his windows.

In spite of everything, the unfortunate monarch
still preserved the greatest illusions. Such manifes-
tations as that just made by the National Assembly
deceived him concerning the extreme gravity of the
situation. He believed that he was still loved and
respected. Even the October days had not cured
him of his fallacious optimism. Doubtless, the mon-
archy had not entirely lost its prestige, and the Na-
tional Assembly were sincere when they expressed
sentiments of fidelity toward their King. But the
Revolution made incessant progress. As was re-
marked by Madame de B^arn, the daughter of the
governess of the royal children, it was like one of
those great currents which carry away even vessels
which seek to cast anchor.

III.

PAKIS AT THE CLOSE OP 1789.

WHAT a varied spectacle ! What a tragi-com-
edy ! What diverse figures I What contra-
dictory emotions I What an amalgam of ideas and
passions, of vices and virtues ! Here, marquises and
dukes; there, people of the faubourgs and insur-
gents. Red heels here; red bonnets there. Here,
the language of courts ; there, the insults of the mar-
ket-place. In the Tuileries, elegance still, and polite-
ness, and the chivalrous manners of the old regime ;
and a stone's throw distant, in the pestilent streets
neighboring the Carrousel, the threats and hatred of
a populace in rags; a little beyond, in the galleries
of the Palais Royal, speech-making agitators, and
the prostitutes who played such leading parts in the
October days ; beside the garden of the Tuileries, the
riding-school where the National Assembly has its
noisy sessions, its bitter discussions, and the stormy
eloquence of its Mirabeau, the thunderer; on every
street, in every square, colporteurs shouting forth their
lies, newsmongers, Paul Prys, gossips who delight
in calumny and the unhealthy emotions of sedition,
18

PABI8 AT THE CLOSE OF 1789. 19

who play at being soldiers in the National Guards,
at polities in the caf^s, at demagogy in the clubs,
mischief-makers who amuse themselves by rekind-
ling everywhere badly extinguished firebrands; in
the outskirts of Paris the principal soldiers of the
insurrection, the future Septembrists, the future
furies of the guillotine. What blows ! What shocks !
This old regime which is dead — this new regime
which is still unborn ! What a chaos ! What seeth-
ing in this alembic, this furnace ! What throes, what
anguish, what rending, is not France to endure, that
she may bring forth, in suffering, modem society,
her daughter! What electricity in the air! What
ensanguined or sombre clouds on the horizon ! What
a vast hubbub of confused and noisy sounds, — beat-
ing of drums, applause and yells of disapproval in
the Assembly and the clubs, the ringing of bells, the
stroke of the tocsin ! Paris is disturbed, tumultuous,
full of inflammable materials. One would say the
ground is mined. At every step one dreads a sudden
explosion. The soil is volcanic. One sees every-
thing as if through the glare of a conflagration.

The Revolution is everywhere. Even in the salons
of the Faubourg Saint-Germain there is a left and
a right who dispute as bitterly as they do in the
National Assembly. Farewell that Attic wit, that
sweetness, that urbanity, which for so long have made
Parisian salons veritable schools of good taste and
grace! Unpleasant politics have become the only
topic of conversation. Everybody talks loud and

20 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

listens very little. Ill humor pierces through the
tone as through the glance. The women lose most
by this change in the manners of good society. It is
only the gentle passions which befit their features,
their voices, the delicacy of their entire being, and
behold them railing like demoniacs! Politics dis-
figures them, and anger makes them ngly.

At the theatre things are still worse than in the
salons. The play-houses are transformed into tilt-
yards where the combatants give themselves over to
perpetual contests. Whenever a favorable allusion
permits the royalists to display their sentiments
toward the King and Queen, they consider it a great
triumph to drown the actor's voice by noisy applause.
Then they hasten to the palace to say that public
opinion is coming round to good sense, and the revo-
lutionists are crushed. But the Jacobins come in
force to the next play. They insult the aristocrats.
They cheer enthusiastically every line which breathes
of liberty ; they hiss furiously all those which might
recall the love of the people for their kings.

At the Th^&tre Frangais, when Charles Ninth is
played, look at the public, a more curious spectacle
than the stage. At the end of the fourth act^ when
the dismal bell announces the moment of the massa-
cre, do you see him who listens to it with a dull
groan ? Do you hear him who cries, " Silence !
silence!" as if he feared lest the strokes of this
death bell should not resound loud enough within
his heart, where they feed the sensations of ven-
geance and of hatred?

PARIS AT THE CLOSE OF 1789. 21

And, in the midst of all this, sentimental phrases,
pictures in the style of Greuze, a humanitarian, phil-
osophic jargon borrowed from Jean-Jacques Rousseau,
a sort of patriotic festival, an orgy of false fraternity.
French gaiety, too, which does not lose its rights,
irony which blends with enthusiasm, gross puns suc-
ceeding to the accents of eloquence, juggler's clowns
who chatter while Mirabeau is speaking, laughter
and tears, the grotesque and the sublime. At the
side of noble enthusiasms and generous ideas, mean
and wretched passions, envious women, many of
whom rejoice to see the Queen unhappy; the level-
ling sentiment which finds pleasure in the decay and
humiliation of the court alld the aristocracy; the
great capital in a shudder ; the theatres always full ;
the churches still thronged with the faithful, who
seek by their prayers to turn away the wrath of God;
optimists who, in the triumphant age of iron, persist
in predicting the age of gold ; pessimists whose most
sinister previsions are outdone by events; in fine,
beyond all this vehement crowd whose cries and
murmurs are like the tumult of the waves, a few
sages, troubled but silent, who ask themselves how
all this will end, and, as from a mountain top, look
down at the vessels tossing upon the billows.

What is most striking in the scene presented by
Paris at the close of 1789, is its extreme variety.
Count de S^gur, coming back from his embassy to
Saint Petersburg, shows us the different aspects
presenteii by the capital in a single day.

22 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

In the morning he goes to see Baron de Besenval,
who is shut up in the prison of the Ch&telet for having
resisted the riot when commanding the troops of the
Parisian garrison at the beginning of the Revolution,
An immense crowd assembled on the quay obstructs
the thoroughfare in spite of the efforts of the National
Guard, and fills the air with vociferations. Some mad-
men, accusing the judges of delay and the authorities
of treason, are shouting loudly for the prisoner's head.
It takes M. de S^gur a long time to arrive, and gives
him great trouble to make his way through this furious
multitude. Reaching the prison at last, he enters by a
wicket under a low door. He passes with repugnance
through the gloomy windings of this den of vice and
crime ; after he has mounted the tower stairs, he enters
a tolerably clean chamber, where he sees Baron de
Besenval, not merely calm and courageous, but with
his accustomed gaiety, talking with several friends
and some women, as amiable as they are charming,
who have come to make his captivity more agreeable.

An hour later, M. de S^gur is on the Place de
GrSve. There he sees many assemblages which the
National Guard is painfully trying to disperse. From
there he goes to the market, where he has before him
a great public mart in full activity, as in the midst of
the profoundest peace. Then he goes to the Palais
Royal. He enters that famous garden, the centre of
industry, the focus of corruption, an arena always
open to the seditious, who make it the rendezvous
of their machinations. A curious crowd are sur-

PARIS AT THE CLOSE OF 1789. 23

rounding a man who, mounted on ^ table, is declaim-
ing vehemently against the perfidy of the court, the
pride of the nobles, the cupidity of the rich, the
inertia of the legislators, and ivho concludes, ap-
plauded by some and criticised by others, by propos-
ing incendiary motions.

Disgusted by this scene, Coimt de S^gur goes away
and enters the garden of the Tuileries. The weather
is splendid. The terrace and the alleys are filled with
peaceful promenaders. The prettiest women of Paris
are displaying their dresses and their charms. Satis-
faction beams on every face. One would think it
was a holiday.

M. de S^gur leaves the Tuileries and goes through
the Champs Elys^es, where all is confusion. He sees
a multitude of armed men. They are old soldiers of
the French Guard, who, to execute a projected revolt,
are going to the great square, the appointed place
for their reunion; but Lafayette, warned of their
gathering, hastens with several battalions of the
National Guard, and disarms them.

In the evening, to banish the souvenirs of the day,
M. de S^gur goes to the Opera. This time he is
tempted to imagine, that, up to now, he has been
dreaming. Who would not believe himself to be
living in the happiest and most peaceful of epochs ?
Behold this affluence of spectators, this charming
ballet, these magnificent decorations; recognize in
the boxes the most distinguished people of the court
and of the city. Look at these fashionable women.

24 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

who glance from behind the fans they manage so
well. Listen to this enchanting music, which ban-
ishes anxiety and care. What an opening in the
cloudy sky I Over the volcano, around the crater,
whence flames and lava are about to pour, there are
still greensward, fields, and flowers.

In the tableau of Paris, at the close of 1789, the
court does not occupy a brilliant place. One might
say that royalty, doubtful of itself, is effacing itself
voluntarily, and dwindling away. Every day it loses
a little more of its prestige. The rays of the royal
sun, once so dazzling, are growing pale. " One would
not suspect that there is a court at Paris. All is
absolutely quiet. There is no question of hunts or
balls, of comedies or of concerts. Economy looks
like hoarding, and certainly Voltaire would not say
to-day (December 10, 1789), 'How proud Paris ib of
the court of Louis.^ " ^ ,

However, there are still cards on Sundays, dinners
in public on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and all the
nobility of Paris repair assiduously to the chateau.
There are even many persons who would not have
dared to pretend to present themselves at court the
year before, but who now, under pretext of zeal for
the royal cause, are seeking to become intimate at
the Tuileries. But events have stamped the palace
with a character of profound sadness. Its faded

1 Secret Correspondetite concerning Louis XVL and Marie
Antoinette. MS. of the Imperial Library of Saint Petersburg, pub-
lished by M. de Lescure. 2 vols. Flon.

PARIS AT THE CLOSE OF 1789. 25

tapestries, its arches damaged by the weather, its
dilapidated aspect, give it, on the whole, the air of
an assemblage of things, once brilliant, but now
mouldy, which recall both the grandeur and the
decadence of the monarchy. The royal family is
free to walk in the garden only at certain hours.
Then the public is excluded. Some of the soldiers
say vulgarly that the King is "let out." And yet,
shaken as it is, royalty, with an abler monarch,
would still have great resources. Betrayed by itself,
rather than by the feebleness and incapacity of its
defenders, it still sustains itself, and Louis XVI.
needs three years more to consummate a downfall
wrought chiefly by himself.

IV.

THE EXECUTION OF THE MARQUIS DB FAVRA8.

THE hour was approaching when Louis XVI.
would see every prerogative of royalty torn
from him, even the right to pardon. Already, in the
early months of 1790, he dared not save from death
a royalist whose crime had been an excess of mon-
archical zeal. The gibbet of the Marquis de Favras
was the prelude to the King's scaffold.

M. de Favras was bom in 1745. He served in the
army with distinction, and his wife was a daughter
of the Prince of Anhalt-Schauenburg. Ever since
the Revolution began he had been considering one
project after another for rescuing the monarchy
from the dangers surrounding it. His naturally vivid
imagination became overheated, and he looked on
himself with great simplicity as the future saviour of
the throne. His plan was to carry off the King, and
take him to P^ronne, and to arrest Lafayette and
Necker. It was claimed that he also wished to
assemble twelve thousand cavalry in Paris, and sup-
port them by an army of twenty thousand Swiss,
twenty thousand Sardinians, and twelve thousand

EXECUTION OF MARQUIS DE FAVRA8. 27

Germans; but this was not proved. M. de Favras
communicated liis ideas to a number of the persons
surrounding Monsieur, the King's brother, but no one
attached serious importance to them. He was then
imprudent enough to try to sound certain officers of
the National Guard, who, instead of receiving him
favorably, informed against him. He was at once
arrested, and sent to the Ch&telet to be tried. As
the name of Monsieur had been implicated in the
denunciation, the Prince went at once to the Paris
Commune in order to counteract, without a moment's
delay, the suspicious rumors which might get into
circulation. " From the day," said he, " when in the
Second Assembly of Notables I declared myself con-
cerning the fundamental questions which divide
men's minds, I have not ceased to believe that a
great revolution is impending; that the King, by
virtue of his intentions, his virtues, and his supreme
rank, ought to be at the head of it, since it cannot
be advantageous to the nation without being equally
so to the monarch; and, finally, that royal author-
ity should be the rampart of national liberty, and
national liberty the basis of royal authority." This
discourse was received with general applause, and
the Prince was accompanied by the crowd back to
the Luxembourg palace, where he resided.

As for the unfortunate Favras, everybody was bit-
ter against him. During the whole of the trial the
people kept up an incessant threatening of the judges
and the cry, " To the lamp-post with him ! " It was

28 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

even necessaiy to have pieces of artillery and nu-
merous troops constantly drawn up in the courtyard
of the Chfiitelet. The crowd had been exasperated by
the acquittal of Baron de Besenval and others impli-
cated in the affaira of July 14. It is claimed that La-
fayette said; "If M. de Favras is not condemned, I
will not answer for the National Guard." The prin-
cipal charge against the accused was a letter from M.
de Foucault, who asked him: "Where are your
troops ? From what direction will they enter Paris ?
I would like to serve among them." This was suffi-
ciently vague, and no trace was discovered either of
the cavaliers who were to make the supposed attack,
or of the Swiss, German, and Piedmontese armies
expected to aid them. Nevertheless, M. de Favras
was condemned to death. He listened to his sentence
with the greatest calmness. "I pity you exceed-
ingly," said he to the judges, " if the simple testimony
of two men is enough to make you condemn an inno-
cent person." He was hanged in the Place de Grdve
on February 19, 1790. As soon as the people saw
him in the cart with the rope around his neck, and
the hangman behind him, they broke into wild exul-
tation and cries of enthusiastic joy. It was night,
and lamps were lighted ajl over the Place de Grdve.
They even put one on the gibbet. " Citizens," cried
the condemned, "I die innocent: pray God for me."
Then, turning to the hangman, he said, " Come, my
friend, do your duty." The crowd responded with
ironical clapping of the hands, ferocious laughter.

EXECUTION OF MARQUIS DE FAVRA8. 29

and repeated cries of " Skip, Marquis ! " As soon as
he was hanged, a number of voices cried, ^''Encore ! "
as if to demand more executions. The people wanted
to get at the dead body, tear it in pieces, and carry
the bleeding head on the end of a pike. The
National Guard succeeded in preventing this scene,
worthy of cannibals, but only with great difficulty
and at the point of the bayonet.

Madame Elisabeth wrote next day to the Marquise
de Bombelles: "My head and heart are so full of
yesterday that it is hardly possible for me to think of
anything else. I hope that his blood may not fall
back upon his judges. But nobody (except the peo-
ple and that class of beings whom one cannot call
men because it would lower humanity) understands
for what he was condemned. He was so imprudent
as to wish to serve his king. Behold his crime. I
hope that this unjust execution may have the effect
of persecutions, and that from his ashes men who
still love their country may spring up again to
avenge her on the traitors by whom she is deceived.
I hope, also, that Heaven, for the sake of the courage
he showed during the four hours at the H8tel de
VUle before his execution, may have pardoned his
sins. Pray for him, my heart; you cannot perform
a better work."

The execution of M. de Favras had become a fixed
idea with Madame Elisabeth. On February 23 she
wrote again to Madame de Bombelles: "Heavens,
Bombe, how angry your letter made me! I own

80 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

that I was extremely wrong. But no matter, I must
tell you why. I was penetrated by the injustice of
M. de Favras's death, by the superb way in which he
ended his life, and the love he showed for his king
(which was the sole cause of his death). For two
days I had been thinking of nothing else ; my heart,
my soul, my entire being was filled with nothing
but this idea, and then I receive a letter in which
you say to me, ' But what was the wretched man
thinking about?' You may judge whether your
princess, who does not always give herself time for
reflection, fell into a rage against poor Bombe, who,
nevertheless, had done nothing, and who, if she had
been here, would have wondered, like all who breathe
in Paris, both at the injustice of his death and the
courage with which he submitted to his sentence.
No ; it is only God who can have given it to him.
So I greatly hope he has received the recompense
for it. The hearts of honest men willingly render
him the homage he deserves. Even the people, the
people who cried loudly for his death, said the next
day, and, indeed, on returning from the execu-
tion, 'But he protested his innocence on the gal-
lows : it was very wrong then not to have taken
him down.' "

The execution of M. de Favras afflicted Marie An-
toinette not less than Madame Elisabeth: her chagrin
was even more keen because she was obliged to con-
ceal it. On the Sunday following M. de la Villeurnoy
went in the morning to Madame Campan to say that

EXECUTION OF MABQUI8 BE FAVRAS. 31

he intended to bring the widow and the son of the
Marquis de Favras to the public dinner of the King
and Queen. Madame CampEin tried in vain to pre-
vent this step. Madame de Favras and her son made
their appearance in deep mourning when dinner was
half over. But the Queen, behind whom was the
demagogue Santerre, commander of a battalion of
the National Guard, dared not say a single word to
the widow and the orphan. When the repast was
finished, she went to Madame Campan's room, and
throwing herself into an armchair, cried, "I am
come to weep with you." Then she added: "We
must needs perish when we are attacked by men who
unite every talent to every crime, and defended by
men who are very estimable, but have no adequate
idea of our position. They have compromised me
with both parties by presenting the wife and son of
Favras. If I were free to, I ought to have taken the
son of a man who had just sacrificed himself for us,
and placed him at table, between the King and me ;
but, surrounded by the executioners who had just
put his father to death, I did not even dare to look
at him. The royalists will blame me for seeming not
to have noticed the poor child, and the revolutionists
will be enraged at the thought that in presenting him
they expected to please me."

However, the Queen added that she understood
Madame de Favras's position, that she knew her to
be in need, and ordered Madame Campan to send
her next day several rolls of fifty louis each, assuring

82 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

her at the same time that the King and Queen would
always provide for her and her son.

Poor Queen I Whi^t torture for a woman of her
character ! To be obliged to incessant dissimulation,
to control her countenance, to hide her tears, to stifle
her sighs, afraid to make known her sympathy and
gratitude to her friends and advocates I Surrounded
even in her palace by inquisitors, she dared neither
to act nor speak. She hardly dared to think. What
torture for a haughty and candid soul, for a woman
who, notwithstanding, carried her head so high, for
the daughter of the German Caesars, for the Queen
of France and Navarre I

THE DAUPHIN AND MADAME BOYALB.

A WOMAN of the people, feeble, worn out with
fatigue and poverty, sometimes reaches such
an extreme of suffering and discouragement that she
no longer feels the strength necessary to struggle
against pain and hunger. But at the moment when
she despairs, the poor woman casts a glance at her
little children. Then her exhausted forces revive as
by a miracle; the down-hearted creature rises up
again. She will go on living ; she will continue her
fierce struggle against fate. Maternal tenderness
converts her into a heroine.

Marie Antoinette suffered from neither poverty
nor hunger. But her anguish was not on that ac-
count less keen. There are cruel anxieties beneath
the gilded roofs of palaces as under the thatch of
cabins, and when the Queen of France and Navarre
felt her strength failing in her struggle up-stream,
she had as much need to think of her children as
the humble woman of the people. She was made
intrepid by her passionate desire to save them. She
suffered for them more than for herself. Anxiety

84 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

about their future plunged her, as it were, into an
abyss. Would the diadem that had been placed on
the Dauphin's forehead prove a royal crown or a
crown of thorns? Would the child to whom such
a brilliant destiny had been promised be a king or
a martyr? The maternal devotion of Marie Antoi-
nette was both her joy and her affliction. The more
unhappy she became, the more attached she waa to
the two children, at once her torment and her hope.

The once frivolous woman had become serious and
grave. Far removed from her were all considera-
tions of dress and elegance. No more distractions,
no more theatres, no more balls, no more concerts,
no more worldly conversations. Meditations only,
prayers, long hours of needlework pursued with
feverish activity, alms, good works, charitable excur-
sions throughout Paris. The Queen of France had
become the model of a Christian mother, the gover-
ness and teacher of her daughter. Her face, like her
existence, had assumed something like austerity. The
majesty which dominated her whole person was the
supreme majesty of sorrow. Melancholy covered her
as with a veil. Her days were passed in work, her
nights were sleepless and unquiet. Her eyes, so often
reddened by tears, were both tender and touching.
She wrote to the Duchess de Polignac : " You speak
of my courage. Less is needed to endure the fright-
ful moments which present themselves than to bear up
daily under our position with its peculiar pains, those
of its friends, and of all those who surround us. It

THE DAUPHIN AND MADAME ROT ALE. 85

is a load too heavy to be borne, and if my heart were
not so strongly bound to my husband, my children,
and my friends, I should desire to break down under
it. You all support me ; I still owe this sentiment
to your friendship. For me, I bring misfortune to
every one, and your pains are for me and by me."

The queen might have weakened, but the mother
had not a moment of exhaustion. The sight of her
children gave her a courage equal to every trial. In
1790 her daughter, Madame Royale, was eleven
years old. The birth of this child had nearly cost
the mother's life. Madame Campan has described
the overflowing joy, the transports of delight, which
greeted the news that all danger was past. Madame
Campan deplores that a celestial voice, revealing the
secret decree of destiny, had not then cried to the
Queen's faithful servants : " Do not bless that art of
human beings which brings her back to life ; weep,
rather, over her return to a world that is fatal and
cruel to the object of her affections. Ah I let her
quit it, honored, cherished. You will shed bitter
tears above her tomb ; you can cover it with flowers.
. . . There will come a day when all the furies of
the earth, after having pierced her heart with a
thousand empoisoned shafts, after having graven the
signs of premature decrepitude on her noble and
touching features, will deliver her to tortures such
as do not exist for criminals; will deprive her
dead body of burial, and precipitate you all into the
same gulf with her if you permit the least movement

86 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

of compassion at the sight of so many cruelties to
escape you."

Already disasters were hovering over the Queen's
head. When Madame Royale came into the world, it
was not a daughter but a son that the court desired.
Marie Antoinette had only pressed the child more
tenderly to her heart on that account. " Poor little
one," she said to her, " you were not wanted, but for
all that you will not be less dear to me. A son
would have belonged more especially to the State.
You will be my own, you will receive all my cares,
you will share my happiness and sweeten my pains."
Alas ! there was no more happiness to share, but how
many pains there were to sweeten !

Madame Royale displayed the best disposition,
and from her infancy manifested those sentiments of
piety which were the honor and consolation of her
whole life. She made her first communion at the
church of Saint Germain-l'Auxerrois on April 8,
1790. In the morning, Marie Antoinette led the
young Princess into the King's chamber and said to
her, " My daughter, throw yourself at your father's
feet and ask his blessing." The child prostrated
herself, and her father, raising her, addressed her in
these words : " From the bottom of my heart I bless
you, my daughter, asking Heaven to give you grace
to appreciate well the great action you are going to
perform. Your heart is innocent in the sight of God ;
your prayers should be pleasing to Him : offer them
for your mother and me ; ask Him to grant me the

THE DAUPHIN AND MADAME ROT ALE. 37

grace necessary to secure the welfare of those whom
He has placed under my dominion and whom I ought
to consider as my children ; ask Him to preserve the
purity of religion throughout the kingdom; and
remember well, my daughter, that this holy religion
is the source of happiness, and our pathway through
the adversities of life. Do not believe that you will
be sheltered from them ; you are very young, but you
have already seen your father afflicted more than
once. You know not, my daughter, what Providence
has decreed for you, whether you will remain in this
realm or go away to live in another. In whatever
spot the hand of God may place you, remember that
you ought to edify by your example and to do good
whenever you find an opportunity. But above all,
my child, succor the unfortunate with all your might.
God gave us our birth in the rank we occupy only
that we might labor for their welfare and console
them in their afflictions. Go to the altar where you
are awaited, and implore the God of mercy never to
let you forget the counsels of a tender father." The
young Princess, profoundly moved, answered by her
tears.

It was customary for the daughters of France to
receive a set of diamonds on the day of their first
communion. Louis XVI. told Madame Royale that
he had done away with this too expensive usage.
" My daughter," he said, " I know your good sense
too well to permit me to suppose that at a moment
when you should be entirely occupied in preparing

88 MABIE ANTOINETTE.

your heart to be a sanctuary worthy of the Divinity,
you can attach much value to artificial ornaments.
Moreover, my child, public wretchedness is extreme,
the poor abound everywhere, and assuredly you would
rather go without jewels than know that they are
going without bread."

The young Princess then went to her parish
church, Saint Germain-rAuxerrois. She approached
the holy table with marks of the sincerest devotion.
Marie Antoinette, in disguise, was present at the
ceremony, which was of extreme simplicity and
which produced in the royal family very sweet
emotions. Louis XVI. gave abundant alms on this
occasion. The day before, the Dauphin had said
to his governess, Madame de Tourzel, "I am very
sorry not to have my Versailles garden any more.
I would have made two beautiful bouquets for to-
morrow, one for my mother, and the other for my
sister."

The Dauphin had just passed his fifth birthday
(he was born March 27, 1785). The grace, the
charming ways of the royal child fascinated even
the demagogues. The Revolution grew milder when
it saw him smile. The crowd never beheld him
without emotion. He was so pretty, so cheerful, so
amiable. He had been given, within the precinct of
the Tuileries, at the end of the terrace beside the
water, a little garden extending to the pavilion in-
habited by his preceptor, the Abb^ d'Avaux. There
he found again what he had left behind him at Ver-

THE DAUPHIN AND MADAME BOY ALE. 39

sailles, — air, amusement, flowers. When he went
to his new garden he was usually accompanied by
a detachment of the National Guard on duty at the
Palace of the Tuileries. He very often wore the
uniform of a National Guard. He learned the man-
ual exercise with a miniature gun, and nothing in-
terested the crowd so much as to see him do the
exercise. When the spectators were not too numer-
ous, he invited them to enter his garden.

One day when the throng was greater than usual,
and many persons seemed displeased not to be able
to come in, "Excuse me," said he, "I am very sorry
that my garden is so small, because that deprives me
of the pleasure of receiving all of you." Then he
offered flowers to those who approached the paling,
and looked pleasantly at them. A priest of the
parish of Saint Eustache, the Abb^ Antheaume, con-
ceived the idea of forming a regiment of children for
the little Prince: it was called the Royal Dauphin.
The uniform was a diminutive of that of the French
Guards, with white gaiters and a three-cornered hat.
This regiment of little boys asked to be treated in a
military manner, like the National Guard.

"There are no more children," said Lafayette.
"Very well, so be it! We have seen so many old
men possessing the vices of young ones that it is
good to see children display the virtues of men."
The infantine regiment served three posts of honor,
— the ch&teau of the Tuileries, the hotel of the
Mayor of Paris in the rue des Capucines, and that of

40 MAEIE ANTOINETTE.

the commandant of the National Guard in the rue de
Bourbon. When they marched past the royal family,
Louis XVI. saluted the flag affectionately, and the
Dauphin made gestures of sympathy to his little
companions-in-arms.

Like the mother of the Gracchi, Marie Antoinette
could say thereafter that her children were her jewels.
The mother was still more august than the queen.
Holding her son by one hand and her daughter by the
other, she had an aspect at once imposing and sweet
which ought to have disarmed the most ferocious
hatred. But the Revolution was without pity and
without bowels of compassion. Neither motherhood
nor infancy could succeed in touching it.

VI.

THE BOTAL FAMILY AT SAINT CLOUD.

ONE experiences a singular sensation when, on
leaving a city torn by civil war or revolution,
he suddenly fincis himself amidst the solitude and
tranquillity of the country. In the presence of
nature, so unmoved by our passions, man seems so
little, God so great. It is a reconciliation, a truce,
an oblivion. One almost persuades himself that he
has nothing more in common with the city where he
has suffered so much. A calm and gentle revery
succeeds to cruel anxieties; one feels strengthened,
consoled, rejuvenated.

This impression which Danton was afterwards to
experience in the fields near Arcis-sur-Aube, Marie
Antoinette enjoyed under the beautiful umbrage of
Saint Cloud in the spring of 1790. The royal family,
which was not yet absolutely captive, remained there
from May 24 to the end of October. It was a great
relief to hear revolutionary clamor no longer ; to be
out of the way of the vociferous hawkers who, at the
Tuileries, were not contented to remain at the garden
gates, but crossed it in every direction, announcing

42 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

their threatening news. The Count and Countess
of Provence did not live in the ch&teau of Saint
Cloud, but they rented a house near the bridge and
came every day to sup with the King and spend the
evening.

Entire harmony reigned between all the members
of the royal family. The rigid etiquette of former
days was modified. The rule which permitted the
admission of none but princes of the blood to the
sovereign's table was relaxed. At dinner and supper
the King and Queen invited persons to sit down with
them nearly every day. After dinner they drove
about the environs in open carriages. After supper
the King played billiards with his family and his
invited guests. He said one day to Mademoiselle
Pauline de Tourzel, the daughter of his children's
governess : —

" Pauline, can you play billiards ? "

" No, Sire."

" Oh, well," went on Louis XVI., " you must know
how to play billiards. I will take charge of your
education and give you some lessons."

The good-natured King kept his word.

The stay at Saint Cloud was a lull in the storm.
We who know the denouement of the drama in
advance see nothing in its changing scenes but gloom
and blood. The thought of the final catastrophe
weighs upon us. The sjaffold is always before our
eyes. It haunts us incessantly. Happily, the reality
was not always quite so frightful. A memory of

THE ROYAL FAMILY AT SAINT CLOUD. 43

Charles I. rose up, it is true, in the obscurity ; but, to
reassure themselves, people were wont to say that in
history similar situations rarely have identical con-
clusions. There were hours of calm, of hope, and
even of gaiety. The Countess de B^arn (Pauline
de Tourzel), in her Souvenirs of Forty Years^ has
sketched the picture of this family life with its com-
parative tranquillity and its innocent distractions.
The Countess of Provence animated the conver-
sations by her slightly malicious wit. She was
especially amusing on Sundays. On that day the
public were permitted to enter and walk around the
royal table. It was then the humor of the Princess
to guess at the character, disposition, and profession
of those who were passing before her. The sort of
prophetical examination which she made of their
faces sometimes led to very amusing results.

Madame Elisabeth enjoyed the stay at Saint Cloud.
"I have a window which opens on a tiny private
garden," she wrote to the Marquise de Bombelles;
" it gives me great pleasure. It is not so charming as
Montreuil, but at least I am free and can enjoy good
fresh air, which helps one to forget somewhat what is
going on — and you will agree that there is frequent
need of doing so." The little Dauphin had a fine
time at Saint Cloud. He was continually in the
garden, and went to walk every evening in the
park of Meudon.

Louis XVI., always inclined to optimism, like all
honest and kindly natures, felt his hopes revive, and

44 MABIE ANTOINETTE.

naively imagined that by dint of reading and medi-
tating on the history of Charles I., he could find
means to preserve himself from the fate of that un-
happy monarch.

Alone among the royal family, Marie Antoinette
had continual presentiments from which she could no
more escape at Saint Cloud than at the Tuileries.
Every contemporary memoir bears witness to the fixed
idea which had pursued her since the outbreak of the
Revolution, and the sort of vertigo caused her by
the half-open abyss beneath her feet. Even at times
when something like calm and forgetfulness stole
over her mind, she remained profoundly sad; her
whole person seemed enveloped in a veil of melan-
choly. She drew painful comparisons between the
Saint Cloud of 1790 and the Saint Cloud of former
years. The palace, the garden, the horizon, were the
same, but how the light of other days was darkened!
Where were now the times when the public thronged
the park on Sunday evenings, and displayed such joy
when the Queen with her children passed by in an
open carriage, greeted by cheers and universal bene-
dictions ? Then, as Weber says. Saint Cloud offered
the appearance of a great family reunion. No man-
ner of uneasiness kept away the curious. The apart-
ments, the gardens, the hearts of the august hosts,
were open to the French people. Whither had
vanished the epoch of the royal eclogue, when the
amiable Queen patronized the rural ball? On the
feast of Saint Cloud the peasants came in their best

THE BOTAL FAMILY AT SAINT CLOUD. 45

attire, and the Queen gave them proofis of her gener-
osity, and sometimes joined in the dance like a simple
peasant. Where was the companionship of the Poli-
gnacs, so amusing, so brilliant, witty, and well pleased
with life? How swiftly those days of light-hearted
gaiety had fled away I Marie Antoinette, recalling
them, wrote from Saint Cloud to the self-exiled
Duchess de Polignac, " Ah, how sad is that dining-
room, once so gay I " On the horizon the fair city of
Paris, of old so beloved, so desired, how changed it
seems I Then it was the city of distractions, pleas-
ures, and popular ovations, of gala representations,
ceremonious entries, visits to the H8tel de Ville, of
Te Deums at Notre Dame, with salvos of applause
and murmurs of admiration when the Queen ap-
peared — the Queen, that privileged being, almost
supernatural, n^ore than woman, more than sovereign,
a sort of goddess, whose smile seemed like a celestial
benediction to the idolizing crowd. Paris is now
the hellish furnace of the Revolution, whose hot
breath penetrates even to the gardens of Saint Cloud,
to wither up the herbage, burn the greenery, and
corrupt the atmosphere. No, no; Paris was no longer
the good city, but the wicked city, the ungrateful,
arrogant, and cruel city, the city of spies, calumnia-
tors, persecutors, and, in a future, alas! very near,
the city of regicides.

At Paris, in the whirlpool of affairs, in the midst
of the mSl^e, Marie Antoinette, as if the prey of an
evil dream, had not fully realized her situation. At

46 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

Saint Cloud she reflected more, she had leisure to
feel herself live. It was then she reflected on the
past, looked the present in the face, and questioned
the future. She passed in review the different periods
of her destiny, already so fertile in contrasts. She
recalled the souvenirs of the Burg and of Schoen-
brunn, of the chateau of Versailles, and the Little
Trianon. One day she was walking in the park of
Saint Cloud with Madame de Tourzel, the Duchess
of Fitz-James, and the Princess of Tarente. Seeing
herself surrounded by National Giiards, some of
whom were deserters from the French Guards, she
said with tears in her eyes : " How surprised my
mother would be if she could see her daughter, the
child, the wife, and the mother of kings, or, at least,
of an infant destined to become one, surrounded by
a guard like this ! It seems as if my father's mind
was prophetic the day when I saw him for the last
time."

Then she related to the three ladies who accom-
panied her that the Emperor Francis I., departing
for Italy, whence he was never to return, had as-
sembled his children about him to bid him farewell.
" I was younger than my sisters," added Marie An-
toinette; "my father took me on his knees, embraced
me several times, and always with tears in his eyes,
as if he felt great pain in leaving me. This appeared
singular to all who were present ; as for me, perhaps
I should not have thought of it so often if my actual
position, by recalling this circumstance, did not cause

TBE BOYAL FAMILY AT SAiNT CLOUD. 41

me to dread for the remainder of my life a succes-
sion of misfortunes which it is only too easy to fore-
see." The impression which the Queen's last words
produced was so vivid that all three of the ladies
melted into tears. Then she said to them, with her
accustomed grace and sweetness: "I reproach myself
for having saddened you. Calm yourselves before
returning to the chateau. Let us revive our courage.
Providence will perhaps make us less unhappy than
we fear."

Saint Cloud was like an oasis in a desert parched
by the sun. It was a halt, a resting-place upon the
road to Calvary. In spite of her anxieties the Queen
enjoyed this last respite, this latest favor of fortune.
One might call it her farewell to the flowers, the
country, the nature she so much loved. Her dreamy
and poetic soul tasted with a sort of sad pleasure
those supreme joys which were to be torn away from
her so soon. She had still her husband, her children,
and her sister-in-law, that saintly Madame Elisabeth,
who watched beside royalty like a good angel. Ah !
while there is yet time, let us look well at this tran-
quil and patriarchal residence of Saint Cloud; at
these ancient trees which overshadow foreheads so
pure ; at this noble royal family which, made sacred
by misfortune and fortified by religion, gives an
example of Christian virtues. It is an edifying spec-
tacle, and consoles us; we are not willing to turn
away our eyes. Let us banish dismal images. They
will return but too quickly to dominate our thoughts.

vn.

ai»

MARIE ANTOINBTTB'S INTERVIEW WITH MIRABEAXT.

THE only time that Marie Antoinette ever spoke
with Mirabeau was at Saint Cloud, in private,
on July 3, 1790, — a memorable interview, when two
powerful influences came into each other's presence ;
that of genius and eloquence, and that of royalty and
beauty, — an affecting interview which left the great
tribune, as it were, fascinated, and which, had he
lived longer, might have resulted in the salvation
of the French monarchy. The most illustrious of
orators and the most august and charming of queens
found themselves face to face for one day only, and
on that day they treated with each other as equal
powers. But it was the woman who prevailed; it
was her influence which carried off the honors of
victory. The foeman of yesterday was the liegeman
of to-morrow.

The man who succeeded in establishing relations
between the court and Mirabeau was a great Belgian
lord in the service of France, — Count de la Marck,
younger son of the Duke of Arenberg. The corre-
spondence between Mirabeau and Count de la Marck,

INTERVIEW WITH MIBABEAU. 49

collected, arranged, and annotated by M. de Bacourt,
— a publication exceedingly interesting and of the
greatest historical value, — gives details as curious
as they are circumstantial concerning the part played
by the famous tribune from the time when he became
the secret agent of Louis XVI. while continuing to
display the passions and speak the language of the
Revolution.

Count de la Marck and Mirabeau became ac-
quainted in 1788, and at once conceived a mutual
sympathy. Mirabeau's genius attracted Count de la
Marck, who, in his turn, charmed and fascinated
Mirabeau by his courtesy, his good breeding, and his
high social position. At bottom the great tribune
was aristocratic. As the Duke of Levis has remarked
in his Souvenirs et Portraits^ " he loved the monarchy
through reason, and the nobility through vanity, even
to the point of putting his servants in livery so soon
as his means permitted, and that in a period when
other people were taking theirs out of it. He said
one day to some Republican deputies, * France will
always need an aristocracy. ' "

He was keenly chagrined by the fact that he was
not thought well of in good society. Although by
his birth he was on an equality with those who fre-
quented the court, it was at once evident from his
manners that he lacked the ease acquired by famil-
iarity with the upper circles. He bowed too low
when he wished to show politeness. He dressed in
bod taste. Magnificent in the tribune, he was some-

50 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

what embarrassed on entering a drawing-room. He
came in with an air of constrained gratitude which
did not disappear until he was deep in conversation.
"But then," says the Duke of Levis, "he quickly
recovered his own place, which was the first."

The memory of his faults and of his adventurous
life oppressed him. " Ah ! " said he, " what injury
the immorality of my youth has done to the public
good ! " He was the fifth child, but, by the death
of a brother he became the eldest son of the Mar-
quis of Mirabeau, a rich proprietor and the head
of a great Provengal family. Married very young
to a rich heiress, he served at first in the army, but
presently abandoned both his wife and profession.
At odds with his father, overwhelmed with debts, re-
duced to expedients, thrown into prison by arbitrary
orders under the King's privy seal! obliged to Uve on
his scanty earnings as an author, going from one
irregularity to another, and from scandal to scandal,
he got the reputation of a degraded and unworthy
person. He threw himself into the revolutionary
camp through bitterness and vexation.

But this r61e did not fail to shock his secret in-
stincts. He prided himself on his good birth, and
suffered because he could not live in accordance
with his hereditary rank. When, after the suppres-
sion of titles and coats-of-arms he found himself
designated in the reports of the sessions of the
National Assembly under the plebeian appellation,
Riquetti Senior, called Mirabeau, his old feudal pride

INTERVIEW WITH MIR ABE AU. 51

revolted in the tribune's soul. In the depth of his
heart he cursed the arrogant Revolution which dared
deprive him of his title as Count. He was enraged
with himself for having served it, and muttered by-
way of excuse that he meant to war against it and
hoped to be its master. The seeming demagogue was
in reality a remorseful monarchist. Count de la
Marck says : " On several occasions when I was irri-
tated by his revolutionary language in the tribune, I
flew into a violent passion and berated him soundly.
Well! he would burst into tears like a child, and
without baseness express his contrition with a sin-
cerity which no one could doubt."

Such was the man whom M. de la Marck found
means to reconcile with the court. At first the task
was not easy. The Queen's prejudices against the
tribune seemed at first glance invincible. Toward
the close of 1789 she wrote to M. de la Marck : " I
have never doubted your sentiments, and when
I learned that you were in league with Mirabeau I
thought, assuredly, that it was with the best inten-
tions. But you can accomplish nothing with him ;
and as to what you consider necessary on the part of
the King's ministers, I do not agree with you. We
shall never, I think, be so unfortunate as to be re-
duced to the painful necessity of having recourse to
Mirabeau."

A few weeks later things had changed. In March,
1790, Count de la Marck, who was in Belgium, was
recalled to Paris by a word from Count de Mercy-

62 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

Argenteau, the Austrian Ambassador, and a friend of
Marie Antoinette. The Queen had at last decided
to take counsel with Mirabeau, and it was Count de
la Marck whom she charged with the negotiation in
the name of the King. Count de la Marck made
known the conditions to his friend.

Mirabeau was to receive six thousand livres a
month, and all his debts, to the amount of two hun-
dred and eight thousand livres, would be paid. It
was, moreover, the King's intention to send him a
million, if, at the close of the session of the National
Assembly, he had fulfilled his engagements with the
court faithfully. Never had Mirabeau been more
rejoiced than by this news. Proud because his King
had recourse to him, happy to pass in the twinkling
of an eye from straitened circumstances to fortune,
enraptured, enthusiastic, full of gratitude, he was in
a sort of intoxication.

The thing is done. The revolutionist becomes
conservative. In appearance he will be still a trib-
une. But at bottom he is a monarchist, a defender
and servant of Louis XVI., a secret agent of the
court, who sends note after note and gives counsel
upon counsel. He wrote thus, May 10, 1790, in his
first letter to the sovereign : " Profoundly moved by
the anguish of the King, who has least merited his
personal misfortunes, persuaded that if in his situa-
tion there is a prince whose word may be relied on,
that prince is Louis XVI., I am, nevertheless, so
armed by men and events against the compassion

INTERVIEW WITH MIR ABE AU. 53

which springs from the sight of human vicissitudes,
that I should experience an invincible repugnance
against playing a part in this moment of factions and
confusion, if I were not convinced that the re-estab-
lishment of the King's legitimate authority is the
prime necessity of France, and the only means of sav-
ing it. But I see clearly that we are in anarchy and
are sinking more deeply in it daily ; I am so indig-
nant at the idea that I shall have contributed merely
to a vast demolition, and the fear of seeing any one
but the King at the head of the state is so insupport-
able to me, that I feel imperiously summoned back to
public affairs at the moment when, vowed in a certain
sense to the silence of contempt, I thought only of
aspiring to retirement."

And in the same letter he promises to the sover-
eign " loyalty, zeal, activity, energy, and a courage of
which no one, perhaps, has any just idea." He prom-
ises " all, in fact, except success, which never depends
on one alone." Some days afterwards he wrote, in
the ardor of his royalistic zeal: "I have professed
monarchical principles when I saw nothing in the
court but its feebleness, and when, knowing neither
the soul nor the thoughts of the daughter of Maria
Theresa, I could not count on that august auxiliary.
I have fought for the rights of the throne when I
inspired nothing but distrust, and when every act of
mine, envenomed by malignity, seemed like a snare.
I have served the monarch when I knew very well
that I need expect neither rewards nor benefits from a

54 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

just but deluded king. What will I not do now, when
confidence has increased my courage, and when recog-
nition has converted my principles into my duties ? "

Mirabeau had not yet had the honor of speaking
with Marie Antoinette, but he was already her enthu-
siastic admirer. June 20, 1790, he wrote in one of
his notes for the court : " The King has only one
man ; it is his wife. There is no safety for her but
in the re-establishment of the royal authority. I
should like to believe that she would not desire life
without her crown ; but what I am very certain of is,
that she will not preserve her life if she does not pre-
serve her crown. The time will come, and very soon,
when she will have to try what a woman and child
can do on horseback — for her that is a family fash-
ion ; but, meanwhile, it is necessary to make prepa-
rations, and not believe it possible, whether by the
aid of chance or of combinations, to escape from an
extraordinary crisis by the assistance of ordinary men
and measures."

The providential, the extraordinary man will be
himself, the Count de Mirabeau. He who has con-
verted the tribune into the gigantic pedestal of his
renown, his pride ; he who, his heart fascinated by
his own genius, his ears filled with the echoes of his
thunderous voice, takes pleasure in the magnificent
expansion of his triumphant personality, do you know
what he aspires to as the greatest of his victories?
A word, a smile, from Marie Antoinette. His chief
desire is to present his homage to the Queen.

INTERVIEW WITH MIBABEAU. 55

On July 3, 1790, this desire was at last realized.
It was agreed that the interview should take place
secretly at Saint Cloud. To conceal the proceeding,
Mirabeau did not spend the previous night at Paris,
but at Auteuil, at the house of his niece, Madame
d'Aragon. He was afterwards conducted with great
mystery to the designated place of the political ren-
dezvous. This, according to Madame Campan's
account, was not an apartment of the palace, as M. de
Lacretelle relates, but at the meeting of the paths in
the high grounds of the Queen's private garden at
Saint Cloud.

Behold, then, the tribune and the sovereign face
to face. Consider that interview wherein the royalty
of birth and the royalty of genius experience a recip-
rocal shudder as they ccmtemplate each other. He is
there, then, the man whom for more than a year the
Queen has thought of as an object of terror, a sort of
antichrist, whom she has called the monster. It is
hardly nine months since he was described to her as
a savage being, directing bands of brigands coming
from Paris to Versailles to slay her. It was a
calumny, but she had believed it. She recalled the
body-guards assassinated while defending her; her
palace, her bedchamber, invaded by cannibals who
demanded her head. She heard incessantly the sin-
ister echo of furious cries, the cries of death ; and to
all these souvenirs the menacing image of Mirabeau
clung like a phantom. And now he was before her,
that man of terrific ugliness, whose eyes flashed light-

56 MABIE ANTOINETTE.

ning; massive, and tall in stature; his strong head
large beyond all ordinary measure, and still further
amplified by an enormous mass of hair which resem-
bled a lion's mane.

Behold him, this Titan of speech, this Atlas who
would bear up a world I And who, then, will be
most intimidated by this meeting, the Queen or the
tribune? It is he, he especially who is moved, he
who has a shock of admiration and respect. Formi-
dable orator, you who in the tribune seem able to
knead marble with your gigantic hands ; you whose
supernatural voice is like the trump of the last judg-
ment; you who, at your own will unchain or calm
the tempests ; at your feet all the fury of the multi-
tudes would feebly expire — and yet the rustle of a
woman's dress and the sound of her voice make you
tremble !

Gentle, benevolent, august, the Queen addresses
the tribune with the supreme grace of which she has
the secret: "With an ordinary foe," she said to him,
" with a man who might have sworn the downfall of
monarchy without appreciating its utility to a great
people, I should be at this moment taking a most im-
proper step ; but when one speaks to a Mirabeau. . . ."

Marie Antoinette went on in her most affable tone,
and each of her words penetrated to the very depths
of Mh'abeau's soul. Ah ! how much more the pres-
ence of this Queen, so fair, so noble, and so unhappy,
flatters the French Demosthenes than all the triumphs
of the tribune, all the intoxication of popularity I

INTEBVIEW WITH MIRABEAU. 57

How he ranks the least word from that sacred mouth
above the most enthusiastic acclamations, the most
frenzied applause of the National Assembly. Oh!
he, at least, does not deceive himself like Cardinal
de Rohan. It is not a false Queen there in the shrub-
bery this time. It is the real Marie Antoinette, the
daughter of the German Caesar, the child of Maria
Theresa, the wife of the descendant of Henri IV.
and Louis XIV., the Queen of France and Navarre I
What an honor, what a rehabilitation, to be well
received by such a woman ! Mirabeau is contented
with himself. He feels proud and happy. All
his remorse vanishes. All that has been evil in
his past is but a dream. He opens a new career;
he no longer doubts the future. Full of hope and
full of faith, it is with profound conviction that he
cries, in taking leave of the Queen, ^' Madame, the
monarchy is saved 1 "

VIII.

THE FESTIVAL OF THE FEDEBATION.

IN July, 1790, the royal family left Saint Cloud
for several days and went to Paris to be present
at the fetes of the Federation. Never had the popu-
lace been so preoccupied with any solemnity. The
Moniteur described it as an " august fSte, the most
majestic and imposing which, since the annals of the
world have been known to us, has honored the
human race." The men of the French Revolution
delighted in everything theatrical. Mythological
pomps, souvenirs of antiquity, grandiose spectacles,
enraptured them, and nothing so charmed the Paris-
ians as open-air ceremonies in which they were both
actors and spectators.

The day chosen for the fete was July 14, the
anniversary of the taking of the Bastille. The King,
the members of the National Assembly, the army,
and delegates from every department of France, were
to assemble on the Champ-de-Mars and take a solemn
oath to support the new Constitution. The people
naively imagined that this Constitution was going to
be the source of order, peace, liberty, progress, pros-
68

THE FESTIVAL OF THE FEDERATION. 69

perity, and a state of things which would bring back
to earth the age of gold. The Hebrews in the
desert had not awaited with more impatience the
Holy Law which Moses brought down to them from
Sinai. And yet, as nearly always happened at the
time of the Revolution, a secret disquiet mingled
with these illimitable hopes and joys.

A few days before the fete, the Duke of Orleans,
coming from England, where he had sojourned since
the October days in a sort of exile, disguised under
the title of a diplomatic mission, arrived in Paris, and
in the evening made his appearance at the palace.
This unexpected arrival alarmed everybody. . It was
believed that the Duke, badly received by the King,
and almost insulted by the court, was about to
organize a great conspiracy. The people, always
credulous, believed the most contradictory and fabu-
lous reports. Conservatives and revolutionists alike
lent themselves to the most terrifying projects. Ac-
cording to some, an insurrection was about to break
out in Paris ; the deputies of the nobility would be
massacred on the Champ-de-Mars ; Louis XVI. would
be deprived of his crown, and the Duke of Orleans
placed on the throne. According to others, there was
to be a counter-revolution ; the patriots would have
their throats cut, and the most popular members of
the National Assembly would be shot ; the suburbs
would be burned, and Louis XVI., leaving the Champ-
de-Mars, would re-enter the Tuileries as an absolute
monarch. This panic did not last long. The multi-

60 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

tude, always fickle, soon lost all fear, and busying
themselves in preparations for the fSte with a pas-
sionate activity which bordered on frenzy, they be-
came absorbed in sentiments of confidence and joy.

Twelve thousand workmen were constantly em-
ployed in the Champ-de-Mars, where, by means of
circular terraces, they were about to form a gigantic
amphitheatre, whose benches would seat three hun-
dred thousand spectators. It was an immense piece
of work. As it was feared that they might not be
able to finish it by July 14, and as this revolutionary
.date was deemed essential, the districts, in the name
of the country, invited all good citizens to come to
the aid of the workmen in the Champ-de-Mars with
shovels and wheelbarrows. This invitation, so con-
formable to the patriotic ideas of the time, excited
general enthusiasm. Through fashion and infatua-
tion, still more than through patriotism, everybody
saw in this labor both a pleasure and a duty.

According to Camille Desmoulins, the day which
is approaching is " the day of deliverance from Egyp-
tian bondage, and the crossing of the Red Sea; it is
the first day of the year One of Liberty; it is the
day predicted by the prophet Ezekiel, — the day of
destiny, the great feast of the lanterns." Patriots of
all classes, men and women, old men and children,
rich and poor — which of you is unwilling to aid in
making ready the splendors of such a solemnity?
Come then, one and all, to join this immense band of
laborers where, as the Marquis de Ferridres has said,

THE FESTIVAL OF THE FEDERATION. 61

"the dishevelled courtesan finds herself next to a
shamefaced virgin ; where the Capuchin hauls a dray
with the chevalier of Saint Louis, the porter with the
coxcomb from the Palais Royal; where the robust
herring-woman pushes the wheelbarrow loaded by the
fashionable and hypochondriacal lady."

"It is the ballet of the reunion of classes," says
Camille Desmoulins. It is like a great Flemish
festival. People sing while they work. The peram-
bulating eating-houses, the portable shops, add to the
animation of the scene. Do you hear the buffooneries,
the songs, the noise of drums and trumpets, the
spades, the wheelbarrows, the voices of the laborers
who call to and encourage each other ? Do you see
these Seminarists, these Carthusians, who have left
their cloisters to come to this civic rendezvous ? Do
you see these marquises who take off their gloves to
shake hands with charcoal-dealers? They say that
Saint Just, pushing a wheelbarrow, met the Countess
du Barry, with a shovel in her hand. A disabled sol-
dier of Louis XIV.'s day is working with his wooden
leg. What activity reigns amid these hundred and
fifty thousand voluntary laborers! So much zeal
ends by accomplishing the desired result. The ter-
races are finished. The Champ-de-Mars is ready.
How the patriots rejoice 1 Behold the Fourteenth of
July, the great day !

The Federates, ranged by departments, under
eighty-three banners, have been assembled since day- .

break on the Place de la Bastille. Deputies, soldiers I

62 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

of the line, and marine troops, the Parisian National
Guard, drummers, bands of singers, and the banners
of the sections open and close the march. The
immense procession passes through the streets of
Saint Martin, Saint Denis, and Saint Honor^. On
reaching the Tuileries, its ranks are swelled by the
municipal officials and the Assembly. It passes on
through the Cours la Reine and enters the Champ-de-
Mars by a bridge of boats which has been constructed
across the stream. At the end of this bridge rises a
triumphal arch, on which may be read the following
mottoes : —

" We fear you no longer, petty tyrants,
You who oppressed us under a hundred different names."

" The rights of man have been disregarded for centuries ;
they have been re-established for all humanity."

" The king of a free people is the only powerful king."

Another motto may also be read, which will not be
pondered sufficiently : —

" You cherish this liberty, you possess it now ; show your-
selves worthy to preserve it."

Three hundred thousand spectators are crowded
together on the sides of the amphitheatre. They
have been there since six in the morning. The
weather is bad. The showers produce a singular
effect. As soon as it begins to rain, thousands of
different colored umbrellas are opened, and change

THE FESTIVAL OF THE FEDERATION. 63

the aspect of the terraces. The Federates, dripping
with water and perspiration, are no longer gay and in
high spirits. To pass away the time, the first comei*s
begin a Provengal dance. Those who follow them
join in, and form a circle which soon embraces a large
portion of the Champ-de-Mars. Not contented with
dancing, the Federates engage in mock combats;
cities against country places, departments against de-
partments, Proven5aux against Flemings, Lori-ainers
against Bretons. These little wars terminate in fra-
ternal embraces. Then the dances begin again, bet-
ter than ever.

The delighted spectators beat time, and applaud.
The foreigners cry, " Look at these devils of French-
men who dance while it is raining fast." Who cares
for bad weather when the sun in the heart is shining?
Finally, the entire procession is about to enter the
Champ-de-Mars. The games cease, and every Feder-
ate returns to his own banner.

The circumference of the circus, on the side of the
buildings of the Military School, is closed by a large
covered gallery, ornamented with blue and gold
hangings, in the midst of which is a pavilion intended
for the King. Behind the throne is a private box for
the Queen, the Dauphin, and the Princesses of the
royal family. The sovereign being no longer more
than half a sovereign, until the time should come
when he would not be even that, there had been
placed beside his throne, and about three feet distant,
another armchair of the same size, covered with

64 MABIE ANTOINETTE.

azure velvet, sown with golden lilies: it was destined
for the President of the National Assembly. A vast
altar rose in the middle of the immense space encir-
cled by the amphitheatre. It was twenty-five feet
high. It was ascended by four staircases terminating
in a platform, where incense was burned in antique
vases. On the south front of this altar these two
distichs might be read : —

" Iklortals are equal ; it is not their biftb,
It is their virtue differeuces their worth."

" Throughout the State, the Law should reign supreme,
Equal, to her, are men, howe'er they seem."

On the opposite side angels were represented, sound-
ing trumpets bearing these inscriptions : —

"Consider these three sacred words: the Nation, the Law,
the King. The Nation is You. The Law, again, is You. The
King is the guardian of the Law. "

On the side facing the Seine might be distin-
guished an image of Liberty, and a Genius hovering
in the air with a pennon on which was written,
" Constitution."

Three hundred priests, vested in white albs, and
wearing tricolored scarfs, cover the steps of the
altar. Talleyrand, Bishop of Autun, and a member
of the National Assembly, is about to say the Mass.
The office begins. Fortunately, the clouds disperse,
and the sun comes out. Chants, military music, and

THE FESTIVAL OF THE FEDERATION. 65

salvos of artillery mingle with the bishop's voice. At
the Elevation the drums beat a salute ; the trumpets
sound; the whole crowd are on their knees. The
Mass ended, Lafayette dismounts from his white
horse, and walks over to the galleries where the
King, the royal family, the Ministers, and the mem-
bers of the National Assembly are seated, and ascend-
ing the fifty steps leading to the throne of Louis XVL,
receives the commands of the sovereign, who hands
to him the formula of the appointed oath. Turning
afterwards toward the altar, Lafayette lays his sword
upon it, and, going up to its most elevated point, he
gives the signal for the oath by waving a flag in air.

The hundred pieces of artillery, the two thousand
brass instruments, the hundreds of thousands of
spectators, all are silent. In this religious silence
one voice alone is heard: the voice of Lafayette.
Laying one hand on his heart, and lifting the other
toward heaven, he pronounces these words: "We
swear to be always faithful to the nation, the law,
and the King; to maintain with all our power the
Constitution decreed by the National Assembly, and
accepted by the King ; to protect, comf ormably with
the laws, the security of person and property, the
traffic in grains and other provisions in the interior
of the kingdom, the collection of public taxes under
whatever form they exist, and to remain united to
all Frenchmen by the indissoluble ties of fraternity."

Then all arms are flung up, all swords brandished,
and an immense cry breaks forth: "I swear it." The

66 MABIE ANTOINETTE.

artillery of neighboring municipalities announces the
oath to more distant ones, which, in their turn, trans-
mit it in like manner, and with lightning swiftness,
to the very extremities of France : to France trans-
formed in an instant into an immense Champ-de-
Mars, where twenty-five millions of French Federates
swear, at the same moment, to defend the law, to be
faithful to the sovereign, and to live and die for
their country. Louis XVI. rises and pronounces
these words in a strong voice: "I, King of the
French, swear to employ the power delegated to me
by the constitutional act of the State, in maintaining
the Constitution decreed by the National Assembly,
and by me accepted." The Queen takes the Dauphin
in her arms, and, presenting him to the people,
"Behold my son," says she; "he joins, as I do, in
the same sentiments." From every breast break forth
these cries, repeated with wild enthusiasm: "Long
live the King! Long live the Queen! Long live
Monseigneur the Dauphin ! " The weather is com-
pletely settled. No more clouds ; the sun shines in
full splendor.

Who would not feel his hopes revive in presence
of this colossal demonstration, this delirium of good-
will and reconciliation ? Optimism is in the air. It
is an irresistible current. How can one be severe on
the generous illusions of the unfoi*tunate Louis XVI.,
remembering that these illusions were not his alone,
but those of a whole nation ? At this hour the mon-
archy is regarded as the best of republics. People

TUB FESTIVAL OF THE FEDERATION. 67

: into ecstasies over the merits and virtues of the
^. itiiot-King. It is like a picture by Greuze which
should suddenly become an incommensurable fresco.
One might say that the old regime and the Revolu-
tion, reconciled once for all, are exchanging the kiss
of peace, and pressing each other in a cordial embrace.
Brethren uniting tenderly around an exemplary father
of a family, — such was the tableau presented by the
Champ-de-Mars. Woe to him, who, in this innumer-
able multitude, should venture a single word of doubt
concerning the future I Woe to him who would have
the temerity to disbelieve in the resurrection of the
age of gold I

A Te Deum with full orchestra is about to termi-
nate the ceremony. It is five o'clock in the after-
noon. The Federates go in good order to the chateau
of La Muette, where a grand banquet, served in the
alleys of the park, is awaiting them. Out of bed
from dawn to midnight, they have walked from their
homes to the Place de la Bastille, from there to
the Champ-de-Mars, from the Champ-de-Mars to La
Muette, from La Muette back to their lodgings.
They have danced, cried, sung, and been drenched
with torrents of rain ; and still they are enthusiastic,
rapt to the seventh heaven. It must be admitted
that this vigorous generation, which, some years later,
was to perform so many brilliant deeds, so many
prodigies on every battle-field of Europe, braves fa-
tigue and danger with an ardor and animation which
excuse many faults.

68 MABIE ANTOINETTE.

The rejoicings lasted for several days. At the
Barridre de TEtoile the King held a grand review.
The Queen was present in an open carriage with the
Dauphin and Madame Elisabeth. She spoke with ex-
quisite politeness to all who approached her, and more
than one Federate had the honor of kissing her hand.
In the evening, the municipality gave a grand popu-
lar fSte. The two principal points of reunion were
on the Place de la Bastille and the Champs-Elys^es.
Where the former prison had stood there was a ball,
and this inscription: "Dancing here." In the even-
ing no carriages could pass. Everybody was obliged
to go on foot. Everybody was happy to show that
he belonged to the people.

The Champs-Elys^es presented a fairy-like aspect,
with its lights depending from every trecj its wreaths
of lanterns, its pyramids of flame. " It was at the
Champs-Elys^es," said the Marquis de Ferridres, "that
sensible men took most satisfaction in the fSte. The
citizen, with his family, ate, chatted, walked about,
and was agreeably conscious of his existence. Young
girls and boys were dancing to the music of bands
placed here and there in open spaces among the
trees. ... A sweet and sentimental joy visible on
all faces, and shining in every eye, recalled the placid
enjoyment of happy shades in the Elysian fields of
the ancients. The white garments of a multitude of
women straying amid the trees of these fine avenues
added to the illusion."

O dreams too swiftly vanished! Chimeras which

THE FESTIVAL OF THE FEDERATION. 69

the terrible reality will presently cause to disappear !
Strange festivals where reconciliation lies on the sur-
face while hatred and passion live still within the
depths. Envy and rancor pierce through these idyls,
these gigantic eclogues. People sing the Ca ira: —

" Qa ira, pa irOf
To the lamp-posts with the aristocrats ;

Ca ira, pa ira,
The aristocrats, we'll hang them all 1 **

A sagacious observer might readily have foreseen
that to the three words, Liberty, Equality, Fra-
ternity, there would speedily be added this conclu-
sion of the formula : " Or Death." The Mass was
preceded by a dance. No doubt the patriots reminded
each other that David danced before the ark. Why
should not they dance before the altar of the Federa-
tion? No matter! This mixture of patriotism and
religion makes a poor alloy. Such an ecclesiastic as
the Bishop of Autun seems hardly the man to
invoke the blessings of the Lord upon the crowds
assembled in the Champ-de-Mars. There is more
mythology than Christianity in the whole affair.

Optimists, do not rejoice I Yet a little while, and
these honest royalists, these tender-hearted people,
who come with the Federates of Bdarn to shed tears
of filial tenderness at the foot of the statue of Henri
IV., will be howling with rage around the scaffold
of his descendant.

Who are the three men that come most noticeably
to the front in the f §te of the Champ-de-Mars ? A

70 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

king, a general, and a bishop. The king is the future
martyr ; the general, the future prisoner of Olmutz ;
the bishop is the future exile, the priest who throws
away his chasuble, cross, and mitre. The Mass cele-
brated by this pontiff will not bring good fortune
either to Louis XVI. or to France I

IX.

MIBABBAU'S DOUBLE EOLB.

MIRABEAU'S interview with Marie Antoinette
had made a profound impression on him.
The royal vision remained in his eyes and in his
heart as a kind of bewildering dream. He wept
with remorse when he thought that formerly he might
have been esteemed the enemy of this beautiful sov-
ereign. He wept with joy in reminding himself that
thenceforward he would be her knight, her defender.
Certain suspicions concerning this sudden conver-
sion of the famous tribune got into circulation. An
article published in a daily paper, L*Orateur du
Peuple^ accused him of having gone to Saint Cloud,
and insinuated that he must have seen the Queen.
Mirabeau admitted that he had left Paris to pay a
visit to his niece, Madame d'Aragon, but declared
that the alleged interview at Saint Cloud was purely
imaginary. Things rested there, although for several
days accounts of the " Great treason of Count Mira-
beau" were hawked about the streets of Paris.

To kindle and extinguish conflagrations, to unchain
and quiet tempests, to be by turns revolutionists and

72 MABIE ANTOINETTE.

conservatives, destroyers and preservers, is the dream
of ambitious men who imagine themselves able to
play with human passions like an Indian juggler
with his bowls, and who frequently believe them-
selves the masters of events when in reality they
are merely their slaves. During several months it
was possible for Mirabeau to play a double part
without being unmasked; but had he lived longer,
the deception could not have been kept up, and the
great man, driven into a corner, would have been
forced to make his choice between the two selves —
the royalist ana the tribune — that were incarnated
in him.

All energetic men, no matter who they may be,
have the governing instinct, and their aim, if they
hope to arrive at power, is order and domination.
Revolution is not an end, but a means to most great
agitators, and there are few demagogues who do not
long to be all-powerful. Mirabeau's ideal was to
become the strong and influential minister of an
undisputed king, crushing all resistance with his
iron hand, and saying with an absolute voice to the
revolutionary flood : " Thou shalt go no further."

A socialist journal, published at Verviers, calls
itself The Mirabeau. This journal is doubtless not
well acquainted with the part assumed by the great
tribune during the last months of his life. I suspect
that the democrats of our day would not feel dis-
posed to approve the ideas and principles he pro-
fessed. It is rather singular to recall how the great-

MIRABEAW8 DOUBLE b6LE, 73

est orator of the French Revolution judged Paris,
the National Assembly, and the National Guard, if
not in the tribune, at least in the privacy of his con-
science.

Desire for a reaction went to the length of Machi-
avellianism in the mind of the tribune, now become
the secret agent of the court. He wished to lay
snares for the Assembly, and make it the victim of
its own faults and outrages. He even became a dis-
ciple of that school which, in all epochs of disorder,
expresses the hope that good must be born from the
excess of evil. He had two policies, two faces. He
lived a double life, — the revolutionist on this side,
the royalist on that. The equilibrium he continued
to preserve between them was almost miraculous.
There was so much force, 'skill, and eloquence in this
powerful actor, that even his adversaries dared not
suspect him. His popularity was like a sturdy oak
which defies wind and lightning. ' '

Nevertheless, this double part has something essen-
tially disagreeable -about it. When one thinks of the
man who had just fulminated demagogic invectives
in the tribune, returning to his own house, and sitting
down in private to write his communications to the
court, it is impossible not to be distressed by a du-
plicity which would have needed to be unhired in
order to be excused. Assuredly Mirabeau pursued
a plan approved by his conscience. But, for all that,
he remains, in spite of all his genius and his glory, a
man who was obliged to skulk, who received hush-

74 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

money, who would have been ruined completely in
public opinion if his writings and his actions had sud-
denly been made known. Like all talented men whose
conscience troubles them, he was at once haughty and
humble ; haughty when he was on view before men,
humble when he entered within himself. His Atlas
shoulders, huge and powerful as they were, bent
under the intolerable burden of his double part.
He would have liked to be himself before God and
men.

Let us interrogate the depths of his soul. Let us
see him as he is. Let us ask his opinions of men
and things. Parisians, this is what he has to say of
your city, so well satisfied with itself : " Never were
so many combustible elements and inflammable mate-
rials brought together on a single hearth. A hun-
dred scribblers whose sole resource is disorder, a
multitude of insubordinate strangers who kindle dis-
cord in all public places, ... all that is most cor-
rupt in both extremes, — the dregs of the nation and
the most elevated classes, — and this is Paris. This
city knows its strength. It has exercised it by turns
on the army, the King, the Ministers, and the Assem-
bly. It is certain that Paris is the last city in the
kingdom to which peace will be restored. It is neces-
sary, therefore, to destroy its influence in the prov-
inces, to make its projects dreaded, to show the
expenses of every sort which it occasions, and to
make the people desire that a second legislative body
shall be placed in a city where its independence and

MIBABEAU'8 DOUBLE BdZE, 75

the Bong's liberty will be more secure." (47th Note
to the Court, December 23, 1790.)

Partisans of the National Guard, listen to what
Mirabeau has to say in the same note of that insti- \
tution : *' I consider the National Guard of Paris as
an obstacle to the restoration of order. . • . This
troop is too numerous to have any esprit de corpSj
too closely united to the citizens ever to resist them,
too easy to corrupt, not in masses, but as individuals,
not to be an instrument always ready to serve the
seditious."

You who respect the parliamentary system so
greatly, do you wish to know how Mirabeau thought
the National Assembly should be treated? In the
same note he writes: "I have already pointed out
several ways of attacking the Assembly. They may
be reduced chiefly to these : Let it issue every decree
which may increase the number of malcontents ; in- •
cite it to destroy the rural municipalities, to change
the organizations of those of cities, and to put a check
on the administration of departments ; get up popu-
lar petitions to it on points known to be out of har-
mony with its principles; push it further toward
usurping all powers; make its discussions bear on
imimportant topics ; have the minority introduce the
most popular motions, so that they may be thrown
out or modified ; prolong the session until the abuses
of the new judiciary order, and the difficulty in the
way of imposing taxes, shall become thoroughly
known ; acquaint it every day with the obstructions

76 MABIE ANTOINETTE.

which hinder the execution of its laws, and demand
that it shall explain them itself ; and, in fine, neglect
at the same time no opportunity to augment the pop-
ularity of the Queen and the King. There is no
room for hesitation ; if this Assembly runs its course
triumphantly, the state of public opinion permits no
further hope."

The devoted agent of the court, Mirabeau thus
insists on the importance of the advice he gives it: —

" Everything may be hoped if my plan is adopted ;
and if it is not, if this last plank of safety escapes us,
there is no misfortune, from individual assassinations
to pillage, from the downfall of the throne to the
dissolution of the empire, which may not be antici-
pated. What other resource exists except this plan ?
Is not the ferocity of the people increasing by de-
grees ? Are they not being induced to hope for the
division of property ? . . . Could frenzy and fanati-
cism be pushed to a higher point than they are in
the National Assembly ? Unhappy nation ! Behold
whither you have been led by men who have put
intrigue in the place of talent! Honest but feeble
King! unfortunate Queen! look down into the
frightful abyss to which your fluctuations between
a too blind confidence and an exaggerated distrust
have conducted you ! One effort can still be made
by each of you; but it is the last. If it is not
attempted, or if it fails, a funereal pall is about to
envelop this empire. What will be its destiny?
Whither will drift this vessel, struck by the lightning

MIRABEAU'8 DOUBLE BOLE. 77

and beaten by the storm ? I do not know ; but if I
make my own escape from the public wreck, I shall
always say with pride in my retirement, ' I exposed
myself to ruin in order to save them all, and they
would not.' "

We have just seen in Mirabeau the extreme con-
servative, the ardent reactionist, the man of order,
discipline, authority, the zealous, convinced, enthu-
siastic royalist. And yet in the tribune it still
often happened to him to display revolutionary sen-
timents. If there was talk of hoisting the tricolor
instead of the white flag upon the government ves-
sels, or of the pillage of the H6tel de Castries by
the people, or some other burning question, the dema-
gogue, the agitator, reappeared at once. Intoxicated
by the applause which greeted his fiery narangues,
he became again the idol of the multitude, and de-
lighted in his popularity. Like great actors who play
successively two different parts with equal talent and
conviction, he forgot perhaps, for a moment, that he
was a reactionist, an enemy of the National Assem-
bly, a secret agent of the Tuileries. He was like
those consummate advocates, who feel they possess
sufficient address and eloquence to argue both their
own cause and the opposing one. There was room
in this exuberant and fiery nature for both the Revo-
lution and the counter-revolution. He was the engine
and the brake, the torrent and the dike.

O powerful orator, amuse yourself with your
genius! May your eloquence give you, if not the

78 MABIE ANTOINETTE.

joys of a patriot, at least those of an artist ! Win the
applause of this Assembly which hardly suspects that
you are the man who most opposes it I Listen to
yourself talkl May the majesty of your voice en-
chant your own ears ! May the captivating influence
of your discourse carry you away from earth ! All
this will not last much longer. Both you and the
monarchy are condemned to a speedy end. Your
popularity can accomplish nothing for the welfare of
France. You, who hardly desire anything but storms
and shipwrecks, strive vainly to-day to play the pilot.
The sea is too rough, the tempest too formidable, and
you can no more reason with the Revolution than
with the dead. Let the crew tremble, then I You
try in vain to save them. It is too late.

THE DBPABTtJBB OF THE KING's AUNTS.

A BREACH had opened in the ranks of the
King's adherents. The most ardent supporters
of the monarchy were no longer at hand to defend it.
Through a mistaken notion of honor, the royalists
gloried in abandoning their sovereign, the military in
deserting the field of battle. The court ladies despised
the young men who would not emigrate. The nobility
departed as if for a rendezvous of patriotism and
monarchical fideUty. Those who remained in France
hardly dared to show themselves. Great ladies sent
them distaffs, symbok of cowardice. People emi-
grated through vanity, or conceit, or because it was
the fashion. It was said that the King's brothers
knew better than any one what comported with his
service, and that, if they had thought it right to
betake themselves to foreign lands, the place of the
faithful nobility was also there. It was added that
all that would be necessary to crush the impertinent
Revolution, was to show one's crest. *'It will last
about two weeks," said the earliest fugitives.

Louis XVI., always weak and fluctuating, had

80 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

neither the courage to approve nor to disavow the
emigration. OflScially, he condemned it, but at bot-
tom he hoped to make it useful. He had in it not
merely relatives, friends, and servants, but agents.
It inspired him by turns with fear and sympathy.
Sometimes he saw a danger in it, and again a last
chance of safety. At one moment he criticised the
emigrants, at another he would have been glad to be
among them. The sovereign, perhaps, treated them as
conspirators, but the man, the husband, and the father
told himself that these conspirators might well become
the saviours of his wife and children. Not knowing
clearly what he wished, the unfortunate monarch was
drawn in different directions. It happened to him,
the best and most well-intentioned man in the king-
dom, to play a double part, and to incarnate in him-
self two kings, — the king of the tricolor and the
king of the white flag. Ah! woe to the epochs
when the notion of right becomes obscured, when
conscience, virtue, and patriotism, being interrogated,
know not what to answer 1 Happy the people among
whom one may serve his country regularly and with-
out hesitation, where duty is precise, incontestable,
and uncontested, where the same fact is not at the
same time characterized as loyal and as criminal, as
fidelity and as treason I

Even while disavowing the emigration, the court
was in secret relations with it. That was what
caused the imeasy suspicions which disquieted the
multitude and made them cast anxious glances across

THE DEPARTURE OF THE KING'S AUNTS. 81

the frontiers. They had a presentiment that Louis
XVI. would flee from Paris, and the very people
who rendered the royal family so unhappy could not
become accustomed to the idea of seeing them go
away. This explains the extreme excitement felt
when the King's aunts left Bellevue to go to Rome.
No one cared much about these Princesses; they lived
in a sort of retirement and took no part in politics.
But it was feared lest their departure might prove
the signal for that of the King and Queen. More-
over, the resolution adopted by the ladies resulted in
recalling public attention to the emigration, that
burning question which was one of tiiose that most
inflamed the imagination of the people.

Mesdames Adelaide and Victoire, daughters of Louis
XV., and aunts of Louis XVL, had essayed to make
themselves forgotten from the beginning of the Revo-
lution. They lived in a retired manner at their chateau
of Bellevue, occupying themselves solely in works of
charity, but regretting the old regime and sharing all
the ideas of the emigrants. Like their father, they
had a horror of newfangled opinions, and whether
in religion or politics, were profoundly devoted to
retrograde principles. When the Revolution grew
more pronounced, it became insupportable to them to
remain in France. They had only one idea, — to
quit a Country polluted by disorder, and go to Rome
to kneel in the basilica of Saint Peter, to meditate
and pray.

Louis XVL did not think it right to oppose his

82 MABIE ANTOINETTE.

aunts' desire. Their passports were signed, and Car-
dinal de Bernis,the French Ambassador to Rome, was
notified of their speedy arrival. They were about to
start, when, on February 3, 1791, an anonymous inti-
mation of their intention was sent to the Jacobin
Club. Alarm, fury against the court, patriotic rage,
was the immediate result. A deputation from the
municipal body went to the Assembly and to the
Tuileries to make complaint. "I have already* ex-
plained to the municipality," said Louis XVI., " that
my aunts, being their own mistresses, have the right
to go wherever they please. I know their hearts too
well to believe that any one need borrow any trouble
concerning the motives of their journey."

The shrews of the Palais Royal, who assembled in
the garden every evening, agreed to go out to Belle-
vue together and prevent the departure of the Prin-
cesses. The ladies, warned of the approach of these
menacing hordes, went at once, without waiting to
finish their preparations. In the evening of Febru-
ary 19 they abruptly quitted the chateau, in the car-
riage of a lady who had come to pay them a visit.
When the women from Paris arrived, their rage at
finding the chateau empty was extreme. They
wanted at least to avenge themselves, by preventing
the departure of the baggage wagons. General Alex-
andre Berthier (the future Prince of Wagram) put a
stop to this. But he allowed them to enter the apart-
ments, empty the cellars, and loll on the beds of the
Princesses.

THE DEPABTUBE OF THE KING'S AUNTS. 88

The language of the Revolutionary journals was a
medley of anger and disdain. The Chronique de
Paris published this sarcastic article : —

" Two Princesses, sedentary by condition, age, and
taste, are suddenly possessed by a mania for travelling
and running about the world. That is singular, but
possible. They are going, so people say, to kiss the
Pope's slipper. That is droll, but edifying.

" Thirty-two sections and all good citizens get
between them and Rome. That is very simple.

"The Ladies, and especially Madame Adelaide,
want to exercise the rights of man. That is natural.

"They do not go, they say, with intentions op-
posed to those of the Revolution. That is possible,
but difficult.

"The fair travellers are followed by a train of
eighty persons. That is fine. But they carry away
twelve miUions. That is very ugly.

"They need change of air. That is the custom.
But this removal disturbs their creditors. That is
also the custom.

" They burn to travel (the desire of young girls is
a devouring fire). That is the custom. People bum
to keep them at home. That is also the custom."

The Sahhats Jacobites used still more ironical lan-
guage. It said : —

" The Ladies are going to Italy to try the power
of their tears and their charms upon the princes of
that country. Already the Gj;and Master of Malta
has caused Madame Adelaide to be informed that he

84 MABIE ANTOINETTE.

will give her his heart and hand as soon as she has
quitted France, and that she may count upon the
assistance of three galleys and forty-eight cavaliers,
young and old. Our Holy Father undertakes to
marry Victoire and promises her his army of three
hundred men to bring about a counter-revolution."

The journey of the Ladies was painful. At Moret
people wished to arrest them, and cried, "To the
lamp-post ! " It was owing to the protection of some
cavaliers belonging to the Lorraine Chasseurs that
they were able to continue their route. February 21,
at the moment of entering Arnay-le-Duc, they were
made prisoners by the municipality of the town, who
determined to keep them until the National Assembly
should have decided whether or not they might con-
tinue their journey. The question was taken to Paris,
in the name of the municipality of Arnay-le-Duc, by
one of the town oflScials, and M. de Narbonne, on be-
half of the Princesses. While awaiting a solution,
the two Princesses were confined in a miserable
room in a tavern.

iThe National Assembly discussed the matter. M.
de Narbonne, their chevalier of honor, pleaded the
cause of the Ladies very skilfully. " The welfare of
the people," said Mirabeau, "cannot depend on the
journey the Ladies undertake to Rome ; while they
are promenading near the places where the Capitol
once stood, nothing prevents the edifice of our lib-
erty from rising to its utmost height." The debate
was ended by Count de Menou, who exclaimed:

THE DEPABTUBE OF THE KING'S AUNTS. 85

" Europe will doubtless be much astonished, when it
learns that the National Assembly of France spent
four entire hours in deliberating on the departure of
two ladies who would rather hear Mass in Rome than
in Paris."

Conformably with Mirabeau's advice, the National
Assembly declared that the Ladies were at liberty to
depart. At Arnay-le-Duc there was a riot. The pop-
ulace were unwilling to accept the decision of the
Assembly. The Princesses were detained for two
days longer, and were only permitted to continue
their journey on March 3, after eleven days' impris-
onment. When they had crossed the bridge of Beau-
voisin, they were hooted from the French shore,
while salvos of artillery welcomed them to foreign
soil. They could not believe they were in safety
imtil they reached Chamb^ry, where one of the chief
palace oflScials of the King of Sardinia saluted them
in his master's name, and installed them in the
palace.

At Paris the excitement had been very great. On
the very evening when the Assembly decided in favor
of the Ladies, a crowd of rioters, public women, and
Jacobin emissaries, invaded the courts and the garden
of the Tuileries, demanding, with furious cries, that
the King should order the Ladies to return to him at
once. The National Guard cam^ up. The gates of
the chateau were closed. The populace commanded
the soldiers to lay down their bayonets, but they re-
fused. Six cannons were levelled at the crowd. " I

86 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

have always wished to display gentleness," said Louis
XVI., "but one miist know how to combine it with
^mmness, and teach the people that they were not
made to dictate the law, but to obey it." Lafayette
was ordered to disperse the crowd, and he succeeded
in doing so.

THE KHIGHT8 OF THB FONIABD.

THERE is no longer any dike in the way of the
torrent. Anarchy is everywhere. The gfovem-
mental machine is broken. Loois XVI. is no longer
more than the shadow of a king. There is no
calumny, however absurd, which is not universally
believed; no appeal to the passions which does not
receive immediate hearing. Words lose their mean-
ing. Rebellion is called patriotism. The faithful
servants who come to protect the person of their king
with a rampart of their own bodies, are treated as
seditious, as assassins, and are pointed out to popular
vengeance under the melodramatic title of ^^ Knights
of the Poniard."

The multitude is restless, agitated, on the morning
of February 28, 1791. One might say that the ex-
plosive materials with which the ground is strewn
are about to be set on fire. Certain repairs are being
made in the dimgeon of Vincennes, so that it may
serve as an auxiliary to the prisons of Paris. A
rumor spreads among the populace to the effect that
a new BastUle is preparing, to succeed the former

88 MABIE ANTOINETTE.

one. The rioters, recruited from the Faubourg Saint
Antoine by Santerre, go to the castle of Vincennes,
and begin demolishing a parapet, and afterwards sev-
eral other parts of the dungeon.

Apprised of this popular movement, Lafayette
goes at once to Vincennes, with a detachment of the
National Guard. In the Faubourg Saint Antoine
the people show hostile dispositions, and three battal-
ions of this faubourg refuse to march. But the com-
mander of the battalion of the Capuchins of the
Marais, followed by a large number of volunteers,
penetrates to the dungeon, and puts a stop to the
demolition. Sixty-four rioters, who resist, are ar-
rested.

On returning from the expedition, which has
lasted until night, some men, lurking in the Vin-
cennes forest, fire several shots at Lafayette's aide-
de-camp, mistaking him for the general. Arrived
at the BarriSre du TrSne, the National Guards find
the gate closed, and the inhabitants of the faubourg
refuse to open it. The cavalry, supported by infantry
and twelve pieces of artillery, are obliged to intervene
in order to vindicate the law and conduct the prison-
ers to the HStel de Ville.

The session of the National Assembly has been
more stormy than usual on this day, and Mirabeau
has resisted the tempest with supreme energy. In
spite of all clamor, he has opposed a law they are
seeking to enact against emigration. "This popu-
larity of mine," he had cried in his voice of thunder.

THE KNIGHTS OF THE PONIARD. 89

" this popularity which I have aspired to and enjoyed
like any other man, is not a feeble reed. I will bed it
deep in the ground, and I will make it germinate on
the soil of justice and reason. ... I swear — if an
emigration law is passed — I swear to disobey it. . . .
I beg those who interrupt me to remember that I
have resisted tyranny all my life, and that I will
resist it wherever it may be established."

The day is full of agitation. While the rioters are
seeking to demolish the dungeon of Vincennes, and
Mirabeau is in the tribune, the Palace of the Tuileries
becomes a prey to the keenest anguish. It is rumored
that an insurrection is organizing and that it will vio-
late the sanctuary of the monarchy. Several noble-
men, carrying arms under their coats, come spon-
taneously to the palace in order to defend the royal
family. They penetrate even to the King's apart-
ments, and Louis XVI. comes out to see them.
"Sire," say they, "your nobles hasten to surround
your sacred person." The sovereign moderates their
zeal and replies that he is in safety.

At the same time the heads of the revolutionists
are getting overheated. The nobles who had come
to the palace through a chivalrous impulse are stig-1
matized as conspirators whose intention is to assas-
sinate the National Guards. Lafayette, coming back
from Vincennes, goes to the palace, where he finds
great excitement. There has just been a brawl.
The National Guards on duty have insulted the
nobles, some of whom have been struck, and even

90 MABIE ANTOINETTE.

wounded. Some have been sent fljdng at the butt
end of a musket, some trodden under foot, others
rolled in the mud. The Duke of Pienne and Count
Alexandre de Tilly are among the most badly treated.
Some have opposed an energetic resistance, notably
the Marquis of Chabert, chief of squadron, and the
Marquis of Beauharnais, a member of the National
Assembly. Louis XVI. has requested his adherents
to lay down their arms. Lafayette orders them to
do so. The nobles tremblingly deposit their weap-
ons on two large tables in the King's ante-chamber.
They are afterwards taken to the quarters of M. de
Gouvion, who lodges in one of the courts of the
palace.

The next day, Lafayette has an account of the
affair posted up. MM. de Duras and de Villequier,
first gentlemen of the chamber, who had authorized
the introduction of these so-called conspirators into
the palace, are described in this account as head-
servants. They hand in their resignations and leave
France. Among the people, the evening of February
28 becomes the subject of numberless comments. By
all accounts, the Knights of the Poniard, which is
the new name given to the King's adherents, intended
nothing less than a Saint Bartholomew's day acfainst
thepaLts.

The Moniteur had at first published a succinct
account of the incident. March 5, it published the
following declaration of dissent addressed it by a
National Guard: "You are making game of your

THE KNIGHTS OF THE PONIARD. 91

subscribers in giving them your flat and unfaithful
account of what happened at the Tuileries on the
evening of February 28. What ! when seven or eight
hundred assassins, ex-chevaUers, viscounts, barons,
dukes, and marquises surround the throne, armed
with pistols, dirks, and poniards, in order to take by
surprise the National Guards, whom they have caused
to be assailed from another quarter by a troop of
maddened people; when this horde of brigands is
joined by a crowd of hired assassins, who do not own
to being hired, you say coldly, * Several private per-
sons armed with pistols.' Several? They came in
hundreds. I saw them I Private persons? What
private persons except all the ci-devant? Armed
with pistols? And with poniards, and dirks, and
with all those infernal machines which we tore away
from them, and to which not even a name can be
given, so much have those who invented them refined
upon the villainy of their predecessors in this infa-
mous career!"

It was by such fables that popular imagination
was disquieted, and the greatest catastrophes pre-
pared. The nobles had no longer a right to defend
their sovereign, and Louis XVI., mortified by the
affront inflicted on his adherents in his presence, fell
ill with chagrin. In the tribune, Mirabeau uttered
reactionist speeches. But the monarchy was almost
dead, and Mirabeau was about to die.

XII.

THE DEATH OF MIBABBAU.

" TN these stormy times when we, so prodigal of life,
JL see our days glide by so fast and end so quickly,
exhausted by labor and the passions still more than
threatened by ill-will, it would seem that the conso-
lations of philosophy can no longer satisfy us. . . .
If death comes too soon, it is so especially for those
who have po&terity in view, who eternalize the mem-
ory of their names by their actions or their works,
and whom death always interrupts in the midst of
some enterprise, to the great loss of the public who
reckon it to their memory which they honor still
more by reverence and regret."

These plaintive lines, written by Mirabeau on the
occasion of the premature death of one of his friends,
apply still more exactly to his own. He, above all
men, was " prodigal of life." One might say that,
foreboding the brevity of his career, he desired to
multiply and concentrate within a few years, a few
weeks, the greatest possible sum of emotions, fatigues,
joys, struggles, and triumphs. Devoured by an activ-
ity which was like a fever, avid of gold, of pleasure,
02

THE DEATH OF MIR ABE AU. 93

and of glory, intoxicated with popularity parched
by the myriad fires which consumed his mind and
heart, he descended the fatal slope with the rapidity
of madness. His fate was that of most men who
desire at the same time both work and pleasure. For
them pleasure soon turns into fatigue and suffering ;
but when their vices desert them, they will not desert
their vices. Enemies of their own repose, they per-
secute and lay snares to entrap themselves. They
kill the body; if they could, they would kill the
soul. A violent excitement, comparable to the last
impulsion of a broken engine, gives them for a little
while a factitious energy. A lingering habit inter-
ests them in worldly affairs, of which, nevertheless,
they already understand the emptiness, the inanity.

Such was the great Mirabeau. It was not without
bitterness that he saw rising before him a power
stronger than his genius, than his eloquence — Death!
He suffered because of his interrupted task, because
of the evil he had done, and the good which he could
no longer do. In spite of all the echoes which re-
peated the accents of his incomparable voice, in spite
of his numberless flatterers, in spite of his prodigious
renown, he felt that he needed rehabilitation, if not
in the eyes of the crowd, at least in his own. He said
to himself, as Andr^ Ch^nier was to say one day, —

** To die without emptying my quiver,
Without piercing, without crushing, without kneading in their
filth,
These brutali^ungling laws 1 "

94 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

This giant suffered because he must disappear and
leave none but pygmies behind him. The great
wrestler, torn from the arena, regretted the emotions
of the amphitheatre. As citizen, as artist, and as
patriot, he had whereof to complain. So much force,
so much eloquence, so much hope, so many schemes,
all to be extinguished with a breath! The great
man beheld himself dying with I know not what
melancholy curiosity, and he mourned for his coun-
try more than for himself. His death struggle, like
his talent, was to be grandiose, pathetic, theatrical.
His life, his death, his obsequies, were alike extraor-
dinary. In reality, he had shone for twenty-two
months only. He was forty when he achieved popu-
. larity, and twenty-two months had suflBced him to
j make a name which places him in history at the side
of Cicero and Demosthenes.

It was at the moment when he was about to go
down into the tomb that he exerted the most irre-
sistible influence over the Assembly. His voice,
even when he uttered but a single word from his
bench, had a formidable accent. A nod was suflB-
cient to rule his friends and intimidate his foes.
When, turning toward the Bamaves and the Lameths,
he shouted, " Silence, those votes ! " the vanquished
and trembling opposition held their peace ; but Death,
which makes game of all projects and all glories,
was about to say to the conqueror, "Thou shalt
go no further!" It was when he was most laden
with crowns that the victor felt himself stagger

THE DEATH OF MIBABEAU. 95

and fall. The excess of his emotions had slain him.
His head grew heavy, and his gait sluggish. A mel-
ancholy, not habitual with him, oppressed all his
being. He had sudden fainting fits. He tried in
vain to arrest the malady by baths containing corro-
sive sublimate in solution. They had no effect other
than to give him a greenish tint which was attri-
buted to poison. Instead of taking precautions, he
abused his strength to the very end. An orgy at the
house of an opera dancer gave the final blow, and on
March 28, 1791, he took to his bed, never to rise
again.

The excitement in Paris was immense. A vast
multitude surrounded the house of the sick man in
the rue Chauss^e d'Antin. Bulletins of his condition
were transmitted from mouth to mouth to the very
extremities of Paris. His principal adversary. Bar-
nave, came at the head of a deputation of Jacobins
to get tidings of him. Mirabeau loved life, and
struggled against death with all the energy of his
powerful nature. " You are a great doctor," he said
to Cabanis, "but there is a greater one than you:
He who made the wind which overthrows all things,
the water which penetrates and fecundates all, the
fire which quickens all " ; and he still hoped that this
Great Physician would work a miracle and save him.
In spite of intolerable pains, he continued to be inter-
ested in what went on in the Assembly. Knowing
that a law concerning the right to devise property
had been put on the order of the day, he told Talley-

96 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

rand that he had a speech on the subject already-
prepared, and asked liim to read it from the tribune.
" It will be amusing," he added, " to listen to what a
man who made his will the day before, has to say
against the capacity to make one."

He occupied himself with foreign affairs also.
" Pitt," said he, " is the minister of preparatives ;
he governs by his threats more than by his deeds.
If I were to live, I think I should give liim some
annoyance." Even in his death-agony he had mo-
ments of pride. He said to his servant, "Support
this head, the most powerful one in France." Flat-
tered by the multitude of persons who thronged
about him, he exclaimed : " See all these people who
surround me; they wait on me like servants, and
they are my friends; it is permissible to love life
and to regret it, when one leaves such wealth behind
him." On the day of his death, April 2, he had the
windows thrown open, and addressing Cabanis, he
said: "My friend, I shall die to-day. When one
comes to that, there is but one thing remaining, and
that is to perfume one's self, to be crowned with
flowers and environed with music, so as to enter as
agreeably as possible into the slumber from which
one wakes no more. Give me your word that you
will not let me suffer useless pains. ... I want to
enjoy without admixture the presence of all that is
dear to me."

Some minutes later, he said bitterly, "My heart
is full of grief for the monarchy whose ruins will

THE DEATH OF MIR ABE AU. 97

become the prey of the seditious." Then speech
failed him. He made signs for a pen which was
near his bed, and with his failing hand wrote the
word: "Sleep." Cabanis pretended not to under-
stand him. Mirabeau resumed the pen, and added
this line : " Can a man leave his friend dying on the
rack for, it may be, several days ? " Cabanis assured
the sick man that his desire should be complied with,
and began writing the prescription for an anodyne.
Impatient, Mirabeau cried with a last effort, "Are
you going to deceive me?" — "No, friend, no,"
answered M. de la Marck; "the remedy is coming;
we all saw it ordered." " Ah ! the doctors ! " con-
tinued the dying man. "Did you not promise to
spare me the agonies of such a death ? Do you want
me to regret having confided in you?" And he
expired.

The Assembly adjourned on receiving the news.
General mourning was prescribed, and preparations
made for a magnificent funeral. The Assembly
decreed that the Church of Saint Genevieve, trans-»
formed into the French Pantheon, should in future
receive the remains of great men, and have these
words graven on its pediment: "To its great men,
the grateful country." It was decided at the same
time that Mirabeau's body should lie beside that of
Descartes in this new Pantheon. It was an apotheo-
sis. For three days nothing was talked of but the
celebrated defunct. The people tore down the name
of the rue Chauss^e d'Antin, where he had lived, and

98 MABIE ANTOINETTE.

in its place wrote rue Mirabeau. M. de la Place, the
dean of the men of letters, entering a restaurant in
the Palais Royal, a waiter said to him, ^^ Monsieur de
la Place, the weather is very fine to-day." — " Yes, my
friend, the weather is very fine; but Mirabeau is
dead/' Revolutionists and aristocrats joined in ex-
tolling his glory. Like Homer, over whom seven
cities disputed the honor of haviujg been his birth-
place, both parties claimed the great orator for their
own. " The day after he died," says Camille Desmou-
lins, "I thought they were going to make a saint of
him in good earnest." The Gazette Universelle re-
lated that he had not seen his parish priest ; but that
at two different times he had spent more than half
an hour with the Bishop of Lyons, Mgr. Lamourette.
, He was regretted by the Jacobins, and also at the
' Tuileries. The Revolution had lost its favorite, and
; the court believed it had lost its saviour.

Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette were iq. deep
affliction. Madame Elisabeth alone judged the dea^
man with severity. April 3, 1791, she wrote to the
Marquise de Bombelles : " Mirabeau died yesterday
morning. His arrival in the other world must have
been extremely painful. They say he saw his parish
priest for an hour. I am very sorry for his unhappy
sister, who is very pious and who loved him madly.
The politicians say this death is to be regretted ; for
my part, I wait before deciding." Absorbed by the
thought of this death as by a fixed idea, she wrote
the same day to another of her friends, Madame de

THE DEATH OF MIRABEAU. 99

Raigecourt : ^^ Mirabeau concluded to go into the
other world, to see whether the Revolution is ap-
proved there. Good God! what an awakening he
must have had I Many persons are disturbed about
it. The aristocrats regret him deeply. For the last
three months he has taken the right side, and they
hoped much from his talents. For my part, although
very aristocratic, I cannot but regard his death as
providential for the kingdom. I do not believe that
it is by men without principles or morals that God
wills to save us. I keep this opinion to myself,
because it is not politic; but I like those who are
religious better."

The multitude, however, continued to extol the
dead man as if he were a demigod. His coffin was
completely hidden under a shower of garlands. The
Society of the Friends of the Constitution resolved
to wear mourning for eight days, and to resume it
annually on April 2, and to have a marble bust of
him executed, on the pedestal of which should be
inscribed the celebrated saying : " Go and tell those
who sent you that we are here by the will of the
people, and that we will not depart save by force of
bayonets."

It was related that, during the illness of the
deceased, a youth came to offer the transfusion of
his blood to rejuvenate and freshen that of the sick
man. People said also that his secretary, who had
several times drawn the sword in his defence, was
unwilling to survive him, and was going to cut his

100 MABIE ANTOINETTE.

throat. On the day of the funeral, Monday, April 4,
some fashionable society women were complaining of
the dust, and sajring that the municipality would
have done well to have the boulevard sprinkled.
** They counted on our tears" responded a fishwoman.

Never was there a ceremony more grandiose or
lugubrious. The procession began to form at five in
the evening. A detachment of the National Guard
cavalry opened the march. Then came a deputation
from the Invalides chosen from among the veterans
most severely mutilated; Lafayette and his staff; a
deputation from the sixty battalions; the Hundred-
Swiss ; the provost guards ; the military band playing
funereal music, and with its drums muffled in black
crape. The clergy preceded the corpse. It was at
first intended to put the coffin in a hearse, but the
battalion of La Grange Batelidre, which Mirabeau
had commanded, asked and obtained the honor of
carrying it with their own arms. A civic crown
was substituted for the feudal insignia, the count's
coronet, and the coat-of-arms. Behind the body
walked the whole National Assembly, escorted by
the battalion of veterans and that of the children.
Then came the magistrates and all the clubs.

The procession, which was three miles long,
marched slowly between two ranks of National
Guards. It took three hours to reach Saint Eustache.
At the moment of removing the corpse, twenty thou-
sand men fired a simultaneous discharge. The win-
dows were broken. It seemed as though the church

THE DEATH OF MIBABEAU. 101

was going to fall in upon the cofiSn. After the oflBce
for the dead, the line of march was resumed again
in the direction of the Pantheon. It was midnight
when they reached it. The torches shone amid the
gloom like so many unreal, fantastic lights. Mira-
beau's body was placed in the same vault as that of
Descartes. Then the crowds dispersed, and nothing
troubled any longer the calmness of the night.

And now let us leave the word to Camille Des-
moulins, who has described this great funereal pomp.
In number 72 of his R£volution% de France et de
Brabant^ he writes: "Admiration was felt on all
sides, and sorrow nowhere. The honors due to Mira-
beau's genius were paid him; but those which belong
only to virtue cannot be usurped. There was a hun-
dred times more grief at Loustalot's lonely funeral
than in this league-long procession. One must tell
the truth. This ceremony was more like the trans-
lation of Voltaire, of a great man who had been dead
ten years, than that of one recently deceased. The
refusal of a single man, a Cato or a Potion, to be
present at his funeral or wear mourning for him,
does more injury to his memory than four hundred
thousand spectators can do it honor. How many
say to themselves at the sight of so much homage :
Mind and talent, then, are all. And thou. Virtue,
since thou art but a phantom, Brutus may thrust
himself through with his own sword, and the victory
of the Caesar is assured ! "

Yes, it is Caesar who will triumph, the unknown

102 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

CsBsar, Caesar the Corsican. O foresight of this
world, of how little account are youl O vaunted
geniuses, great politicians, great orators, great states-
men, what can you do against the mysterious future ?
How brief you are, O human wisdom, and how blind,
and how little even the eloquence of a Mirabeau
weighs in the balances of Fate!

XIII.

THE EBLIGIOUS QUESTION.

SOCIETIES which appear the most incredulous
are often those where religious questions most
divide and inflame men's minds. The revolutionary
and Voltairian Paris of 1791 occupied itself with
theology in a sort of fury. Both in the salons and
the faubourgs, the chief preoccupation was to know
what would be the result of the civil constitution of
the clergy. One might have supposed that the des-
tiny of France and the fate of all Frenchmen de-
pended on whether the clergy would or would not
take the oath. Never had any subject of controversy
excited on either side more bitterness and anger.

At the time when Mirabeau died, the struggle had
entered upon its most violent period. Anti-religious
leaflets were distributed to men gifted with sonorous
voices and a certain talent for declamation, who
harangued the people with them in every public
place. Some of them were dialogues in which odious
and ridiculous remarks were made by the pretended
friends of the clergy. There were also obscene stories
and filthy tales about monks and nuns. On the quays

103

104 MARIE ANTOINETTE,

and boulevards, and in all the public places, cari-
catures were strewn in profusion, either represent-
ing priests and nuns in indecent postures, or prel-
ates from whose monstrous stomachs peasants were
squeezing out stacks of golden coins.

In the other camp, by the side of sincerely religious
persons, might be seen women who had lost their
reputation, philosophers, encyclopaedists, sometimes
even atheists, who had suddenly become missionaries,
theologians, and ardent defenders of the purity and
integrity of the Roman Catholic faith.

Ever since August 24, 1790, the heart of Louis XVI.
had been torn by remorse, a torture he had never
known before. On that day, against the protest of
his conscience, he had granted his royal sanction to
the civil constitution of the clergy. The eldest son
of the Church, the most Christian King, the sovereign
consecrated at Rheims, the successor of Charlemagne
and Saint Louis, shuddered with anguish when he
laid his hand upon the sacred ark. By force of votes,
the national had beaten down the religious edifice.
The clergy no longer had an existence as a political
body.

The sale of ecclesiastical property was decreed,
and the perpetuity of religious vows annulled. The
priests, transformed into mere functionaries, received
their salaries from the State. The covenant which
had for centuries united France to the Holy See was
broken. The Pope's authority had no longer any
weight in the balance. Each territorial department

THE RELIGIOUS QUESTION. 105

formed a diocese, and every ecclesiastical boundary
not corresponding with a civil one was abolished.
Appointments to livings and to episcopal sees were
to be made by lay voters, without any thought of
applying to Rom^ to sanction their proceedings. All
acts of a civil nature passed out of the hands of the
clergy into those of the municipalities.

The priests were obliged to swear fidelity to the
new Constitution, which was condemned by the Pope ;
those among them who possessed no private means
had only the alternative of ruin or apostasy. About
a hundred ecclesiastical members of the National As-
sembly, among them two prelates, Talleyrand, Bishop
of Autun, and Gobel, Bishop of Lydda, took the oath.
All the rest refused it. The entire episcopate, with
the exception of these two sworn bishops, protested
in the most energetic terms. Religious anarchy soon
reached its height. There was civil war in every
parish. The partisans of the Revolution threatened
with the direst punishments those priests who obeyed
the Vatican instead of the Constituent Assembly.

The partisans of reaction said that the Pope was
about to launch his thunders against a sacrilegious
Assembly and the apostate priests ; that the people in
country places, deprived of the sacraments, would rise
en masse ; that foreign armies would enter France ;
and that in the twinkling of an eye the edifice of
iniquity would crumble. The unsworn bishops issued
charges in which they affirmed that they would not
retire from their sees unless constrained by force.

106 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

They added that they would hire houses in which to
continue their episcopal functions, and bade the faith-
ful to have recourse only to them. The only subject
of conversation was religion. The clubs were occupied
with nothing but the Church. The same individuals
who, two years later, were to dance in rings around the
scaffolds of the priests, now had no other idea than
to find out what the priest would be who should say
Mass in such or such parish. From the King to the
Jacobins, from the Queen and Madame Elisabeth to
the future furies of the guillotine, there was not a
soul who was not passionately interested in this burn-
ing question. It was the cause of all quarrels, the
great aliment of discord. In the same family were
to be encountered the two camps waging war to the
knife.

General Lafayette was on the side of the priests
who had taken the oath. His wife remained faithful
to thQ others. Madame de Lasteyrie, in her Vie de
Madame de Lafayette^ whose daughter she was, says:
" The civil constitution of the clergy was a subject
of great tribulation to my mother. She thought it
her duty, precisely on account of her personal situa-
tion, to show her attachment to the Catholic cause.
She was present, consequently, at the refusal to take
the oath which her parish priest, the Cur^ of Saint
Sulpice, made from the pulpit. She found herself
there in company with those best known by their
aristocracy. She repaired assiduously to the churches,
and afterwards to the oratories where the persecuted

THE BELIGI0U8 QUESTION. 107

clergy took shelter. She continually received the
nuns who complained and sought protection, as well
as the priests who refused the oath, whom she encour-
aged to exercise their functions, and to assert the
freedom of worship. My father often entertained at
dinner the ecclesiastics of the constitutional clergy.
My mother professed in their * presence her attach-
ment to the cause of the former bishops."

Even in the house of the commander of the Na-
tional Guard — of Lafayette, the liberal man par
excellence — the cause of the Roman Church had
ardent supporters. Mirabeau, — Mirabeau himself,
— who pretended to support the civil constitution
of the clergy, was, in the forum of conscience, its
adversary. He beheld in it, and not without a
secret pleasure, a sort of trap which the enemies
of the throne and the altar were laying for them-
selves. In the tribune he hurled invectives at the
priests who remained faithful to the doctrines of
Rome, and said to them that " if the Church fell into
ruins, it was to them should be attributed the cause."
And the same man who used this language wrote to
Count de la Marck, January 6, 1791 : " The Assembly
is done for. Not a single oath was taken yesterday,
and if the Assembly thinks that the resignation of
twenty thousand parish priests will produce no effect
in the kingdom, it looks through strange spectacles."
In his 43d note for the court he thus insists on the
advantage which should accrue to the royal cause
from the decree against the clergy : " A more favor-

. 108 MABIE ANTOINETTE.

able opportunity could not be found to league to-
gether a great number of malcontents of the most
dangerous sort, and to augment the popularity of the
King at the expense of that of the National Assem-
bly. To do this, it will be necessary to induce the
greatest possible number of ecclesiastics to refuse the
oath, and the active members of the parishes who are
attached to their pastors to object to re-elections ; to
provoke the National Assembly to violent measures
against these parishes ; to present at the same time
all manner of decrees relative to religion, and espe-
cially to discuss the condition of the Jews in Alsace,
the marriage of priests, and divorce, so that the fire
may not go out for want of combustible materials."
So Mirabeau, the great tribune, the idol of the de-
. mocracy, the immortal revolutionist, was, if not pub-
licly, at least in the depths of his soul, a clerical !

If such were the sentiments of Mirabeau, what
must not have been those of Louis XVI. and his
family? Madame Elisabeth, who set at defiance so
many persecutions, dreaded the religious one. Her
correspondence betrays, in almost every line, her
anguish as a Christian. Resolved, if need were,
to brave martyrdom, she was absolutely resolved
to hold her own against all the world, and even
against the King himself, if that were necessary,
in order to obey the voice of her conscience. She
wrote to Madame de Bombelles, November 28,
1790 : " How can one desire that Heaven should
cease to be angry with us, when we take pleasure in

THE BELI0I0U8 QUESTION. 109

constantly provoking it ? Let us try, at least, dear
heart, to efface some of the offences daily committed
by our fidelity in serving God. Let us remember
that He iswfar more grieved than angry. It depends
on us to console Him. Ah ! how this thought
should animate the fervor of souls so happy as to
possess the faith I Make your little children pray. God
has told us that their prayers are pleasing to Him."

January 7, 1791, the pious Princess wrote to Madame
de Raigecourt: "I have no inclination for martyr-
dom ; but I feel that I would be very glad to have
the certainty of suffering it, rather than abandon the
least article of my faith. I hope that if I am destined
for it, God will grant me the needful strength. He
is so good, so good ! " And on February 7, to Madame
de Bombelles : " Ah ! if we have sinned, God is pun-
ishing us weU I Happy he who receives this trial in
the spirit of penitence I We must thank God for
the courage He is giving to the clergy. Every day
we hear new instances of it." March 21, she wrote
to Madame de Raigecourt: "We are in terrible
anguish. The Pope's brief will presently appear,
and the real persecution will begin soon afterwards.
This prospect is not of the most agreeable descrip-
tion. But as we have always been told we ought to
will what God wills, we must rejoice. In fact, when
we know just what we have to do, it will be much
easier, because then we shall no longer be obliged
to use circumspection with anybody. When God
speaks, a Catholic hears only His voice."

110 MABIE ANTOINETTE.

At bottom the sentiments of Louis XVI. were the
same as his sister's. The Pope had written him,
July 10, 1790 : " Even if you were disposed to resign
the rights inherent in the royal prerogatives, you
have not the right to alienate in the least, nor to
abandon, what belongs to God and to the Church,
of which you are the eldest son." This letter from
the Holy Father had profoundly impressed the King.
He who had suffered with so much patience the
attacks on his dignity as a prince, his liberty as a
man, and his prerogatives as a monarch, was unable
to resign himself to the pangs he suffered as a Catho-
lic. In order to constrain him to sanction the civil
constitution of the clergy, it had been necessary to
assure him that public safety imperiously demanded
this sacrifice, without which both priests and nobles
would be massacred. It is easy to comprehend what
must have passed in the heart of this pre-eminently
devout sovereign, this monarch who was above all
things religious, and who valued his title to the
name of Christian far more than to that of King.

April 3, 1791, the pealing of bells announced the
installation of the cur^s who had taken oath to the
new Constitution. Madame Elisabeth wrote : " The
intended cur^s were established this morning. I
have heard all the bells of Saint Roch. I cannot,
conceal from you that it has caused me frightful
grief." Louis XVI. did not lament it less than his
sister. The bells had a funereal accent in his ears.
The thing was done. The unfortunate monarch never

THE RELIGIOUS QUESTION. Ill

experienced another instant of moral repose. What
anxieties 1 What sleepless nights 1 What remorse 1
The royal martyr wrote in his will these sorrowful
lines: "Not being able to obtain the services of a
Catholic priest, I pray God to receive the confession
I have made to Him, and above all my profound
repentance for having signed my name (although it
was against my will) to acts which might be con-
trary to the discipline and the faith of the Catholic
Church, to which I have ever remained sincerely
united at heart."

This poignant regret was for Louis XVI. the most
grievous of his tortures. "Cursed forever," cries
Joseph de Maistre in his ultramontane ardor, " be the
infamous faction which, profiting shamelessly by the
misfortunes of the monarchy, seized brutally a sacred
hand and forced it to sign what it abhorred ! If this
hand, about to be hidden in the tomb, felt it a duty
to write the solemn testimony of a profound repent-
ance, may the sublime confession, consigned to an
immortal testament, recoil like an overwhelming
load, like an eternal anathema, upon the guilty party
which made it seem necessary in the eyes of this
august innocence, inexorable only towards itself,
amidst the respect of the universe."

XIV.

THE HOLY WEEK OF 1791.

HOLY WEEK in 1791 was to redouble the
religious anguish of Louis XVI. The unfor-.
tunate monarch felt the contrast between the troubled
present and those happy bygone days when neither
his dignity as a king nor his conscience as a Chris-
tian had anything to suffer; when he enjoyed that
supreme good, peace of mind, and when the cere-
monies of the Church and the chants of the liturgy,
instead of causing him anxiety, and even remorse,
gave him only joy and consolation. He regretted
his beloved chapel at Versailles, and the harmony
which formerly existed between throne and altar,
both equally threatened now. He sought for the
priests of former time, and lost himself, as it were,
in an abyss of cares. The offices of the Church
reminded him of his dismal situation. The Crown of
Thorns made him think of his own diadem. Might
not this King, whose palace had become a prison,
apply to himself the words which are said in the
Mass of Palm Sunday, after the gradual : " My God I
my God ! cast thine eyes upon me ! Why hast Thou

112

TEE HOLT WEEK OF 1791. 118

abandoned me? My God, I will cry unto Thee in
the day time, and Thou wilt not listen. I will cry
in. the night time, and Thou wilt keep silence. All
those who behold me deride me. They wag their
heads while they say : He put his confidence in the
Lord. Let the Lord deliver him and save him ! "

The week began badly. Palm Sunday was a day
of anxiety and trouble. Alas I the truce of God no
longer existed, even during Holy Week. Discord
gave itself not a moment's rest. The Church of the
Th^atins, which the Catholics had hired from the
municipality in order that divine service might be
celebrated there by priests faithful to Rome, was
invaded by people who flogged a young girl, and
fastened two brooms crosswise over the door, with
an inscription describing the chastisement prepared
for any priest or other person who should dare to
enter the church. Bailly, the mayor, had the brooms
and the inscription removed, but he could not dis-
perse the crowd. The populace remained in front of
the chui'ch until six o'clock, ready to assault any one
who might attempt to go inside. The same commo-
tion was shown in the royal chapel of the Tuileries.
There a grenadier of the National Guard declaimed
furiously against the recusant priests who still ap-
proached Louis XVI. In the evening, incendiary
speeches were made all over Paris.

The King, who was recovering from a rather seri-
ous illness, had intended to go on Monday to Saint
Cloud so as to enjoy a week's repose and perform

114 MAlilE ANTOINETTE.

his religious duties with tranquillity. Lafayette and
Bailly had been the first to advise this step. More-
over, it would give him an occasion to find out just
what his situation was, and whether he, who had
given freedom to his dominions, was himself a free
man. The event convinced him that he was a slave.
A rumor got about among the crowd that this jour-
ney concealed counter-revolutionary ideas. The
King, it was said, had refractory priests hidden in
his palace, and secretly received communion from
their hands, instead of going to his parish church,
Saint Germain-l'Auxerrois. The leaders added that
the Bois de Boulogne was full of men wearing white
cockades, and that three thousand aristocrats were
preparing to abduct the King, who would be among
the Austrians within a fortnight. Journalists wrote :
" Patriots, to arms ! . . . The mouth of kings is a
den of lies. ... A fury hatches her brood of ser-
pents in the breast of Louis XVI. . . . King, you
are departing, you are going to put yourself at the
head of an Austrian army. But you are too late in
setting about it. We know you, great restorer of
liberty. To-day your mask falls off, but to-morrow
it will be your crown."

On Monday in Holy Week, April 18, at eleven in
the morning, the King, with his wife and children
and his sister, entered a carriage in the courtyard of
the Tuileries, with the intention of going to Saint
Cloud. The nobles who were to follow him were
the Prince of Poix, captain of the Guards; the Duke

THE HOLT WEEK OF 1791. 115

of Brissac, captain of the Hundred-Swiss ; the Mar-
quis of Duras and the Duke of Villequier, First
Gentlemen of the Chamber; and the Marquis of
Briges, equerry. As the King was stepping into the
carriage, Cardinal de Montmorency-Laval appeared
for an instant at one of the palace windows. Some
of the National Guards at once took aim at him, and
he had barely time to get out of sight. At the same
time, other guards precipitated themselves upon the
royal carriage with shouts and menaces, pointing
bayonets at the breasts of the horses, and declaring
that neither Louis XVI. nor his family should leave
the Tuileries. "It would be astonishing," said the^K
King, putting his head through the carriage door,V
" if, after giving liberty to the nation, I were not to
be free myself."

Lafayette, who was present at this scandalous
scene, made great efforts to get the carriage started,
but in vain. Harangues, threats, commands, and
prayers were alike useless. "Hold your tongue!"
cried some one ; " the King shall not go away." — " He
shall go," returned the general; "he shall go if I
have to use force and cause bloodshed." But the
resistance continued, and force was not employed.
During this strange dialogue, the Marquis of Duras,
who had left his carriage, was standing at the door of
the one occupied by the King. A grenadier of the
National Guard forced him away from it. At this,
the Dauphin, who until then had shown no fear,
began to cry, and Louis XVI. was obliged to inter-

116 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

pose in order to save M. de Duras from further ill-
treatment. After fresh efforts, as unsuccessful as
those which preceded them, Lafayette told the King
that he could not depart without danger. The
wretched Prince cried three different times: "They
are unwilling then to let me go ? . . . Is it impos-
sible, then, for me to go? . . . Very welll I am
going to stay."

The dispute had lasted about two hours, during
which the grossest insults had been incessantly re-
peated. Unwilling either to set one division of the
National Guards against another, or to soil the thresh-
old of the Tuileries with blood, Louis XVI. left the
carriage and returned with his family to his apart-
ments. There he found his brother, the Count of
Provence, and, pressing his hand tenderly, he recited,
not without melancholy, Horace's line : —

" Beatus ille qui procul negotiis ! "

Shortly afterwards, some National Guards and com-
mon people entered the palace, and searched the
apartments, the granaries, the courtyards, and the
carriages, under pretext of discovering the refractory
priests said to be hidden there.

After what had passed on this Monday, no doubt
was left in any mind that royalty no longer existed
save in name. Never had Louis XVI. sounded so
thoroughly the depths of his humiliation. He was
unwilling that even his faithful adherents should
longer share his bitterixess, and he sent away a num-

THE HOLY WEEK OF 1791. 117

, - ■

ber of them, that they might escape the insults that
were crushing him. He asked the ecclesiastics who
officiated in his chapel to depart. These were the
Cardinal de Montmorency-Laval, Grand Almoner to
the Crown; Mgr. de Roquelaure, Bishop of Senlis,
First Almoner to the King; and Mgr. de Sabran,
Bishop of Laon, First Almoner to the Queen. The
Duke of Villequier and the Marquis of Duras, First
Gentlemen of the Chamber, also received orders to
leave. Marie Antoinette, knowing that her maid of I
honor, the Princess of Chimay, a model of piety and
virtue, was daily threatened and insulted, dismissed
her, replacing her as Lady of the Bedchamber by the
Countess of Ossun, who was fated to perish on the
scaffold, a victim to her devotion.

The day was spent in preparations for departure.
The King and Queen suffered profoundly in seeing
their most faithful adherents leave them, and the
little Dauphin, speaking of the revolutionists, ex-
claimed sadly, " How wicked all these people are to
give so much pain to papa, who is so good ! "

On Holy Thursday, April 21, Madame Elisabeth
wrote to Madame de Bombelles: "I will not give
you the details of Monday. I own that I do not
know them yet. All I know is that the King wished
to go to Saint Cloud, and that he got into his carriage,
where he remained two hours; that the National
Guards and the people obstructed his passage, and
that he was obliged to remain. ... I write in haste
because I am dressing to go to church, since they are

118 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

still so obliging as to permit us to do so. Adieu; be-
lieve that I will always be worthy of the affection of
those who desire to esteem me, and that, whatever
may happen, I will live and die without having any-
thing to reproach mjrself with before God and men."

This calmness and strength which are given by
peace of conscience, Louis XVI. no longer shared.
He was about to be forced to what he considered dis-
honor as well as humiliation — to be present on Easter
Sunday, at a Mass said in the Church of Saint Ger-
main-rAuxerrois by the intruding cur^, a revolu-
tionary priest. Madame Elisabeth could not believe
that her brother would do this. On Holy Saturday
she wrote to Madame de Raigecourt : " It is said in
Paris that the King is going to-morrow to High Mass
in the parish church. I shall not be able to believe
it until after he has been there. All-powerful God,
what just punishment dost thou reserve for a people
gone so far astray?"

The unhappy King, ashamed of this last concession,
sought means to escape from a situation he found
intolerable. Beginning that series of subterfuges
which tarnishes the lustre of his name, and which
a more distinct and energetic attitude would have
spared him, he thought himself obliged to resort to
cunning, the device of the feeble, and by playing a
double rSle, to imitate the example set by Mirabeau.
The secret wish of the constitutional King was to
take back what he had given, and to become once
more an absolute monarch. It seemed to him that

THE HOLY WEEK OF 1791. 119

there was no other way to save religion, prevent
schism, and re-establish the principle of authority.
It was not ambition, but conscience, which spoke
within him, and he honestly believed that his duplic-
ity toward men would be approved, protected, and
recompensed by God.

On Tuesday in Holy Week he went before the
National Assembly to complain of the violence of
which he had been the victim the previous day ; and
on the following Saturday he caused his minister,
M. de Montmorin, to address a circular to all the
representatives of France at foreign courts, in which
he described himself as the happiest of men and
kings.

At the evening session of the Assembly that same
day, one of the secretaries read this really curious
document. Not only does Louis XVI. profess in it
his adherence to the Revolution, "which is simply
the annihilation of a swarm of abuses which have
been accumulating for centuries through the errors
of the people or the power of ministers, which has
never been the power of kings," but he causes it to
be officially declared to foreign courts that " the most
dangerous of the internal enemies of the French
nation are those who have endeavored to cast doubt
upon the intentions of the monarch," and that "these
men are very culpable or very blind if they consider
themselves the King's friends." It was thus that
Louis XVI. pointed out to popular vengeance hi|
most intimate courtiers and devoted servants, — thi

120 MARIE ANTOINETTE,

recusant priests and the nobles of the National
Assembly. The circular, a veritable monument of
duplicity, was received with pretended transports
of delight and cries of "Live the King!" It was
decided to send it to the departments, the armies,
and the colonies ; and all cur^s were commanded to
read it at their parochial Masses.

Marat protested against this enthusiasm. In num-
ber 443 of his Ami du Peuple^ he exclaimed: "What!
all heads turned by such a piece of buffoonery ! Will
you always be duped by the traitors who surround
you? . . . The circular is merely the production of
some pedantic academician, some rascally minister
of the court." Then recalling that Louis XVI. had
come on the 19th to complain that he was not free,
he added: "Where did he get the effrontery to
accuse of calumny those who have said he is not
free, when only five days ago he came like a school-
boy to make the same complaint to the National
Assembly ? "

The Ami du Roi said, on the other hand : " If the
despots of Europe, who are not illumined by the
celestial lights environing the apostles of the Rights
of Man, fancy that they see in this letter itself
a new proof of the captivity of the King and the
abasement of his power, no one can be blamed ex-
cept those who, by forcing the monarch to become
their echo, will have made it plain that he is their
prisoner."

And now comes Easter Sunday. Formerly it was the

THE HOLY WEEK OF 1791. 121

day of joy, the resurrection day, the day of light and
life. Now it is gloomy and sorrowful unto death. The
priests whose functions you are obliged to attend in
the church of Saint Germain-l' Auxerrois, unfortunate
monarch, you look upon as apostates and traitors.
Your sister Elisabeth would not come with you to this
sanctuary, which to her seems profaned by the new
pastor, the intruder, the constitutional priest. Yes ;
the priest who says the Mass is a rebel against the
commands of the Church, an enemy of Saint Peter,
a salaried official of the National Assembly. Madame
Elisabeth has declared that she would hear the Mass
of her almoner in the chapel of the Tuileries. Pla-
cards posted on the walls of a gallery close to her
apartments have threatened her with the direst out-
rages if she will not accompany you to Saint Ger-
main-l' Auxerrois. But the intrepid woman did not
allow herself to be intimidated. She is praying in
the royal chapel, while you, the most Christian King,
and your Queen with you, sanction by your presence
the religious revolution. And while the Mass of
Easter Day is said before you in the old basilica of
Saint Germain-l' Auxerrois, heaven itself seems full
of wrath : it thunders, a storm breaks overhead, and
in profound sadness you re-enter your palace, or, to
speak more truly, your prison.

SECOND PART.

THE VARENNES JOURNEY.

PEEPABATIONS FOR PLIGHT.

PROFOUNDLY stricken in his dignity as King
and his conscience as a Christian, Louis XVI.
had come to the end of his patience. The decree of
June 5, 1791, which deprived him of the pardoning
prerogative, crowned his humiliations. " The King's
liberty was taken away long ago," said Madame
Elisabeth, "and now they forbid him to be merci-
ful." The unhappy monarch had but one idea left :
that of flight. He had long been preoccupied with
plans of escape. At first he had been dissuaded by
historical precedents. He recalled Charies I. led
to the scaffold for having contended against Parlia-
ment, and James II. losing the crown for having left
his palace. Mirabeau had counselled a departure
from Paris; but one which would bear no resem-
blance to a flight : " For," said he, " a king must not
go away secretly, even though it were to be a king."

122

PREPARATIONS FOR FLIGHT. 123

The time was past for acting in such a manner. A
departure by daylight was impossible. In June, 1791,
Louis XVI. could only fly by night, like a fugitive, like
a condemned wretch seeking to escape. To employ
force would have been not merely useless, but danger-
ous. Even stratagem was not free from great diffi-
culties, although it remained the sole resource.

The obstacles to be overcome seemed almost insur-
mountable. How would it be possible to deceive a
surveillance which daily grew more rigorous ? How
escape incessant espionage? How quit the palace,
and pass through the city without being recognized
and followed? Six hundred National Guards were
constantly on duty at the Tuileries. Two mounted
sentries were always posted before the outer door.
There were sentinels everywhere, indoors and out.
They were to be found in the passages between the
bedchambers of the King and Queen, and even in
the Uttle dark corridor contrived in the roof, where
the private staircases terminated. Officers of the
National Guard, nearly all of them revolutionists,
performed the duties once assigned to the body-
guards. Neither the King nor the Queen could go
out unattended by a certain number of them. In
addition to this public surveillance there was that of
the servants, perhaps still more dangerous. Almost
every one of them were spies. Marie Antoinette felt
convinced that among all her attendants she could
count safely on none but her first lady's-maids and
one or two footmen.

124 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

p v,^ At first glance, escape seemed absolutely imprac-
ticable; but. the captives were ingenious. Louis
XVI. and Marie Antoinette did not despair, and they
prepared patiently an entire series of stratagems to
evade their pretended defenders, who were in reality
their jailers.

Some of the National Guards, on duty by night
and day, slept on mattresses before the doors of the
royal bedchambers. It was useless, therefore, to
think of passing through these doors. But, happily,
there was a door, long since disused, which was con-
cealed by a piece of furniture easily moved. By
dint of searching for the place whence they could
leave the palace with least risk, Marie Antoinette
had discovered that one of her women, Madame de
Ronchreuil, occupied a little room communicating by
a corridor with her apartment, and which might be
utilized for the project of escape. This little room
opened into the apartment of the Duke of Villequier,
which had one exit on the Court of the Princes, and
another on the Court Royal. The Duke of Villequier
had just emigrated, and his apartment remained un-
occupied. Marie Antoinette procured the key to it.
From thence one might hope to leave the chateau
without being recognized. There were many sentries
stationed in the courtyards, but none at the door of
M. de Villequier's apartment; moreover, at certain
hours they were accustomed to see many persons leav-
ing the Tuileries at the same time, notably toward
eleven or twelve o'clock at night, when the service
of the day was over.

PREPARATIONS FOR FLIGHT. 125

The scheme adopted by Louis XVI. was to go toT
Montm^dy, a fortified town bordering the Emperor's
dominions and within reach of the fortress of Luxem-
bourg. In case of disaster, it would be easy to take
refuge in this fortress, which was esteemed the
strongest one in Europe. Another advantage was
the possibility of receiving aid from an Austrian
army should it become necessary. The Emperor
Leopold, Marie Antoinette's brother, had ascended
the throne within a year, and had expressed his
intention to serve the interests of his sister and his
brother-in-law.

The town of Montm^dy, like the whole French
frontier, fi-om the Moselle and the Sambre to Switzer-
land, had been placed under the command of an
ardent royalist. Lieutenant - General Marquis de
Bouill^. His American campaign had won him the
reputation of an officer of the first rank, and the
fimness he had recently shown in suppressing
the outbreaks at Nancy had increased his military
renown. The National Assembly feared him, and
treated him with deference. Unwilling to be subject
to any one except the King, he had refused to hold
relations with the Count of Artois and the Prince of
Cond6. Baron de Breteuil, who, in the emigration,
was the secret agent of Louis XVL, persuaded the
sovereign that the Marquis of Bouill^ was the right
man to trust, and was authorized to make overtures
to him in the King's name.

M. de Bouill^ received these overtures with trans-

126 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

port, happy at being able to conciliate his mon-
archical zeal with the interests of his ambition. A
correspondence in cipher was carried on between
the monarch and the general. Unfortunately, revolu-
tionary aspirations were pervading nearly all ranks
of the Army of the East ; and M. de Bouill^ could
not count on the fidelity of more than about a score
of German battalions and three or four regiments of
cavalry. At first he proposed that the King should
take the Flanders route, as the shortest and most
secure way of leaving the kingdom, and enter Mont-
m^dy from without. This plan was rejected because
the King was unwilling, under any pretext, to leave
his own dominions, as that might give occasion for
decreeing his deposition. Then M. de Bouill^ sug-
gested the Rheims route, where there were not many
towns to pass through, and which could easily be
protected. But Louis XVI. objected that it would
be dangerous for him to pass through Rheims, where
his face had been well known since his consecration.
This route was given up therefore, and that of
Chfilons-sur-Mame, Clermont, and Varennes settled
on.

It was also agreed that the King should charge
himself with all the details of the journey from Paris
to Chfi,lons-sur-Marne, and that, after leaving there,
M. de Bouill^ should take the responsibility for the
remainder. May 27, 1791, Louis XVI. wrote him
that he would start on the 19th of the following
month, between midnight and one o'clock ; that he

PREPARATIONS FOR FLIGHT. 127

would go in a private carriage to Bondy, a post-
station near Paris, where he would take a double
carriage which was to be waiting for him, and that
one of his body-guards would act as courier. The
general stationed a small army corps under Mont-
m^dy and took care to dispose troops at intervals
along the route, from this town to Chfilons. The
Royal-German regiment was at Stenay, one squadron
of hussars at Dun, and another at Varennes. Two
squadrons of dragoons were to be at Clermont on
the day when the King passed through. They were
under the command of Count Charles de Damas, who
had been ordered to take a detachment to Sainte-
Menehould. Moreover, fifty hussars from Varennes
were to be at Pont-de-Somme-Vesle.

June 15, M. de Bouill^ received a letter from the
King, announcing that the departure, delayed for a
day, would not take place untU. between twelve and
one in the night of June 20-21.

The delay was occasioned by the necessity of con-
cealing the preparations for flight from one of the
Queen's chamber-maids, an ardent democrat, whose
time of service would not expire until the 19th.
M. de Bouill^ was annoyed. He had already issued
his orders for the departure of the two squadrons
who were to be at Clermont when the King arrived,
and now he was obliged to double the time of their
stay in that town, which might give rise to sus-
picions.

Meanwhile, Louis XVI. and the Queen were pain-

128 MARIS ANTOINETTE.

fully completing their preparations for escape. Their
principal assistant was Count de Fersen, a foreigner
who served France in the capacity of colonel-proprie-
tor of the regiment of Royal Swedes. In happier
days he had been one of Marie Antoinette's favor-
ites, and he felt toward her one of those profound
and lofty sentiments which have their birth in roman-
tic and chivalrous hearts and fill their whole exist-
ence.

Marie Antoinette, on her part, if her calumniators
are to be believed, may have felt something warmer
than friendship for the handsome Swede. A hint of
this suspicion is found in the Souvenirs et Portraits of
the Duke of L^vis. Speaking of M. de Fersen and
his part in the Varennes journey, he makes this
malicious reflection: "It was unseemly, on more
accounts than one, that on this perilous occasion M. de
Fersen should have occupied a post properly belong-
ing to some great French noble."

Marie Antoinette was right in counting on the
devotion of this gentleman, who had the soul of a
knight-errant. He it was that organized the prepa-
rations for departure. As the Minister of Foreign
Affairs had not been taken into confidence, the first
difficulty was to obtain a passport for the royal
family. M. de Fersen undertook to overcome it.
One of his friends, a noble Russian lady. Baroness de
Korff, was about to leave France and return to her
own country. She meant to take her two children,
a man-servant and two chamber-maids with her, and

PREPARATIONS FOR FLIGHT. 129

had applied to the Minister of Foreign Affairs,
through the intermediation of the Russian embassy,
for the necessary passport. As soon as it was
received, she gave it to M. de Fersen. It was this
passport which was to serve Louis XVI., Marie
Antoinette, the Dauphin, Madame Royale, Madame
Elisabeth, and Madame de Tourzel, the children's
governess.

M. de Fersen had also undertaken to procure, in
the name of the Baroness de Korff, the carriage to
be used by the royal family. It was a very large,
double-seated vehicle called a herline^ which had been
ordered from a Parisian saddler on December 22,
1790, and which cost 5944 livres. The way in which
it was made was enough to arouse suspicion, for, as
the King was unwilling to be separated from his
family, and as Madame de Tourzel insisted on accom-
panying them, an exceptionally large carriage was
needed ; moreover, various accessories had been pro-
vided which were likely to arrest attention. For the
rest, it was agreed that the fugitives should leave
Paris in a large hackney coach, driven by Count de
Fersen, disguised as a coachman, and not enter their
own carriage until they arrived- at Bondy.

Louis XVI. desired also to be accompanied by
three of his former body-guards, who had been dis-
banded after the October days of 1789. He commis-
sioned Count d'Agoult to choose among them, for
this difficult task, three men especially energetic
and devoted, and of tried discretion and courage.

180 MABIE ANTOINETTE.

M. d'Agoult selected MM. de Valory, de Moustier,
and de Maiden, who, at the time of the October
days, had distinguished themselves by defending the
Queen's apartments at Versailles at the peril of their
lives. They availed themselves enthusiastically of
an occasion for still further devotion, and were
secretly presented, June 17, to Louis XVI. and the
Queen at the Tuileries. Marie Antoinette asked
all three of them their baptismal names, saying that
during the journey each would be called by his
own, as it was necessary they should be taken for
domestic servants. They were to wear yellow vests,
in the style of those worn by couriers. The King
gave them detailed instructions on essential points,
and all three swore boundless fidelity to their master.
The preparations being now completed, the fugitives
waited impatiently for the 20th of June, the date
appointed for their escape, and besought God to look
favorably on their project.

JUNK TWENTIETH, 1791.

THE twentieth day of June, 1791, did not pass
without anxieties. The flight was to take
place at midnight, and at every instant the fugitives
feared lest their intention should be discovered.
Vague rumors were circulating throughout the city,
and at the Tuileries the domestics were whispering
together. One of the three body-guards, who were
to accompany them as couriers, was acquainted with
M. de Gouvion, major-general of the National Guard,
and the confidant of Lafayette, who resided in the
palace. In the morning, M. de Valory made a call
on him to ascertain whether the King's intention was
suspected. M. de Valory having alluded to the
alarms disseminated by the newspapers, M. de Gouvion
replied: "I will wager my head that the King has
not the least desire to leave Paris. He is certain
that no one bears ill-will to his person, and that
when once the desired changes in the government
are effected, he will be more powerful than ever."
M. de Valory went afterwards to the Queen to
acquaint her with these reassuring words.

131

132 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

•

The moment that he entered, through a small door
opening on the dark corridor dividing in two the
apartments on the ground-floor, Marie Antoinette
said to him: "I thought I recognized M. de La-
fayette's footstep. That man frightens me so that I
fancy I hear or see him every minute." Apprised of
the remark made by the major-general of the National
Guard, she added : " I thank you for the relief you
bring me; I have need of it. Weill we are approach-
ing the terrible moment. Can we get away from here
without being recognized? ... M. de Lafayette has
doubled the guards in every direction." — "Madame,"
answered M. de Valory, "he has taken this precau-
tion to reassure those who are uneasy, and to quiet
the grumblers, rather than because he has any fears
himself. I venture to propose that Your Majesty
should permit me to see M. de Gouvion again this
afternoon. If I find him still confident, M. de La-
fayette must be so likewise, and it will be safe to
wager that we shall make our escape from the palace
without difficulty."

Then the King, coming in, said: "If they suspect
nothing, we shall easily get away. . . . You are an
officer of my body-guards. If we arrive in safety,
you and your comrades will not be forgotten. . . .
I shall spend to-morrow night at the Abbaye-d'Orval.
The Marquis of Bouill^ is awaiting me before Mont-
m^dy with an army corps. Strong detachments of
hussars and dragoons are stationed at Pont-de-Somme-
Vesle, Sainte Menehould, Clermont, Varennes, and

JUNE TWENTIETH, 1791. 133

Dun. You will go in advance of my carriage. When
you reach Pont-de-Somme-Vesle, ask for the Duke
of Choiseul: he is in command of the squadron of
Lauzun's hussars which is stationed there ; he will
obtain an interview for you with an aide-de-camp of
M. de Bouill^, whom you will instruct, in my name,
to execute the orders he has received." Louis XVI.
then gave M. de Valory detailed instructions and
sent him away, saying, "This evening, at half-past
eleven."

Meanwhile, no change was made in the etiquette
and ordinary customs of the court. Nothing remark-
able had occurred during the day which might attract
attention. At eleven in the morning the Queen
went to Mass, and, on leaving the chapel, ordered
her carriage for a drive at five in the afternoon.

Madame Royale (the future Duchess of Angou-
ISme) has preserved in a curious narrative an
account of her impressions during the hours preced-
ing the departure. " It seemed to me all day," she
says, " that my father and mother were very anxious
and absorbed, without my understanding why. After
dinner they sent my brother and me into another
room, and remained alone with my aunt. I have
since learned that it was then they informed her of
their project of flight." At five in the evening Marie
Antoinette went out with her two children and two
ladies of her suite to the Tivoli gardens, at the
extremity of the Chauss^e d'Antin. "During our
walk," adds Madame Royale, " my mother took me

134 MARIE ANTOINETTE,

aside and told me I must not be uneasy about what
I was going to see, and that we should not be sepa-
rated long, but would quickly rejoin each other. I
listened, but without understanding in the least what
she meant. She kissed me, and said that if the
ladies asked why I was so agitated, I must t^ll them
that she had been scolding me, but I had made it up
with her. We returned home at seven o'clock. I
felt very sad, for I did not comprehend what my
mother had told me. I was all alone. My mother
had invited Madame de Mackau to go to the Visita-
tion Convent, which she frequently visited, and she
had sent away to the country the young person who
usually stayed with me."

And now the Count of Provence, the future Louis
XVIII., shall narrate to us his last meeting with
Louis XVI. It was his intention also to depart that
night for Belgium, whence he expected to go to
rejoin the King. He came to the Tuileries with his
wife in the evening, to sup with the royal family
and receive the commands of Louis XVI. The two
brothers, who expected to meet again before the
week was over, were about to separate forever.

Before supper, Monsieur chatted for some minutes
with his sister, Madame Elisabeth, who had been in-
formed of the proposed flight only that afternoon.
" I found her tranquil," says the Count of Provence,
"submissive to the will of God; satisfied, but not
manifesting extravagant joy, — in a word, as calm as
if she had known about the project for a year. We

JUNE TWENTIETH, 1791. 135

embraced each other most affectionately. Afterwards,
she said to me : * Brother, you are religious ; let me
give you a little picture. It can bring you nothing
but good luck.' I accepted it, as may easily be be-
lieved, with as much pleasure as gratitude. We
talked for some time about the great enterprise, and,
without allowing myself to be blinded by my tender-
ness, I must say that it would be impossible to reason
with more coolness and judgment than she displayed.
I could not avoid admiring her."

Afterwards, the Count of Provence went down to
the apartment of the Queen. As he embraced her
with great effusion, "Take care not to unnerve me,"
said Marie Antoinette ; " I would not like any one to
see that I have been crying." The Prince and his
wife took supper with the King, the Queen, and Ma-
dame Elisabeth. Neither of them suspected that it
was the last meal they were to eat together. All
five remained in conversation until nearly eleven
o'clock. When the moment to separate had come,
Louis XVI., who had not yet informed his brother to
what place he was going, now said that he was bound
for Montm^dy, and directed Monsieur to repair to
Longwy, by way of Lower Austria. The brothers
then bade each other farewell, in the hope of rejoin-
ing each other in a place of safety within four days.

The moment of departure was approaching. After
all, the day had passed very well. There had been
no denunciation and no grave suspicions. The King
received the usual visitors in his bedroom. The or-

186 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

dinarjr ways of the palace had been scrupulously
observed. Orders for the next day were given to the
servants. Doors were closed and locked. The lights
were put out. The membei*s of the royal family had
gone to bed. A few minutes later they got up again.

III.

THE DEPARTURE.

THE moment of departure had arrived. The fugi-
tives were not to leave the Tuileries all together.
It was arranged that the Dauphin and his sister, ac-
companied by Madame de Tourzel, should go first.
A few moments later, the King, the Queen, and
Madame Elisabeth would leave the palace one by
one.

Toward ten o'clock, while the Count and Countess
of Provence were still at the Tuileries, the Queen
went to her daughter's room, and bade her get ready.
She dressed her in a brown chintz frock, which had
cost ninety cents. The first chambermaid of the
young Princess, Madame Brunier, was in the room,
and Marie Antoinette told her what was about to
happen. " I would like," said she, " to have you go
with us. But since you have your husband, you may
remain." Madame Brunier did not hesitate a moment
in responding that she would follow the Queen wher-
ever she went. It was settled that both she and
Madame de Neuville, first chambermaid to the Dau-
phin, should be of the party, and that they should

137

138 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

- - - -

set off at once, in a special carriage, and rejoin the
royal family at Bondy.

Marie Antoinette went from her daughter's room
to that of her son, to awaken him. " Get up," she
said to him ; " you are going to a place of war, where
you will command your regiment." At these words,
the child sprang out of bed, saying, " Quick, quick !
Let us hurry. Give me my sabre and my boots, and
let us go." What they gave him was neither boots
nor a sabre, but a little girl's dress, a frock and bon-
net, which the governess of the royal children, Ma-
dame de Tourzel, had prepared, in expectation of cir-
cumstances which might render a disguise necessary.
The passport to be used by the fugitives stated that
Madame de Korff was accompanied by her two daugh-
ters. It was necessary, therefore, that the Dauphin
should be considered the sister of Madame Royale.
" They dressed my brother as a little girl," says this
Princess, in her account of the journey. "He was
charming. As he had fallen asleep, he did not know
what happened. I asked him what he thought was
going to be done. He said he thought there was to
be a comedy, because we were disguised." A strange
comedy, in fact, which was to end by a terrible
drama I

The two children and their governess, Madame de
Tourzel, passed out through the apartment of the
Duke of Villequier. In front of the palace there
were three courts : that of the Switzers, in front of
the Pavilion of Marsan; the Royal Court, in front

THE DEPABTUBE. 139

of the Pavilion of the Centre ; and the Court of the
Princes, in front of the Pavilion of Flora. The
apartment of M. de Villequier had a door by which
one could go down into the latter court, and as it
had been empty since the Duke emigrated, no sentry
was now posted there. Marie Antoinette wished to
superintend in person the departure of her children.
She went with them into the Court of the Princes,
running a ^reat risk thereby, as Madame Royale has
remarked in her narration. A large hackney coach was
standing in the middle of the court, with M. de Fer-
sen on the box, disguised as a coachman. This coach
was to take the children to the BarriSre de Clichy,
where the berlin intended for the journey was to
await them. The Dauphin, his sister, and Madame
de Tourzel got into the carriage, and the Queen went
back into the palace. The coach passed out of the
Court of the Princes, and went through the rue Saint
Honor^ to the Little Carrousel, opposite the house
called the H6tel de Guaillarbois, near the rue de
I'Echelle and the rue Saint Nicaise. They were to be
rejoined at this point by the King and Queen and
Madame Elisabeth, who were to leave the Tuileries
separately, and on foot.

Meanwhile, the King had just held his reception,
and gone to bed with all the usual ceremony. He
had risen again immediately. He had disguised him-
self with a wig, and put on the costume in which
he expected to pass himself off as M. Durand, the
Baroness de Korff's steward. Accompanied by M. de

140 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

Valory he went quietly out of the palace by the prin-
cipal door, that of the Pavilion of the Centre. The
sentries did not recognize him. He was supposed to
be one of the numerous persons who left the Tuileries
every night toward twelve o'clock, after the King
had gone to bed.

The Queen and Madame Elisabeth went out, one
after the other, through the door of M. de Villequier's
apartment. Marie Antoinette wore a sort of brown
tunic, a black hat in the Chinese style, ornamented
with a long piece of lace which answered for a veil.
M. de Moustier gave her his arm; Madame Elisabeth
was attended by M. de Maiden.

All this time the coach containing the Dauphin,
his sister, and their governess, was standing in the
Little Carrousel, in front of the H8tel de Guaillarbois.
" My brother," says Madame Royale, " was lying in
the bottom of the carriage, under Madame de Touzel's
gown. We saw M. de Lafayette pass, returning from
my father's bedchamber. We were waiting there at
least an hour, without knowing what had happened.
Never has any time seemed to me so long. . . • At
last, at the end of an hour, I saw a woman walking
around the carriage. I was afraid that we had been
discovered, but I was reassured by seeing the coach-
man open the door. It was my aunt."

A few minutes later Louis XVI. arrived. There
was no one missing now except the Queen. Each
minute of delay caused the fugitives inexpressible
anguish. They said to each other that Marie Antoi-

THE DEPARTURE. 141

nette had doubtless been recognized, and as they
would not on any account start without her, they
thought they would be obliged to abandon their
journey.

The Queen had not been recognized, but she had
lost her way. The vast space which separates the
Tuileries from the Louvre, and which is now one of
the most beautiful spots in Europe, was then a laby-
rinth where numerous streets crossed each other,
the Carrousel, Saint Nicaise, Rohan, Chartres, Saint
Thomas du Louvre, des Orties, and others.

The Queen was bewildered in this maze. She had
just been greatly alarmed by seeing the carriage of
General Lafayette, who was coming from the Tui-
leries where he had made his founds after being pres-
ent in the King's bedchamber. The apparition of a
ghost would not have frightened Marie Antoinette
more. Several lackeys surrounded the carriage, hold-
ing lighted torches which shed so much light that
the fugitive, persuaded that the General was about to
recognize her, quitted M. de Moustier's arm in dis-
may, and fled in a different direction. M. de Moustier
tried to reassure her by pointing out that the torches,
placed between her and M. de Lafayette, must dazzle
the latter's eyes, and prevent his recognition of her.

In her terror, the Queen mistook her way and got
lost among the streets surrounding the Carrousel.
She turned to the left instead of the right, and went
toward the Pont Royal: the night was dark, and
she did iiot know whither she was going. M. de

142 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

Moustier could neither guide her nor find the way
himself. They were obliged to ask the sentry on
the bridge, and then retrace their steps, pass the
wickets beside the river, go along the Court of
the Princes, the Court Royal, and the Court of the
Switzers, in order to arrive finally at the corner of
the rue de TEchelle, where the hackney-coach con-
taining the other fugitives was still standing before
the H8tel Guaillarbois.

Reunited at last after so much anguish, they offered
thanks to Divine Providence. The coach door was
closed. M. de Fersen whipped up his horses and
gained the BarriSre de Clichy, where they were to
find the three body-guards, and the berlin in which
their journey was to be accomplished.

It was the shortest night of the year, and day
had already begun to break. It was about two
o'clock. At first there was some diflBculty in finding
the place where the berlin was to be, and Louis
XVI. got out of the coach, to the great uneasiness
of his family. At last M. de Fersen came up with
it. The doors of the two vehicles were placed side
by side, and the fugitives passed from one to the
other. The hackney-coach was left beside the road
with no one to watch it. The berlin was drawn by
five horses. One of M. de Fersen's servants acted
as postilion, M. de Fersen and two of the body-
guards, MM. de Moustier and de Maiden, mounted
the coachman's box. M. de Valory had gone ahead
on horseback to order relays at Bondy. "Come on,

THE DEPARTURE. 143

now, be bold! drive fast!" cried M. de Fersen to
the postilion.

The horses galloped at full speed. Bondy was
quickly reached and the horses changed. Here
M. de Fersen took his leave of the royal family.
He was to start for Brussels the next day, but he
wished first to re-enter Paris, so as to assure himself
whether the flight had yet been discovered. When
he arrived, in broad daylight, he went to the H8tel
de Ville, the mayor's oflBce, and the staff-oflBce of the
National Guard. Everything was quiet in these
three places; he concluded, therefore, that nothing
had thus far been suspected. Meanwhile, Louis
XVI. and his family were quietly continuing their
route, and the journey, which was to end so badly,
began well.

IV.

JUNB TWENTIETH, 1791, IN PARIS,

IN Paris, the night of June 20-21 had passed very
quietly. Nobody suspected that the King was no
longer in his capital, and even at the Tuileries there
were neither doubts nor misgivings. According to
his usual custom^ the Dauphin's physician entered
the apartment of the young Prince toward seven
o'clock in the morning to see how he was getting on.
He found his room empty. He passed into the apart-
ment of Madame Royale, where he supposed the
Prince might be. Seeing neither the sister nor the
brother, he began to be uneasy. The alarm spread.
It was discovered that the chambers of the King, the
Queen, and Madame Elisabeth were likewise deserted.
A message was sent immediately to M. de Lafayette,
who was at first unwilling to believe it. The news
spread through Paris very quickly. The tocsin
was sounded. The drums beat the general alarm.
The people, believing themselves betrayed, flocked
around the Tuileries, the H8tel de Ville, and the
National Assembly. Lafayette, who had gone in all
haste to the palace, and afterwards to the Assembly,

144

JUNE TWENTIETH, 1791, IN PABI8. 145

was assailed as he passed by men who threatened to
kill him. Meanwhile, the Assembly had just met.
It was presided over by Alexandre de Beauhamais,
husband of the future Empress Josephine. He an-
nounced the flight of the royal family. The Assem-
bly, calm and grave, took all necessary measures
without delay. The Ministers were summoned, and
couriers sent to the departments, with orders direct-
ing all public functionaries. National Guards, and
troops of the line to arrest any persons leaving the
kingdom. M. de Laporte, ijitendant of the civil list,
sent to the President a proclamation which Louis
XVI. had left behind him, and which was read to
the Assembly.

" Frenchmen I " said the Sovereign, "do you desire
that anarchy and the despotism of the clubs should
replace the monarchical government under which the
nation has prospered during fourteen hundred years ?
Do you wish to see your King overwhelmed with
outrages, and deprived of his own liberty while
endeavoring to establish yours?"

In the same document, Louis XVI. enumerated all
his griefe : the outrages of the October Days, the
inconveniences of residing in the Tuileries, the insuf-
ficiency of the civil list, the disbanding of his body-
guards, the attacks made on the rights of the crown,
the obstacles put in the way of his visit to Saint
Cloud, and the obligation to be present, on Easter
Sunday, at the parochial mass of an intruded cur^.
"Frenchmen! and you, Parisians I" said the King, in

146 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

conclusion, " inhabitants of a city which our ancestors
took pleasure in calling the good city of Paris, dis-
trust the suggestions and the falsehoods of your pre-
tended friends. Return to your King; he will always
be your father. What pleasure will it not give him
to forget his personal injuries, and to return among
you, when a constitution which he shall have freely
accepted will have caused our religion to be respected,
so that government may be established on a solid
footing I "

The Assembly, after having listened to this docu-
ment, passed unmoved to the order of the day, and
continued its discussion of a projected penal code.

M. de Lafayette, meanwhile, had gone to the
H8tel de Ville, in order to concert with the munic-
ipal oflBcers and the Council of the Commune means
of discovering the route taken by the royal family.
Some one suggested that all the hack-drivers of Paris
should be summoned. One of them had taken Mes-
dames de Neuville and Brunier, the two lady's-maids,
to Bondy. He had seen and heard a good deal, and
it was his report, doubtless, which gave a hint of the
direction the fugitives had taken, and decided Gen-
eral Lafayette to despatch two of his aides-de-camp
on their tracks. The two officers set off in great
haste. The King was a long way in advance, and
it seemed hardly possible to overtake him.

Moreover, it was only the people who sincerely
desired the arrest and return of the royal family.
Their flight, or say rather their deliverance, over-

JUNE TWENTIETH, 1791, IN PABI8. 147

whelmed the faithful royalists with joy; while, on
the other hand, the Revolutionists, whether republi-
cans or Orleanists, were equally pleased by it. As the
Marquis of Ferridres has remarked in his Memoirs,
" the Orleanists were looking forward to the King's
departure from the realm, and the commotions sure
to result from it, in hopes that the Parisians and the
constitutional party, furious at being deceived, would
be obliged to throw themselves into the arms of the
Duke of Orleans and offer him the crown." While
the partisans of this prince went about repeating that
the flight of Louis XVI. was in reality an abdication,
a legal annulment of the contract between the nation
and the monarch, the republicans, who, although few
in number, were beginning to show their heads,
destroyed the royal escutcheon and monogram on
the signs. They were delighted to see that in spite
of the monarch's absence, everything took its accus-
tomed course, — the artisans going to their work, the
cabs rolling through Paris, and, in the evening, not
a single theatre closing its doors. They said that by
the flight of Louis XVI. France would gain the sup-
pression of the civil list, a saving of thirty millions
a year.

The demagogues did all they could to excite popu-
lar feeling, not merely against the King, but against
Lafayette and Bailly, whom they loudly accused of
complicity in the escape, and whom they described as
traitors. Camille Desmoulins wrote in his journal :
"On Tuesday, June 21, it is discovered that the

148 MABIE ANTOINETTE,

King and all his family have taken flight. This
general scamper of the male and female Capets took
place at eleven o'clock in the evening, and the news
did not get aboiit until nine the next morning.
Treason ! perjury ! Bamave and Lafayette abuse
our confidence!" Then, to accentuate the charge
more sharply, he added : " I was returning from the
Jacobins with Danton and other patriots at eleven
o'clock; we saw only one patrol the whole way.
Paris appeared to me so deserted that I could not
avoid remarking on it. One of us, who had a letter
in his pocket, warning him that the King was to
depart that night, wanted to watch the palace; he
saw M. de Lafayette enter it at eleven o'clock."
Finally, in a paroxysm of anger, Camille Desmoulins
exclaimed : ^^ As the King animal is an aliquot part
of the human species, and as we have had the folly
to make him an integral part of the body politic, he
must be subjected to the laws of society, which have
ordained that any man who takes arms against the
nation shall be punished with death, and to the laws
of the human species, the natural law, which permits
one to kill an enemy who attacks him. Now, the
King has taken aim at the nation. It is true his gun
hung fire, but it is the nation's turn to shoot."

At the Cordeliers club, Danton uttered this famous
invective against Lafayette: "You swore that the
King should not depart; you made yourself his
surety. Of two things, one : either you are a traitor
who has betrayed his country, or you are stupid in

JUNE TWENTIETH, 1791, IN PARIS. 149

having made yourself answerable for a person for
whom you could not answer. In the most favorable
case you have proved yourself incapable of command-
ing us. I descend from the tribune; I have said
enough to demonstrate that if I despise traitors, I
do not fear assassins."

Meanwhile, the mass of the people, who were
neither Orleanist nor republican, seemed profoundly
afllicted by the departure of the royal family, and
ardently desirous of their return. They said to each
other that if the King did not come back, civil war
would break out, foreigners would invade France,
and Paris would be given over to blood and fire.
People got excited. News was awaited with fever-
ish impatience. While this anxiety troubled the
inhabitants of Paris, Louis XVI. and his family were
quietly pursuing their journey. " Here I am then,"
said the fugitive King, " outside of that city of Paris
where I have tasted so much bitterness! By this
time, Lafayette ought to be a good deal embarrassed
about his own safety."

THE JOUENBY.

THE six-horse carriage containing the royal fam-
ily went on all day without encountering any
obstacles. M. de Valory preceded it as courier;
MM. de Maiden and de Moustier were on the box,
and Mesdames de Neuville and Brunier followed in a
post-chaise. Madame de Tourzel passed for the Baron-
ess de Korff, and the Queen for Madame Rochet, gov-
erness to the daughters of that lady. The Dauphin
and his sister were styled Am^lie and Agla^, the
two daughters of the baroness; Madame Elisabeth
was their nurse; the King played the part of Mr.
Durand, a steward ; the three body-guards were men-
servants. M. de Valory was addressed as Francois ;
M. de Maiden, as Saint-Jean ; M. de Moustier as Mel-
chior. The travellers did not even stop to eat, having
all necessary provisions in the carriage. Their pass-
port was not askfed for, and no one made any diffi-
culty about supplying them with horses.

At the post-station of Jalon, which was the last
before reaching Ch&lons-sur-Marne, the Queen said
to M. de Valory: "Frangois, it seems to me that
160

THE JOURNEY. 161

everything is going very weU ; we should be arrested
hy this time if we are going to be ; they have not yet
noticed our departure." "Madame," replied M. de
Valory, "as soon as we were twelve leagues away
from Paris, all cause for anxiety was over. We
should have been stopped before we got so far if
anything had been discovered after the visit to the
King's bedchamber, or our departure from the palace.
There is no reason for alarm. I have seen no commo-
tion or suspicion anywhere. Take courage, Madame ;
all is going well." The King, for his part, said:
" When we have passed Ch&lons, we shall have noth-
ing more to fear ; at Pont-de-Somme-Vesle we shall
find the first detachment of troops, and our journey
is safe." They arrived at Chftlons at about four in
the afternoon. The greatest quiet reigned there.
They left without difficulty, after changing horses.

At ChfilonsHSur-Marne ended the arrangements
which were undertaken by the King and Queen.
The Marquis de Bouill^ had made himself respon-
sible for the remainder of the journey.

The royal family were to make the following halt-
ing-places : Pont-de-Somme-Vesle, three leagues from
ChSIons ; Sainte Menehould, four leagues from Pont-
de-Somme-Vesle ; Clermont-en-Argonne, four leagues
from Sainte Menehould; Varennes, three leagues
from Clermont-en-Argonne; Dun, five leagues from
Varennes; and, five leagues from Dun, Montm^dy.
It had been arranged that at each of these stations
there would be a detachment of cavalry.

152 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

The orders of the Marquis de Bouill^ were such
that if the King wished to make himself known to
his troops, the detachments which had formed his
escort would, at each new post, fall back behind his
carriage to form a rear-guard, giving place to the
fresh detachments found there, which would act as
vanguard. If, on the contrary. His Majesty desired to
preserve his incognito, the detachments which were
to escort him should allow the carriage to go ahead,
so as to give time for the exchange of horses, taking
care, however, to march close behind, so as to avert all
accidents. Their ordei*s were to follow the carriage
exactly, forming an impenetrable barrier, through
which no courier or other person should pass on any
pretext whatever, and to arrive all together and at
the same time with the King, at Montm^dy, which
had been provisioned for the support of a numerous
army during several months.^

It was at Pont-de-Somme-Vesle that Louis XVI.
expected to find the first detachment, under command
of the Duke de Choiseul, nephew of the celebrated
minister of Louis XV., and colonel of the regiment
of Royal Dragoons. According to the plan of the
Marquis de Bouill^, it was from this point that the
orders for the succeeding stations were to issue. The
royal family reached Pont-de-Somme-Vesle at half-
past five in the evening. Cruel surprise ! They found
there neither the Duke de Choiseul nor the detach-

1 Account of M. Deslon, captain of the regiment of Lauzon
Hussars. M. Deslon commanded the detachment of Dun.

THE JOURNEY. 153

merit of cavalry. " The earth," said Louis XVI. later
on, " seemed to open beneath me." What had hap-
pened?

According to the plan of the journey, everything
had been calculated to the minute, and the transit
through Pont-de-Somme-Vesle had been fixed for
half-past three in the afternoon. A delay of some
hours occurring, the Duke de Choiseul became
alarmed by the disturbance his troops occasioned.
The people said openly that the pretended arrival of
a sum of money which needed an escort was a mere
pretext. M. de Choiseul, abandoning all hope of
seeing the royal berlin, so impatiently awaited, and,
rightly or wrongly, believing himself in danger from
the inhabitants of Pont-de-Somme-Vesle and its en-
virons, thought it prudent to withdraw his cavalry
and gain Varennes by a cross-road. This resolution
of the Duke de Choiseul has been severely criticised
by the Marquis de Bouill^ and his son. It catised
a controversy between them which lasted until 1822.

The Duke de Choiseul and his cavalry had hardly
been gone an hour, when the royal family arrived at
Pont-de-Somme-Vesle. This first mishap was destined
to render all the subsequent measures which had been
agreed on abortive. Everything was tranquil at Pont-
de-Somme-Vesle, however. Louis XVI. became some-
what reassured on seeing that fresh horses were
furnished without difficulty, and the journey began
anew.

They arrived at Sainte Menehould as safely as if

154 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

* ■ — ■ — ■.— .^-— ___^^_^^__

they had been escorted. But it was there that the
difficulty began to make itself felt. The detachment
of cavalry sent to this town was composed of forty
dragoons, under Captain Marquis d'Andoins, who,
like the Duke de Choiseul, was in the secret of the
journey. The population of Sainte Menehould, who
were extremely revolutionary, showed themselves
very suspicious. During the day Captain d'Andoins
was obliged to go to the h8tel-de-vrlle to explain the
presence of the dragoons. In the hope of lessening
suspicion, he had decided not to put his little troop
imder arms. The dragoons had dismounted and
were walking about the streets in foraging-caps,
when the royal family arrived at Sainte Menehould.
It was near eight o'clock in the evening. They saw
some National Guards, and not without apprehension.
It was the first time they had met any since leaving
Paris. Drums were beating, and the town appeared
in commotion.

As the carriage passed, the dragoons gave the
military salute, which the Queen acknowledged in
her usual graceful and kindly mannier. Was this a
mere act of politeness on the part of the troops, or
was it something more? Had they begun to pene-
trate the secret? Certainly, no one had told them
who were the persons they saluted. This array of
circumstances did not fail to increase the popular
uneasiness. The berlin reached the post-house,
nevertheless, without difficulty. The son of the
station-master was Drouet, a young man of twenty-

THE JOUBNEY, 155

eight, whose r81e was to be so fatal to the King. As
they were putting in fresh horses, Captain d'Andoins
approached the carriage for a moment, and said in
an undertone : " Affairs have been mismanaged, and
I am going away so as to avert suspicion." Then,
passing close to M. de Moustier, he said : " Go, go
quickly; you are lost if you do not hurry."

At this moment, Louis XVI. was so imprudent as
to put his head out of the carriage door. Young
Drouet had seen him the previous year at the FSte
of the Federation. He recognized him. To make
assurance doubly sure, he got out a revolutionary
bank-note, on which there was a sufficiently accurate
likeness of the sovereign, and compared it for some
time with the face he had just seen. After that he
had no further doubts. But the presence of the
dragoons intimidated him. At first he said nothing.
The horses were harnessed and the carriage started.
At the same time, M. d'Andoins gave orders for the
dragoons to mount and follow the berlin. It was
this which brought the alarm to a head. The Rev-
olutionists of Sainte Menehould hastened to the
tavern where the dragoons were, plied them with
wine, offered them money, and cut their saddle-girths
in order to prevent their departure. M. d'Andoins
was arrested. Drouet, in spite of the remonstrances
of his wife, resolved to pursue the royal family on
horseback. A quartermaster of dragoons, named
Lagache, an ardent royalist, perceiving Drouet's
scheme, mounted also, to pursue and watch him.

156 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

But the latter escaped by plunging into the forests
and taking cross-roads.

Meanwhile the royal family were still hopefully
pursuing their journey. As yet there was no cer-
tain indication that they had been recognized. The
slightly alarming signs they had observed were not
at all definite. Moreover, they were leaving them
behind, and no others occurred along the route.

Towards half-past nine in the evening they arrived
at Clermont-en-Argonne'. The detachment awaiting
them at this town comprised one hundred and forty
dragoons, under command of Colonel Count Charles
de Damas, who knew the secret of the journey. Let
us allow him to recount what happened at this sta-
tion: "I saw M. de Valory, and acquainted him with
the difficulty in which I was placed by the secret dis-
turbance in the town, and the fear that my detach-
ment would be arrested when I gave orders to start.
I warned him not to lose time in reaching Varennes,
where he could get relays, and go on to announce
the coming of the King. During the ten minutes it
took to put in fresh horses, I remained at the post-
house, surrounded by officers and dragoons, without
allowing it to be perceived that I had any acquaint-
ance with the travellers. The King and Queen saw
me, and made signs of kindness and satisfaction.
Finally, Madame de Tourzel called me ; she asked
several questions about the road they had still to
traverse, and spoke of the children's fatigue. The
King spoke to me ; the Queen made a sign warning

THE JOURNEY. 157

him to disguise his voice. It is impossible for me
to describe the happiness I felt when I saw the car-
riage set ojff toward Varennes."

Count de Damas then attempted to follow tho
royal family with his dragoons. But the same thing
that had occurred at Sainte Menehould was repro-
duced at Clermont-en-Argonne. The population rose
to prevent their departure. " Your officers are trai-
tors," said they to the soldiers ; " they want to drag
you to the slaughter ; the dragoons are patriots.
Long live the dragoons I " The soldiers refused to
follow their commander, and M. de Damas, threat-
ened by the crowd, had no resource but -flight. He
rode off, accompanied by a few faithful dragoons,
saying, " We must get out of this the best way we
can ; but no matter, the King is safe 1 "

As the royal family had been already some time
on the road from Clermont to Varennes, it really
seemed as if all were safe. The distance between
the two towns is barely three leagues. The road is
excellent. M. de Damas reflected that Varennes was
the last station before Montm^dy; that Montm^dy
was the desired haven, and that the fugitives ought
to reach it that very night and rest from all their
excitement and fatigue.

In reasoning thus, M. de Damas was reckoning
without Drouet, — Drouet, who, with the ruthless
speed of a hunter, was in feverish pursuit of his
prey. On leaving Clermont-en-Argonne the road
forks ; the right-hand one is the high-road of Ver-

158 MARIE Antoinette:

dun, the left leads to Varennes. As the royal car-
riage was starting from the Clermont station, the
courier on the box called out to the postilions to
take the Varennes road. The postilions from Sainte
Menehould who had taken the carriage to Cler-
mont heard this direction given. On their return
they met Drouet, and were able to tell him what
road the travellers had taken.

Who would arrive first at Varennes, — Louis XVI.,
or Drouet? The history of France, the history of the
world, was hanging on that question. On what does
the destiny of humanity depend ? On the greater or
less speed with which a man of the people pursues
a carriage. If Quartermaster Lagache overtakes
Drouet, or even if Drouet does not reach Varennes
until a few minutes after Louis XVI., the King will
not be beheaded, there will be no republic, no empire.
The face of the world will be changed. The least
accident, the least delay, the most apparently insig-
nificant detail, a broken harness, a tired-out horse, a
cross postilion who drives less rapidly than usual, a
mere nothing, can unsettle all things here below.
Drouet reaches Varennes a quarter of an hour before
the sovereign, and all is over with the monarchy of
Saint Louis, Henri IV., and Louis XIV.

VI.

THE ABBEST.

THE travellers arrived at Varennes at half-past
eleven in the night of June 21. Certain expla-
nations will be* necessary in order to follow clearly
the successive phases of the drama about to be
enacted.

Varennes, which is built on a declivity, comprises
two distinct quarters: the upper and the lower
towns, separated from each other by the river Aire,
and united by a bridge. At present there is a large
open square at the entrance of the upper town. In
1791 this square did not exist, and there was a long
street leading to the bridge. Between the bridge and
a church, of which the bell-tower alone remains, was
an archway, closed at will by a folding door. Close
to the bell-tower was a little tavern known as the
Bras-cT Or.

The arrangements agreed on for the King's pas-
sage were as follows : A detachment of sixty hussars
of the regiment of Lauzun, under command of Lieu-
tenant Rohrig, was stationed at Varennes. As there
was no post-station in the town, the royal berlin was

159

160 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

to be relayed by the Duke de Choiseul's horses and
postilions. The horses had been brought to Varennes
by a stafiE-officer, M. de Goguelat, who was to go from
there with the Duke de Choiseul to Pont-de-Somme-
Vesle to await the King. According to his instruc-
tions, M. de Goguelat was to confer with Louis XVI.
at Pont-de-Somme-Vesle, and then start for Vaiennes
in the capacity of coiirier. As he had several fresh
horses at different places on the road, it had been
calculated that he would arrive there about an hour
in advance of the royal family, and would be able to
superintend the final preparations for the King's
passage through the town.

This part of the programme was not carried out.
At Pont-de-Somme-Vesle, M. de Goguelat had done
the same thing as the Duke de Choiseul. Seeing
that the fugitives were delayed, and believing him-
self threatened by the inhabitants, he had quitted
Pont-de-Somme-Vesle before their arrival, and with-
out informing the Sovereign that the place first
designated for the change of horses at Varennes had
been altered.

It had been arranged that this relay should be
stationed at the entry of the upper town, at a house
carefully designated beforehand to the King. But
M. de Goguelat had thought proper to change this
part of the programme, and had decided to place the
relay on the bank of the Aire, in the lower town, at
the Grand'Monarque tavern. He said to himself,
doubtless, that while relaying, it would be better to

THE ABBE8T. 161

have the bridge behind him, where a few hussars
could readily intercept communication and repulse
any attack, than to have before him a passage like
the archway, which could be easily obstructed. This
modification may have been prudent. But still, the
King should have been apprised of it.

For additional security, the Marquis de Bouill^
had sent his second son, the Chevalier de Bouill^,
and another officer. Count de Raigecourt, to Va-
rennes, for the purpose of superintending the
exchange of horses, and to await the coming of the
royal family. As soon as these gentlemen were
apprised of their near arrival by M. de Goguelat,
they were to start for Stenay to inform the Marquis
de Bouill^.

At the moment when the royal family entered
Varennes, M. Rohrig, the second lieutenant, who
commanded the detachment of sixty hussars of the
Lauzun regiment, had not assembled his little band.
Not being in the secret of the journey, he did not
know that the King was to pass, but merely supposed
that a convoy of money was expected which he was
to provide with an escort.

The postilions and horses of the Duke de Choiseul,
which had been destined for the relay, were at the
Chrand'Monarque in the lower town. The Chevalier
de Bouill^ and Count de Raigecourt were there also :
they were waiting for M. de Goguelat, who did not
come.

Lastly, Drouet had reached Varennes a few min-

162 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

utes before, and had repaired in all haste to the Bras
d^Or, the tavern close to the archway and in front
of the bridge, to give the alarm and organize an
ambuscade.

M. de Valory had preceded the carriage on horse-
back. Arrived at this point of the account he pub-
lished during the reign of Louis XVIII., he thus
expresses his grief : " Here, readers of acute sensibil-
ities, the unhappy friends of an august and beloved
family, ought to stop if they do not wish to shudder
over each line that follows. Yes, they must tremble
with horror to learn that a man could have cherished
in his breast the thought of crime during the time it
took to cross a dozen leagues, and that, without
abandoning his infernal design, he succeeded in seiz-
ing and delivering to their murderers the best and
most virtuous of monarchs, the tenderest and most
illustrious of mothers, her royal children full of the
charms of innocence, and the most admirable Princess
of whom France has ever had reason to be proud.
Pardon me," exclaims M. de Valory, " the accents of
my sorrow 1 My hand trembles ; those fatal images
revive before my eyesl" Then, speaking of the
Duchess d' AngoulSme, he adds : " Ah 1 the sole relic
of a sacred family, immolated almost entire, ought
not to read this recital, made for history alone 1 May
it never come within her reach 1 There is no need
of telling anything to this consoling angel of oui'
misled nation. This angel has seen too much, heard
too much, and shed too many tears; pray Heaven,

THE ABBE8T. 168

rather, to make her lose the memory of all. . . . But
let us reanimate our courage ; let us continue if we
can."

On entering Varennes, a few minutes before the
royal family, M. de Valory had a presentiment that
he would not find the postilions and horses of the
Duke de Choiseul at the designated place. This
prevision was but too well founded.

Alarmed, M. de Valory looked on every side. He
called; no one answered him. He searched the
woods near Varennes. He went down into the lower
town. Nothing, absolutely nothing. Meanwhile
the royal family began an equally fruitless search.
Louis XVI. found neither hussars, couriers, postilions,
nor horses. What anxiety ! What distress 1 To be
wrecked so near the haven, a few leagues from
Montm^dy, that land of promise, where the royal
family had hoped io rise in glory from the tomb of
their humiliations and disasters. Fatality 1 What is
the answer to this dreadful riddle? Why are not
the sixty hussars of the Lauzun regiment here at the
entrance of Varennes? What has become of M. de
Goguelat? Where are the Chevalier de Bouill6 and
Count de Raigecourt, and the Duke de Choiseul's
horses and postilions? How are they to be sought
for in the darkness? Of whom shall they ask instruc-
tions how to get out of this terrible no-thoroughfare ?
Anguish and discouragement take hold upon the
fugitives. Louis XVI. himself knocks repeatedly
at the door of the house where the relay had been

164 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

expected. The Queen also leaves the carriage, and
wanders up and down, hoping to meet some one who
may tell her what to do. But there is no one in the
streets. The lights are out. The citizens are sleep-
ing quietly in their homes.

Meanwhile, Drouet, at the Bras d'Or, is profitably
employing the time wasted by the royal family at
the entrance of the upper town. Assisted by two
or three revolutionists, one of whom is Billaud, the
future Conventionist, he barricades the bridge with a
cart turned upside down, and then places himself in
ambush under the archway leading to it. Without
Drouet, all would be saved. With Drouet, all will
be lost.

Imagine the suppression of a single one of those
thousand little causes which may have retarded the
progress of the carriage, and Drouet would not have
succeeded in his plan, and the xoyal family would
have arrived quietly at Montm^dy. A few soldiers,
or even a few well-inclined civilians, would have
been sufficient to bring Drouet to his senses, to clear
away the obstacle from the bridge, and permit the
carriage to go on to the inn of the Q-rand-Monarque^
on the other side of the river, where the Chevalier
de Bouill^ was awaiting it with a change of horses.
But the King of France and Navarre, the most Chris-
tian King, the successor of Charlemagne and Saint
Louis, of Henri IV. and Louies XIV. had no one to
assist him, and it was before this wretched obstacle,
a cart upset in front of a tavern door, that a mon-

THE ABBE8T. 165

archy once formidable and illustrious was to come
to naught !

The royal family, which had re-entered the carriacfe
^r mitog rl r^^ 1„ fte upper Jn,
arrived at the archway leading to the bridge, beside
the Bras d ' Or. There was the pit into which they
were to fall headlong. Muskets already cocked were
thrust through either door, and crossed each other
within the carriage. " Halt I " cried several voices
out of the darkness. "Show your passport! Who
are you?" Some one replies, "Madame de Korff
and her family." "It is possible, but it must be
proved." The passport was shown, and proved all
right. But the rumor had got about that the carriage
was suspicious and must be detained. Torches were
held beneath the King's face. The municipal council
assembled. The National Guard was out. The
tocsin sounded. The procurator of the commune,
M. Sauce, approaching the carriage, said: "The
municipal council is deliberating on the means of
permitting the travellers to proceed. It is beUeved,
however, that it is our King and his family whom
we have the happiness to see in our town. ... I
have the honor to offer them my house, where they
will be in safety while awaiting the result of the
deliberations. The crowd in the streets is being
constantly increased by people summoned from the
surrounding country by our tocsin, which, in spite of
us, has been ringing for the last quarter of an hour.
Your Majesty may possibly be exposed to insults we

166 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

cannot prevent, and which would overwhelm us with
chagrin."

Louis XVI. did not attempt to resist. He did not
yet avow that he was the King, but he allowed him-
self and his family to be led into the house of M.
Sauce. The fugitives were definitively arrested.
There was no more hope! All was lost I

vn.

THE NIGHT AT VAEBNNBS.

"T~T is near one in the morning. Behold this van-
no longer royal save in name, in the ^nall and

quished man, this prisoner, this sovereign who is

obscure dwelling of the procurator of a little com-
mune. See him obliged to parley with his re bqilio us
subjects, to plead his cause like an accused^^roon
before the court. Sorrowful night, without slumber ;
full of miseries, with its alternatives of hope and dis-
couragement, with its medley of personages of diverse
opinions, jostling against each other in the shabby
room where royalty is at the point of death ! The
town, astonished at the unwonted tumult which has
so rudely troubled its repose ; ardent revolutionists
trembling at the thought that their prey may escape
them; faithful royalists who dare not express their
loyal sentiments above their breath; National Guards,
still hesitating between the monarchical idea and
republican passions; the alarm bell, the pealing
drums, the illuminated houses, the citizens and com-
mon people who wake suddenly and can hardly
credit the unexpected news that the royal family has

167

168 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

been arrested. What a spectacle ! what undreamed*
of scenes I How unforeseen and strange are the
caprices of destiny ! Drouet, who is working in the
shadow, is the actor who plays the sinister r81e in
the drama of Varennes.

Louis XVI. is here what he always has been:
kind, feeble, wavering, optimistic, judging others by
himself, unable to believe in human depravity, hoping
for safety in the midst of the greatest dangers. A
more energetic man would speak plainly and with
force. Louis XVI. hesitates, temporizes, thinks he
may overcome the rebels by gentleness and good
nature. His language is that of a father, perhaps,
but assuredly not that of a sovereign. Moreover, he
is embarrassed by the presence of his famUy. The
dangers he would brave willingly were he alone, he
dreads for his wife, his children, and his sister. What
he fears above all, and that through kindheartedness,
is bloodshed. He would not sacrifice the life of a
single soldier to save himself or his throne. He is
unwilling that one sword, one sabre, should leave its
scabbard. The iUusions natural to a generous heart
cause him to fancy that the revolutionists will re-
pent, and that his paternal counsels will bring back
again a people gone astray. At Varennes he will
continue to hope up to the very minute when he sets
foot on the step of the berlin which is to take him
back to Paris. So, too, nineteen months afterward,
he will hope as he ascends the guillotine, and believe
that some friendly battalion is coming to his assist-

THE NIGHT AT VARENNE8. 169

ance, just as, at Varennes, in the house of the procu-
rator of the commune, he expected, up to the last
minute, the arrival of the troops of the Marquis de
Bouill^. "Perhaps," he was continually saying to
himself, " I am about to hear the trumpets of the
faithful regiment, the Royal- AUemand." The unfor-
tunate monarch clings to the house of M. Sauce like
a shipwrecked sailor to a rock. What he dreads is to
be obliged to return to Paris, that city of afflictions
and supreme humiliations. Any other destination
would still leave room for hope, but Paris means
despair. Therefore when he hears that fatal name,
it seems to him that the abyss yawns beneath his
feet.

He has not yet admitted that he is the King. The
people say and repeat that they recognize perfectly
both himself and his family. " Very well," cries the
Queen ; " if you recognize him as your King, respect
him!" This speech leaves Louis XVI. at liberty.
He throws off his mask. He explains his pro-
gramme and the object of his journey. For a mo-
ment his fatherly accent imposes silence on the
throng which overcrowds the room. In touching
words he insists on his ardent desire to know the
real wishes of his people, and on his firm resolution
to do everything for their welfare, no matter at what
sacrifice, whether of his inherited rights, his royal
authority, or his private interests. He ends by pro-
posing to put himself in the hands of the members of
the National Guard stationed at Varennes, to be con-

170 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

ducted by them to Montm^dy, or any other towu
they choose, providing that it be not Paris. He
hopes he has convinced his audience, and imagines
that the National Guard will receive orders from
him. He says : '' I thank the commune of Varennes
for its good intentions, and I accept the escort it
offers me. It is my will that horses should be put
to my carriages, so that I may take my departure."

Meanwhile the commotion was increasing. People
poured into the two small rooms which formed the
first story of M. Sauce's house, where the royal
family still remained. The alarm bells of neighbor-
ing communes were answering the tocsin of the
town. Their National Guards also hastened to lend
a hand to those of Varennes, where the whole popu-
lation was afoot.

It was this tumult which informed the Chevalier
de Bouill^ and Count Raigecourt of the presence of
the royal family. They tried to rejoin them with
the horses and postilions of the Duke de Choiseul,
intended for the relay. Their efforts were vain.
The bridge was barricaded, and the people menacing.
The two ofl&cers were very nearly arrested. What
was to be done ? They got on their horses and gal-
loped off at full speed to tell what had happened to
the Marquis de Bouill^, who was in the neighborhood
of Stenay.

Lieutenant Rohrig had the same idea. This young
officer, who commanded the detachment of sixty
hussars stationed at Varennes, had not been admitted

THE NIGHT AT VARENNE8. 171

into the secret of the journey. He believed, simply,
that he was there to escort a convoy of money. He
had not seen M. de Goguelat, who would have ap-
prised him of the truth. Hence, when the rumor of
the arrival of the royal family reached him, his sur-
prise was extreme. He thought he was doing his
duty in leaving his hussars in command of a quarter-
master, and going himself at full speed to Stenay,
to warn his general.

It will be remembered that, at Pont-de-Somme-
Vesle, the Duke de Choiseul and M. de Goguelat, at
the head of forty hussars, started for Varennes with-
out awaiting the arrival of the royal family, and their
passage through that place. It will also be remem-
bered that, at Clermont-en-Argonne, Count Charles
de Damas, menaced by the population, had been
obliged to escape, almost alone, and had also turned
toward Varennes. The Duke de Choiseul and M. de
Goguelat, with their forty hussars, and Count Charles
de Damas with a much smaller escort, reached Va-
rennes about an hour after Louis XVI. and his
family. Instead of charging on the populace, the
Duke de Choiseul parleyed with them, and entered
the town by a sort of capitulation. He caused his
hussars to dismount, and obtained an authorization
to present himself before Louis XVI. The same per-
mission was granted to M. de Goguelat and Count
de Damas. The latter has said : " We went up stairs,
into the room occupied by the royal family. The
King, the Queen, and Madame Elisabeth received us

172 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

with expressions of the most touching goodness.
My first care was to say that we must get them away
at once, and by force, if necessary. The King an-
swered me : ' They want me to wait until daylight,
and to give me an escort. They proposed to send
one hun'dred men, but I have agreed that there shall
be only fifty.' We represented to him that the
concourse of people at Varennes, which was small as
yet, would soon be augmented by the entire popula-
tion of the neighborhood, summoned by the tocsin
which was sounding in all directions. We saw they
had decided to wait. I do not know whether the
forty hussars brought by M. de Choiseul, if reimited
with the sixty already in the town, could, at this
hour, have dispersed the small assemblage ; I do not
even know whether the forty, entering at a gallop,
might not have made the people fly, and if a few
charges in the streets would not have made them
masters of the town ; but other troops were expected,
which, meanwhile, were far enough away." An hour
later, the hussars had joined the citizens, were nearly
all drunk, and had taken an officer of the National
Guard as their commander.

According to Count Louis de Bouill^, it would
have been better to risk everything than to remain
shut up in a house, waiting for the population of
Varennes to be increased by that of the whole sur-
rounding country, summoned by the tocsin. But
anything that bore a resemblance to an energetic
decision was contrary to the character of the King.

THE NIGHT AT VARENNES. 173

The advice of Count de Damas was not well received,
and the unhappy colonel, driven to despair by this
inaction, could only bow in respectful acquiescence.

Louis XVI., always credulous, displayed entire
confidence in the fallacious promises of the munic-
ipality. His demeanor was firm and tranquil. He
received with condescension the importunate persons
who constantly entered the room and questioned him
in a manner not at all in harmony with the laws of
etiquette. The Queen and Madame Elisabeth spoke
often, and with real dignity. The Dauphin was
sleeping profoundly on the bed. His sister stood
near Madame de Tourzel.

Day began to break. The tumult increased every
minute, and the situation became more and more
critical. Toward six o'clock there came a new
glimmer of hope. M. Deslon made his appearance at
Varennes with sixty hussars, coming from Dun, the
station between Varennes and Montm^dy. He was
waiting for the King, with his detachment, when he
learned from the Chevalier de Bouill^ and the Count
de Raigecourt, as they passed through Dun, that the
royal family had been arrested. Not stopping for
orders, and listening only to his zeal, he started at
four in the morning, and reached Varennes a little
before six, having covered more than five full leagues
in less than two hours. His plan was to attack at
once, and force his way to the house where the King
was a prisoner. He had already prepared his detach-
ment by exhortations and promises, when, at twenty

174 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

paces from the town, he saw that barricades had
been raised which barred the passage of cavalry.
He obtained for himself alone permission to enter
M. Sauce's house, and he presented himself before
Louis XVI. He told him that his sixty hussars were
at the entrance of Varennes, and ready to shed the
last drop of their blood for their Sovereign; that
the barricades prevented them for the moment from
being useful, but that the Marquis de Bouill^ was
momently expected, and that their united forces
would not fail to deliver the august captives.

Captain Deslon spoke with the Queen afterwards
in German, and then took leave of the King, boldly
asking for his commands in the presence of the crowd
which thronged the room. Louis XVI. replied that,
being a prisoner, he had no commands to give. Colo-
nel de Damas said to the captain in German in as
low a tone as he could, "To horse, and charge!"
Somebody cried out, " No German ! " and Captain
Deslon went out. Then he sent a brigadier to look
for the quartermaster who, since Second Lieutenant
Rohrig's departure, had commanded the sixty hussars
of the Varennes detachment. But the brigadier
returned alone to say that the sixty hussars were
blockaded in their barracks and could do nothing.
The double attack planned by M. Deslon, counting
on an accord between the two detachments, could
not be accomplished. He remained inactive, awaiting
the arrival of the Marquis de Bouill^.

Even after this cruel night the royal family would

THE NIGHT AT VARENNE8. 175

not yet despair. They lent anxious ears to all noises
from outside, thinking constantly that they might
hear the tread of the Royal- Allemand. But this fatal
journey was nothing but a succession of misunder-
standings, false chances, mishaps, and delays. If he
had been warned two hours sooner, the Marquis de
Bouill^ could have saved everything. He will reach
Varennes with his faithful regiment, but an hour and
a half too late. The two emissaries of Lafayette
will arrive there before him, bearing the decree of
the National Assembly, and the royal family will be
forced to resume the road to Paris.

VIII.

THE DEPABTUEE FEOM VABBNNES.

BETWEEN six and seven in tlie morning, M. de
Romeuf, Lafayette's aide-de-camp, and M. Bail-
Ion, an officer of the National Guard, arrived from
Paris at Varennes. They brought the decree by
which the National Assembly ordained the arrest of
the royal family wherever they might be found, and
their return, willing or unwilling, to Paris. At the
moment of their arrival, Louis XVI. was far from
having lost all hope. The populace appeared more
and more disturbed. Cries of " To Paris ! to Paris ! "
resounded on every side. But the berlin had not
been brought up. The King thought he might yet
gain time, and flattered himself with the hope that
his saviour, the Marquis de Bouill^, was about to
come. The crowd, in spite of their revolutionary
passion, hesitated to use violence to their king. It
was the presence of the two Parisian emissaries which
overcame their last scruples.

With hair and vestments in disorder, M. Baillon
came first into the room where the royal family were
confined, and in a panting and broken voice said:
176

THE bepartuhe from varennes. 177

" Sire, you know ... all Paris will be cutting each
other's throats, . . . our wives and children are per-
haps massacred, . . . you will not go any further. . . .
Sire, the interests of State . . . yes, Sire, our wives,
our children. ..." At these words, the Queen,
showing him the Dauphin, asleep on M. Sauce's bed,
exclaimed, " And am I not a mother also ? " " In a
word, what do you want?" said Louis XVI. "Sire,
a decree of the Assembly." "Where is it?" "My
comrade has it." Then M. de Romeuf came for-
ward, holding the paper in his hand. Having read
it hastily, Louis XVI. said mournfully, " There is
no longer a King in France." Then the Queen
began to speak. She asked M. de Romeuf how he
could have undertaken such a commission, and attrib-
uted all her misfortunes to M. de Lafayette. M. de
Romeuf said that M. de Lafayette was far from being
the enemy of the King and his family. " He is so,"
replied the Queen. " His head is full of his United
States, his American republic; he will see what a
French republic amounts to. . . . Well, sir, show
it to me, this decree of which you are the bearer."
M. de Romeuf handed the decree to the Queen.
" Insolent creatures ! " said she, throwing it down
before reading it all through. The paper fell on the
bed where the Dauphin and his sister lay asleep.
The Queen picked it up again quickly, exclaiming,
as she threw it on the floor, " It would soil my chil-
dren's bed ! "
M. de Romeuf s attitude did not make the same

178 MABIE ANTOINETTE.

impression on M. de Valory as on M. de Damas.
According to the account of M. de Valory, the
severity and arrogance with which the two emis-.
saries fulfilled their mission can hardly be conceived.
According to that of M. de Damas, on the contrary,
M. de Romeuf seemed dismayed; his conduct and
his language gave room for the belief that he was
urged on by his companion, that he fulfilled his mis-
sion with reluctance, and that he would have been
pleased if the royal family could have escaped.

Meanwhile, M. Baillon was in haste to depart.
The people, feeling themselves supported by the de-
cree of the National Assembly, stamped and shouted.
The two carriages were got in readiness, and threats
were made that the fugitives would be put into them
by force if they would not enter voluntarily. The
King's friends did everything in their power to delay
the fatal moment. One of the two lady's-maids fall-
ing ill, the necessary attentions were prolonged as
much as possible. But the woman regained con-
sciousness, and there remained no other pretext for
resisting. Louis XVI., fearing, not for himself, but
for his family, and believing that if he did not yield,
the populace would have recourse to acts of violence,
soon decided to go. " The carriages," M. de Valory
has said, " were brought before the door of the house.
Some one came to announce that the illustrious
victims could enter them. We had to see a father
made to be adored, a King full of love for his people
forced to obey his subjects ; and, my God, what sub-

THE DEPARTURE FROM VARENNE8. 179

jects ! " The Duke de Choiseul and Count de Damas
wished to accompany the King and his family on
horseback. But they were arrested and imprisoned
in spite of the efforts of M. de Romeuf. M. de
Romeuf himself was arrested as suspicious, and was
not released until the next day. " The grief which
he expressed to us," says Count de Damas in his
account, " the care he took to exculpate himself from
this abominable mission, led us to wonder why he did
not destroy the decree he carried, and aid us in delay-
ing the departure of the King. I think he would
have done so had he been alone."

It was eight o'clock in the morning when the
royal family left Varennes. An hour and a half
later, the Marquis de Bouill^ with the Royal-AUe-
mand appeared on the heights which overlook the
town.

During the early part of the night the general had
waited for tidings with feverish anxiety. He and
his son, Count Louis de Bouill^, had mounted their
horses at Stenay, toward nine in the evening, and
ridden towards Dun, so as to receive news from the
King more promptly. At a quarter of a league from
this town, where their entry might have been too
much remarked, they went down into a dry ditch
at the side of the road, leaving their horses behind.
Count Louis de Bouill^, in a curious memoir, has thus
described their impressions: "I shall always have be-
fore my mind that night of long and anxious waiting,
when the least noise, the least movement, according

180 MABIE ANTOINETTE.

as it came or went, penetrated our souls with the
most vivid impressions of hope or despair. The latter
sentiment took almost entire possession of us when
day began to break without our having seen any one
arrive or received any news. M. de Bouill^, not
able to explain the cause, but well persuaded that
some change in his plans must have occurred, re-
turned to Stenay, so as to be better able to give the
orders necessitated by circumstances. We were a
quarter of a league from that town when we per-
ceived some couriers coming towards us at full
speed. Our hearts beat with joy, for we supposed
they were bringing us tidings of the speedy arrival
of the King. But what was our surprise and grief
when we recognized the Chevalier de Bouill^, Count
de Raigecourt, and, which was most astonishing of
all, the officer in command of the detachment of
Varennes, who announced to us that the King had
been arrested there at half-past eleven the night
before, adding nothing else but some very vague
details. It was then about half-past four in the
morning."

The Marquis de Bouill^ could get no clear idea
of what had happened. Making a final effort, he
ordered the Royal- AUemand to horse at Stenay, and
led them to Varennes, hoping that the King might
even yet be delivered. He distributed four hundred
louis among his cavaliers, and explained their mis-
sion in a brief harangue, which was received with
shouts of ''Long live the King!" The regiment

THE DEPARTURE FROM VARENNE8. 181

started at full trot. All along the road they heard
alarm bells ringing and drums beating from every
direction. It was half-past nine in the morning when
they arrived before Varennes. The royal family had
departed an hour earlier. The oflficers said it was
indispensable to refresh the horses, jaded by a march
of nine leagues at full trot. This observation, which
was but too well founded, the long start which the
carriages had already, the fear of once more endanger-
ing the lives of the royal family while seeking vainly
to bring them aid, the menacing dispositions of the
National Guards and the people, the thought that
four hundred cavalry, worn out with fatigue, could
not but perish in the midst of a revolutionary mul-
titude increasing every minute, — all this determined
the general to give the order for a retreat. " I see
yet," says his son. Count Louis de Bouill^, "the
expression of grief which altered his whole coun-
tenance. Never shall I forget that gentle, heart-
breaking complaint which he addressed to me in
sorrowful accents some moments later, and which
alluded to the confidence I had expressed concerning
the success of this enterprise, and based on the good
fortune which had attended all the others: 'Weill
will you say again that I am lucky?'" At Stenay
the Marquis de Bouill^ barely escaped arrest. He
was forced to abandon his regiment, and take shelter,
with his son, across the frontier. The latter says:
" We arrived at nightfall at the Abbaye d'Orval, in
the Emperor's dominions. We found the monks at

182 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

table, astonished by our arrival, and full of conster-
nation on learning its cause ; and at eleven o'clock
we terminated that too cruel and too memorable
day."

During this time the royal family were painfully
continuing their journey, stopping at every town. The
fatal Varennes journey had such results that all the
incidents of it have occasioned long and bitter con-
troversies. Each actor in it has sought to explain its
weak places or its errors; each has sought to shift
upon some one else the responsibility of failure ; each
has said : " If such or such a fault had not been com-
mitted, the august martyrs would have been saved."
Even yet these discussions interest and excite. The
vicissitudes of the journey are followed with as much
anxiety as if they had occurred but yesterday. The
inventions of romance-writers are not more interest-
ing than the reality; and of all dramas, the most
singular, the most interesting, is history. It is not
the principal actors alone, but the secondary ones,
and even the supernumeraries, who attract attention.
All come to life again, all revive, — the characters and
the scene. The night of Varennes is legendary.
Sinister gleams throw it up into a strange relief.
The archway, the bridge, .the Bras d^Or inn, the
house of M. Sauce, all stand out plain before one's
eyes, and the imagination rests long upon them. '

IX.

THE BETUBN.

THE royal family had passed nine hours at
Varennes, and this sojourn sufficed to trans-
form an almost unknown locality into a historic and
forever celebrated town. At eight o'clock in the
morning of June 21, 1791, the berlin which had
brought the august fugitives, took them back again
to Paris. The three body-guards were on the coach-
man's box. The two lady's-maids followed in another
carriage. People armed with scythes and muskets,
pikes, pitchforks, and sabres, surrounded the two
carriages and formed a sinister escort. At first start-
ing, the horses had been driven at great speed, so as
to put as great a distance as possible between the
royal family and the royalist troops whose arrival
was feared; but afterwards they were allowed to
walk between the constantly increasing throngs — a
revolutionary population. They were four hours in
going from Varennes to Clermont-en-Argonne. It
was three in the afternoon when they reached Sainte
Menehould. This town was greatly indebted to
Louis XVI., who had built it up from its ruins after
a terrible fire. The inhabitants seemed hardly to

183

184 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

remember this benefit. One might have thought
Drouet had imparted to them all his demagogic
passion. Threats, insults, and furious cries greeted
the royal berlin, and the three body-guards barely
escaped assassination.

Not far from Sainte Menehould, opposite the vil-
lage of Han, and near the mountain of the Moon,
made famous a year later by the encampment of the
King of Prussia and the battle of Valmy, a venerable
old man, wearing the cross of Saint Louis on his
breast, came up on horseback. It was the Marquis
de Dampierre. This old officer, a courtier of misfor-
tune, came to offer homage to his King. The crowd
was not at all pleased with his loyal sentiments, his
respectful attitude, his soldierly and noble bearing,
his white hair. When the old man appeared, the
image of duty and fidelity, shouts of "traitor," "aris-
tocrat," flew from mouth to mouth in the revolu-
tionary escort. " Kill him ! cut his throat ! " cried
the populace. Some sprang at the horse's bridle;
others sought to dismount the rider. He spurred up
his horse, hoping to make his way through the crowd.
Two pistol shots were fired at him and missed. He
returned them with another. Then he was chased
like a stag at a hunting-match. Muskets were dis-
charged at him repeatedly, and the old nobleman fell
dead. His head was cut off and stuck on a pike ; and
the bloody trophy was thrust before the eyes of the
royal family. The horrors of the October Days had
begun anew.

THE RETURN. 185

In the evening, they arrived at Chfi,lons-sur-Marne,
where they passed the night of June 22-23. This
journey, so full of incidents, disturbed by so many
emotions and so much anguish, must have resembled
a bad dream. The revolutionists who escorted the
carriage with cries of fury were like menacing phan-
toms. The extreme heat, the overpowering fatigue,
the moral sufferings, still greater than the physical
ones, made this fatal road a way of humiliations and
afllictions. That heartrending anguish which Dante
places in the midst of his torments — a happy memory
recurring in days of wretchedness — came from time
to time to deepen Marie Antoinette's emotions. At
Ch&lons-sur-Marne, the royal family alighted in the
courtyard of the old hotel de Tlntendance, where
they remained all night. The Queen could not
behold unmoved this edifice where she had been
received at the time of her arrival in France twenty-
one years before, in May, 1770.

Then, what benedictions, what transports, what
idolatry I With what enthusiasm the charming
Dauphiness, the ideal maiden, the morning star, had
been received I Who would then have thought that
a people so devoted to their royal family would ever
become a jfcribe of regicides and executioners? In
a single destiny there are often such vicissitudes
and contrasts, that those who fall from the height
of prosperity and grandeur into the profound abysses
of calamity, lose, as it were, the consciousness of their
identity. Unhappy, and questioning the past as well

186 MABLE ANTOINETTE.

as the present, they say, " Could I have been so
happy, so brilliant, and so flattered?" And thus
Marie Antoinette might have asked herself in the
midst of so many cruel reverses: "Am I truly the
daughter of the German Caesars, the Queen of France
and Navarre ? Could I once have shone so brilliant,
who am now plunged in darkness so profound?"

Chfilons-fiur'-Mame was a sort of oasis in the middle
of a burning desert. " Ah ! let us breathe awhile," says
the Count de Valory in his narration. "At Ch&lons-
sur-Marne a few moments of consolation came to
assuage our griefs. But, before attempting to de-
scribe this soothing contrast, let us pay to a consider-
able portion of the French people the just tribute
which is their due. Yes, alongside of frightfully
barbarous scenes, we often beheld expressive tokens
of the grief they occasioned to a great number of vir-
tuous citizens. In spite of every danger, marks of
love and profound interest escaped them. One could
see it; their hearts were broken, but crime alone
dared venture ; crime alone was powerful."

The majority of the Ch&lonnaise population were
royalists. They received the unfortunate monarch
more like an impatiently expected father than as a
king made captive by his subjects. It was who
should solicit the honor of being presented to the
august family. Ladies and young girls came to
offer bouquets to the Queen, Madame Elisabeth, and
Madame Royale. Some proposed that the King
should save himself alone. A private staircase lead-

THE RETURN. 187

ing from the room where the Dauphin slept was
shown him. But he refused to quit his family, and
would not accept the means of escape which were
offered him.

The royalists of the city likewise debated whether
they should attempt to take Louis XVI. back to Mont-
m^dy, or to defend him at Chfilons. His supper was
served with a certain pomp in a large hall containing
many persons, all of whom passed around the table
without creating the slightest confusion. The emo-
tion was general. People kissed the King's hands
respectfully, and multiplied their signs of homage
toward the Queen and the Princesses. The royal
family were up nearly all night. When they took a
brief repose, the Revolution, which did not sleep,
was preparing to frustrate the monarchical intentions
of the people of Ch&lons. The National Guard of
Rheims, lead by zealous democrats, reached Ch&lons-
sur-Marne in the morning.

It was Thursday, June 23, the feast of Corpus
Christi. The King had had an altar arranged, and
was assisting at Mass, which was at the Sanctus^
when it was brusquely interrupted by the appearance
of armed men, who summoned the royal family to
renew their journey. " To Paris ! to Paris I " cried
voices in the courtyard. Guns were pointed at the
windows, and it was demanded that Louis XVI.
should show himself there. He appeared, calm and
impassible as ever. " Since I am compelled," said he,
" I will go to Paris." Nearly the whole population

188 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

of Champagne had marched all night to assemble at
Chfilons, and the break of day was, as it were, their
hour of rendezvous. " What could the good Chfir
lonnaises do now?" sadly exclaims M. de Valory.
"Their will was enthralled; nothing remained to
them but sighs I " The royal family got into their
carriage and went on their way, escorted by National
Guards and revolutionary bands.

At Epernay they made a brief stop for dinner.
When, according to custom, the mayor presented the
King with the keys of the town, the president of the
district addressed a sharp remonstrance to the un-
happy Prince, ending with these words: "You ought
to be thankful to the town for presenting its keys to
a runaway king." They could hardly eat, so threat-
ening seemed the sentiments of the crowd. Just as
they were setting off, a woman of the city said to
Marie Antoinette, " Go, my little beauty ; you will
see worse times than this."

A few minutes later, between JKpemay and Dor-
mans, the berlin containing the royal family was
joined by another carriage from which alighted three
deputies from the National Assembly, — Barnave,
Potion, and the Marquis de Latour-Marbourg. They
had been sent to meet Louis XVI. in the capacity of
commissioners.

MAEIB ANTOINETTE AND BARNAVE.

THERE are some proud and generous men in
whom triumphant sovereigns, with their pomp
of luxury and power and their train of flatterers,
inspire a sort of repulsion, and yet who instinctively
become, so soon as they can gain nothing by it, the
senrante and courtiers of sovereigns in misfortune.
In times of prosperity they ask themselves, " Where
is the good in swelling this flood of servilitj'^ ? Why
should I add my voice to this concert of adulation ? "
But the sight of unhappy, abandoned, and betrayed
princes inspires in them a mingled tenderness and
respect. They do not concern themselves to be faith-
ful when fidelity is rewarded with money and prefer-
ment ; but when it leads to ruin, poverty, exile, and
death, fidelity appears to them an austere joy and a
sacred duty. Bamave was one of these men. He
had been unmoved by the prestige of success; the
majesty of suffering subdued him. Marie Antoinette,
illuminated by the reflection of the crown diamonds,
radiant in the Gallery of the Mirrors, with her pat-
ronizing air, her triumphant beauty, her goddess-like

189

19(r MARIE ANTOINETTE.

walk ; Marie Antoinette amid the refined elegance of
the Little Trianon ; Marie Antoinette surrounded by
the splendors of a royal fSte, a court ball, a gala
representation at the Versailles theatre or the Paris
Opera; Marie Antoinette, on the day of a solemn
entry, in a carriage covered with gold, and drawn by
eight magnificent horses, would have stirred Barnave's
imagination very little. But the calumniated, insulted,
threatened Queen ; the Queen dressed in the modest
gown of a governess; the Queen shut up with her
family in the dismal carriage, slowly advancing, like
a hearse, on the road to anguish and humiliations;
the Queen whose eyes are reddened by tears; the
Queen whose locks have been whitened by her grief ;
the unfortunate Queen invincibly attracts the tribune
and transforms him into a chevalier.

Bamave was not quite thirty years old. Born at
Grenoble, October 22, 1761, of a respected lawyer,
and a noble and beautiful mother, he belonged to
the reformed religion. He had early manifested an ar-
dent and lofty soul. At sixteen he fought a duel in
behalf of his younger brother, who had been insulted.
Impatient of injustice, and penetrated with the senti-
ment of human dignity, he swore to himself to redeem
his caste from the humiliation to which it was con-
demned under the old regime. Having been made a
deputy to the States-General, he at once gained the
reputation of a great orator. Full of talent and
energy, he held his own against the most powerful
antagonists, against Mirabeau himself. In the eyes

MARIE ANTOINETTE AND BABNAVE. 191

of the court he passed for an irreconcilable dema-
gogue, the most to be dreaded among the promoters
of sedition. He who had so often thundered against
the abuses of the monarchy, who for a moment had
made the popularity of Mirabeau grow pale, at the
time when Mirabeau was secretly drawing closer to
the trembling throne; who, in appearing before the
royal family, had perhaps promised himself to stifle
every sentiment of pity in his soul, could not resist
the spectacle of misfortune. As M. de Lamartine
has said, Mirabeau sold himself, and Barnave gave
himself away. The man of genius was bought with
heaps of gold ; a glance subdued the man of feeling.

When the three deputies, sent by the Constituent
Assembly to meet the royal family and bring them
back to Paris, stopped the berlin on the road between
Epemay and Dormans, they decided that two of them
ought to enter it. The Queen seemed to wish that
the Marquis de Latour-Marbourg, whose face was not
unknown to her, should be one. Perceiving this,
M. de Latour-Marbourg said to her, in an undertone,
that she could count on him as a faithful subject, but
that it might be otherwise with Barnave, one of the
most influential members of the Assembly. He added
that it would doubtless flatter the young deputy from
Grenoble to enter the royal carriage, and it would be
to the Queen's interest to conciliate him. Matters
were thus arranged: M. de Latour-Marbourg returned
to the carriage which had brought him and his col-
leagues from Paris, while Barnave and Potion entered

192 MABLE ANTOINETTE.

that of the King; the former sat between Louis XYI.
and Marie Antoinette on the back seat, and the latter
on the front one, between Madame Elisabeth and
Madame Royale. The Dauphin sat by turns on the
knees of his mother, his aunt, and his sister.

At first the presence of these new travelling-com-
panions was a somewhat serious embarrassment. The
Queen did not trouble herself to begin a conversation
with them. She drew her veil down and determined
not to open her mouth during the rest of the journey.
Bamave, far from being offended by this silence,
maintained the most respectful attitude toward her
and the King. Louis XVI., who loved to talk, was
the first to break the ice. With the simple and
straightforward manner which befitted his character
he spoke freely of men and things. In his responses,
Barnave courteously observed the fine distinctions
required by the difference of rank, and though he
spoke like a man devoted to liberty and the new
ideas, he also showed himself loyal to the throne,
and unwilling to divorce rojralty from the nation in
his projects of reform.

Marie Antoinette listened. She was struck by
the wit, tact, and moderation of Barnave. Like the
woman that she was, she recognized at once in the
manners, the voice, and the countenance of the young
deputy, the attentions of a well-bred man, and felt
herself the object of a discreet and respectful pity.
She lost not a word of the conversation in which she
iad at first resolved to take no part. Changing her

MARIE ANTOINETTE AND BABNAVE. 193

mind, she finally began to speak. Her language, like
her person, was gentle, charming, and majestic. In
her voice, as in her glance, there was something
gracious, kindly, and persuasive, which, coming from
the heart, went to the heart. Undaunted by tyranny,
Barnave felt himself vanquished by this strong weak-
ness, this imposing sorrow. His former hatreds
melted in an instant, like snow beneath the genial
rays of sunshine. The idea that he, the citizen, the
plebeian, the unknown young man of two years since,
might by a strange freak of destiny become the sup-
port, the protector, the saviour of this beautiful queen,
once so flattered and so brilliant, — this idea flattered
his self-love at the same time that it awakened in
his soul, where democrat and knight-errant blended
into one, the most elevated sentiments and chivalrous
aspirations. Sympathy, respect, devotion, flooded his
soul like a rising tide. Barnave knew well that in
displaying an interest in Marie Antoinette he was
voluntarily exposing himself to the greatest danger.
But this reflection, far from cooling his ardor, made
it all the more keen and fervent. Whatever hap-
pens, said he to himself, I will be the defender and
servant of this woman. Sovereigns in misfortune
easily experience a sentiment little known to them
in prosperous days, — that of gratitude. Then they
prize a word, a tear, a sigh. They recognize, and
thank Heaven, that human nature is not all cow-
ardly, and that amidst so many ingrates there are
here and there honest, devoted, and generous hearts.

194 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

Between Dormans and Ch&teau-Thieny it was
Barnave who rescued from their torture the three
body-guards who had been exposed all along the
road to the rage of a ferocious population. Some
demons proposed to tie them fast to the wheels of
the royal carriage, and as soon as they were so
bound, to put them to death. They were about to
execute this cannibal-like scheme when the deputy
from Grenoble leaned out of the carriage door to see
what was going on. He alighted at once, and had
influence enough to prevent the crime.

At the entrance of the faubourg of Meaux a simi-
lar scene was reproduced. A poor village cur^, who
had been so imprudent as to approach the royal
carriage, was about to be massacred. The Queen
uttered a cry. Bamave, throwing himself almost
out of the carriage door, shouted, "Frenchmen I
nation of heroes, are you going to become a people
of assassins?" Madame Elisabeth, touched by this
noble outburst, caught hold of the young man by the
skirt of his coat. The powerful voice of the deputy
from Grenoble availed to save the ecclesiastic from
death. In speaking of this incident later on, Marie
Antoinette said that in the most critical moments
whimsical contrasts were what always struck her;
and that on this occasion the sight of the pious
Elisabeth hanging on to Barnave by the tail of his
coat had seemed the most unexpected and surprising
thing about it.

Meanwhile, the emotion of this new defender of

MARIE ANTOINETTE AND BABNAVE. 195

the throne continued to increase. What affected
him in Marie Antoinette was the Queen, the woman,
and, above all, the mother. He was permitted to
take the Dauphin on his knees, and his fingers played
with the child's fair ringlets. "You are not sorry
to come back to Paris, are you?" he asked him.
" Oh ! I am happy everywhere," answered the future
Louis XVII., "provided I am with my father, and
mamma Queen . . . and with my aunt, my sister, and
Madame de Tourzel." " It is a sad journey for my
children, sir," said Louis XVI. " What a difference
between this one and that we made to Cherbourg !
At that time calumny had not yet led public opinion
astray. . . . They may misunderstand me, but they
shall not change me ; love for my people will always
remain the first need of my heart, as it is the first of
my duties." The Dauphin took his father's hand
and kissed it. Then the good Louis XVI. embraced
his son tenderly, calling him as of old, "My dear
little Norman!" "Don't be sad, father," said the
child, who was crying. "Another time we will go
to Cherbourg."

Profoundly touched, Barnave redoubled his oblig-
ing attentions. Throughout the journey he was a
model of delicacy, courtesy, and respect, and he made
the most favorable impression on Madame Elisabeth
as well as on the Queen. Three months later on,
after the discussion of the Assembly on the colonies,
the pious sister of Louis XVI. wrote to Madame de
Raigecourt: "Barnave spoke with so much force that

196 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

he carried all before him. That man has great intel-
ligence and talent ; he might havQ been a great man
if he had chosen ; he may be so yet. But the anger
of Heaven is not yet all spent. How should it be?
What are we doing to appease it ? "

Madame Elisabeth was right. The Divine wrath
was not yet exhausted. Barnave was to be sacrificed
almost at the same time as the royal victims to whom
he so generously devoted himself. He was arrested
as a suspected royalist August 19, 1792, and re-
mained more than a year in prison before mounting
the scaffold whereon he was to die at the age of
thirty-two. His works, published by M. B^renger
of Dr8me, exhibit fully the elevation of his mind
and the true nobility of his heart. A captive, he
remembered with emotion the journey which had
left such profound traces in his soul ; and in speak-
ing of this touching and critical time, he said that
by graving on his imagination the memorable exam-
ple of the royal misfortunes, it had doubtless aided
him to support his own more easily.

Transferred from the prisons of Dauphiny to Paris,
in November, 1793, to be judged, or, rather, to be
assassinated by the revolutionary tribunal, Barnave,
while on the way, addressed a letter to one of his
sisters, which is like the testament of his soul, where
stoicism and tenderness went hand in hand. " I am
still young," he wrote, "and yet I have already
known, already experienced, all the good and all the
evil which make up human life. Endowed with a

MAEIE ANTOINETTE AND BARN AVE. 197

vivid imagination, I long believed in chimeras ; but I
am undeceived, and at the moment when I am about
to quit life, the only things I regret are friendship
(no one can flatter himself with having tasted its
sweetness more deeply than I) and the cultivation of
the mind, the habit of which has often delightfully
occupied my days."

Bamave is the Andr^ Ch^nier of politics. Like
the young poet, the young orator could say, putting
his hand to his forehead, " Aiid yet, there was some-
thing there!" A veil of melancholy and sadness
covers the destiny of each. It is genius extinguished
at its dawning; it is youth which succumbs before
having gathered all its harvest of talent and of glory.
Barnave died the victim of his chivalrous devotion
to Marie Antoinette. He did not regret it. On the
eve of the 10th of August he said to the Queen, on
seeing her for the last time, " As I am very sure of
paying one day with my head for the interest with
which your misfortunes have inspired me, I beg
of you, Madame, for all recompense, the honor of
kissing your hand."

pbtion's account.

IN Barnave we have just seen a man of mind and
feeling who, to the ideas and principles of a
democrat, united the tact and sense of fitness which
are lacking in many a nobleman. One might say
that the young deputy from Grenoble was in the
royal carriage by way of contrast to Potion, the other
commissioner of the Assembly. The one thought
liberalism in nowise incompatible with the tone and
manners of good society, while the other fancied that
all true demagogues should display a certain rudeness
which the vulgar take for austerity. At bottom,
Potion was not a bad man. There was even a sort
of sensibility in his soul. But he had heard so many
declamations, and he had so often declaimed himself
against kings and queens, that the least compassion
for them seemed to him a lack of patriotism. He
will preserve, then, in the carriage of Louis XVL,
the same attitude that he would in the Jacobin club
or the club of the Cordeliers. The royal family will
see him eat and diink in the berlin in an unman-
nerly way, throwing his chicken-bones out of the
198

PETION'S ACCOUNT' 199

carriage door at the risk of sending them into
the King's face, and obliging Madame Elisabeth to
pour out his drink without thanking her. It is a
poetic sentiment which animates Barnave's gentle
soul, but the motive power of Potion's acts and
words is the arrogance of an upstart. A provincial
lawyer, intoxicated with his success in the lower
court of Chartres and his exploits as a lady-killer
in the bourgeois circle of his little town, he did not
doubt that, transplanted to a larger scene, he was
destined to still more brilliant triumphs. Proud of
his position as deputy, and still prouder of his title
and mission as envoy of the Assembly, he felt himself
a sovereign, and delighted in treating Louis XVI. as
his equal, not to say as his inferior. He desired to
teach power a lesson. He spoke ex cathedra. He
gave a course in politics. He disputed, he perorated,
he domineered. The account he has left of his jour-
ney with the royal family gives the best notion of his
incredible presumption. This document, which was
seized with Potion's other papers when he fled after
May 31, 1793, is written entirely in his own hand.
M. Mortimer-Ternaux published it for the first time in
his Histoire de la Terreur.

The narrative opens magniloquently : " The King's
carriage stops. We go to meet it. An usher pre-
cedes us, and the ceremonial is conducted in an im-
posing manner. As soon as we are perceived, some
one cries, * There are the deputies of the National
Assembly!' Everybody hastens to make way for

200 MARIE ANTOINETTE,

US. The cortege was superb. There were National
Guards on horseback and on foot, with uniforms and
without them, with arms of aU descriptions. The
sun, near its setting, shed its light upon this fair
ensemble in the midst of peaceful fields. I can give
no idea of the sentiment of respect with which we
were surrounded."

Potion was thirty-two years old. He belonged to
that category of puppies, vain even to artlessness,
who believe themselves irresistible, and imagine that
they produce a profound impression on all women
whatsoever. Lauzun had not more self-confidence
than he. Reader, no matter how prodigious, how
mad, how ridiculous, you may suppose Potion's fatuity
to have been, it will still surpass your expectation.
He fancied — could you believe it? — that Madame
Elisabeth, Madame Elisabeth herself, the most holy,
the most austere of women, experienced a strong
physical attraction toward him; he thought he saw
in this Princess a Circe, against whom it was neces-
sary for him, for Potion, if you please, to forearm his
rigid virtue. Listen to him: "Madame Elisabeth
fastened her soft eyes upon me with that air of
languor given by unhappiness, and which inspires a
lively interest. Our glances met several times with
a sort of understanding and attraction. The moon
began to shed her mild radiance. Madame Elisabeth
took Madame Royale upon her knees; afterwards
she placed her half on her own knee and half on
mine. Madame Royale fell asleep. I stretched out

PMTION'a ACCOUNT. 201

my arm ; Madame Elisabeth stretched hers out above
mine. Her glances seemed to me more affecting ; I
perceived a certain relaxation of constraint in her
demeanor; her eyes were moist, their melancholy
blended with a sort of sensuous charm, I may
deceive myself, — the sensibility of grief is easily
mistaken for that of pleasure, — but I think that if
we had been alone, that if, as by enchantment, every
one else had vanished, she would have sunk into my
arms."

This supposition flattered the sensual and austere
demagogue, and at the same time it roused his indig-
nation. He adds: "I was so astounded with this
state of affairs that I said to myself : What ! can this
be a trick to buy me at such a price ? Would Madame
Elisabeth agree to sacrifice her honor in order to
make me lose mine? Yes; nothing costs too much
at court ; they are capable of anything. The Queen
could have arranged the plan. And then, consider-
ing her unaffected bearing, and self-love also insinu-
ating that she might find me attractive, I became
persuaded, and took pleasure in the thought, that she
was agitated by keen emotions, that she would her-
self desire that no witnesses were present."

Jean Jacques Rousseau, behold your worthy pupil !
These are the ideas, if not the style and talent, of an
adept of the Nbuvelle HSloUe. But let pure demo-
crats be reassured. Potion will not allow himseK to
weaken. " I took good care," he says, " not to com-
promise my character. I granted all I could to what

202 MAEIE ANTOINETTE.

I believed to be Madame Elisabeth's condition ; but,
nevertheless, without granting enough to permit her
to think, or even to suspect, that anything would
alter my opinions. I think she understood it wonder-
fully, and that she saw that the most seductive temp-
tations would be in vain, for I remarked a certain
cooling off, a certain severity, which in women often
springs from irritated self-love."

The force of tnith is such that even from Potion
himself it wrests some just remarks. This enemy of
kings and courts, this systematically hostile observer,
is astonished to find that something good may be
found in royal souls by making diligent search. He
recognized in his travelling-companions ''an air of
simplicity and of family" which pleased him. He
deigned to say of Louis XVI. : " Those who do not
kno^ the King might be tempted to mistake his
timidity for stupidity. But they would be in error.
It is very seldom that anything unbecoming escapes
him, and I have not heard him make a foolish
remark."

Madame Elisabeth inspired him with a sort of
involuntary admiration, in spite of the odious and
stupid surmises he had just made concerning her.
" I should be very much surprised," he says, '' if she
had not a good and beautiful soul, although one
deeply imbued with the prejudices of birth and
spoiled by the vices of a court education." There
is even a moment when his hatred and inveterate
prejudices against Marie Antoinette give place to

PETION'8 ACCOUNT. 203

a less unjust judgment. Inflexible where the Queen
is concerned, he becomes almost humane toward the
mother. **The Queen," he said, "talked with me
about the education of her children. She spoke like
the mother of a family and as a sufficiently well-
instructed woman. She said that no flattery should
be offered to princes, and that it was essential never
to tell them anything but the truth." But he quickly
repents of his amiability. "I have since learned,"
he adds, "that this is the fashionable jargon in all
the courts of Europe." And he ends by declaring
that "the Queen had not, in any sense, either the
bearing or the attitude befitting her position."

Marie Antoinette, in her conversation with Potion,
defended her husband's cause energetically. " Peo-
pie blame the King very much," said she ; " but they
do not really understand the situation in which he
is placed. He is constantly told contradictory stories,
and he does not know what to believe. Opposing
and mutually destructive counsels are given him, one
after the other ; and he does not know what to do.
People complain to him about private misfortunes
and murders at the same time. It is all this which
determined him to leave the capital. The crown is
in suspense over his head. You are not ignorant that
there is a party which does not desire a king, and
that this party is increasing daily."

Potion was already republican in theory, but in
practice he still remained a royalist. He replied that
his principles and sentiments inclined him to prefer

204 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

a republican form of government to any other, but
added that there were certain republics which he
would like still less than the despotism of a single
man. Potion belonged to that class of persons who
like to play with fire, and who say naively to the
Revolution, " Thou shalt go no further ! " as if
the Revolution had a mind to listen to them. "It
is not possible," he went on, " to persuade one's self
in good faith that the republican party is to be
dreaded. It is composed of wise and high-principled
men who know how to estimate probabilities, and
who would not risk a general panic which might as
easily lead to despotism as to liberty."

Unhappy Potion! How quickly he will descend
the incline which leads to the abyss 1 He will be
deadly to the very end, — deadly to the royal family
and to himself ; he is marked with the seal of fatality,
like almost all the actors in the great revolutionary
drama. On the 10th of August in the following
year, he will combine the parts of Judas and Pontius
Pilate. At nightfall he will give Louis XVI. the
kiss of peace, and at daybreak next morning he
will wash his hands of the approaching catastrophe.
He will vote for the King's death, but with a re-
prieve and an appeal to the people, and perhaps this
mitigation of his vote may be caused by the recol-
lection of his journey with the unhappy sovereign.
Condemned himself on May 31, 1793, at the same
time with the Girondins, he will take to flight ; he
will perish miserably in the waste lands near Bor-

PETION'8 ACCOUNT. 206

deaux, and his body will be found unburied and half
devoured by wolves. But we will not anticipate.

Let us return to June 23, 1791, and to the road
traversed by the royal berlin. It reached Dormans
between midnight and one o'clock, June 23-24.
"We got out," says Potion, "at the inn where we
had eaten a morsel in coming, and this inn, though
passable for a small place, was hardly fit for the
reception of the royal family. I confess, however,
that I was not sorry to let the court know what an
ordinary tavern is like. It was difficult to sleep,
because the National Guards and all the people of
the neighborhood kept up a constant singing, danc-
ing, and drinking."

They left Dormans June 24, between five and six
in the morning. During the day they stopped at
Fert^-sous- Jouarre. The mayor of the town, M. Reg-
nard, had sent word that he would be happy to enter-
tain the august travellers, and Louis XVI. accepted
the invitation. Here, as at Ch&lons-sur-Marne, the
royal family experienced some consolation. Madame
Regnard received them with signs of the most pro-
found respect. "Madame," said Marie Antoinette,
accosting her, " you are doubtless the mistress of the
house." The mayor's wife returned, with perfect
tact, "I was so before Your Majesty entered it."
The house was charming, and had a terrace on the
shore of the Marne, where Madame Elisabeth chatted
with Potion before dinner. The King himself came
out on this terrace to invite the three commissioners

206 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

of the Assembly to share his repast. All three
refused. Madame Regnard and her husband were to
pay dear later on for the honor and happiness of
having testified their regard for the royal family.
On quitting this house, so loyally hospitable, the
Queen said to the Dauphin, " My son, thank Madame
for her attentions ; tell her I shall never forget it."
" Mamma thanks you for the care you have taken of
us," said the child, " and I love you very much for
having given pleasure to mamma."

They set off again at five in the afternoon. The
sun was still above the horizon when they arrived
before Meaux, that city still so full of ^souvenirs of
the great Bossuet, whose sublime voice alone would
have been capable of celebrating the afflictions of the
martyr King and Queen. They alighted at the
bishop's palace, where they spent the night of June
24-25. After Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette
had taken supper, they had a conversation with
Potion, at the end of which they summoned the three
body-guards who had accompanied them ever since
they quitted Paris, — MM. de Maiden, de Valory, and
de Moustier. " At Dormans," the King said to them,
" M. Potion proposed to me to induce you to make
your escape, disguised as National Guards. At that
time the Queen and I refused, because we thought
that it was secretly intended either to assassinate
you behind our backs, or to have you arrested and
handed over to some military commission ; so we said
nothing to you about the proposition. But M. Potion

PETION'8 ACCOUNT. 207

has just renewed it, and added the barbarous an^
nouncement that at Paris your lives would belong to
the people, so that, since it might be horrible for us
to behold servants whom we appear to love killed
before our eyes, he thought he ought to warn us that
there was not a moment to be lost if escape was to be
attempted. Possibly, in renewing his offer to aid
you, he is acting in better faith than we supposed.
It is for you to determine whether to profit by it."

The three faithful servants fell on their knees
before their kind master. " Sire," cried one of them,
the interpreter of the thoughts of all, "our lives
have been consecrated to Your Majesties. You have
deigned to accept the offering. We know how to
die for you ; it would be a thousand times easier than
to separate from jou. Do not doubt. Sire, that death
awaits us, no matter where we turn. Our choice
could not be doubtful. Deign to permit your faith-
ful guards still to accompany you. Grant them to
set off with you to-morrow. May our tears obtain
this last grace." Louis XVI., weeping, granted the
heroic prayer of the three body-guards.

Then the Queen drew her tablets from her pocket
to write down their baptismal names and those of
their fathers, mothers, sisters, and brothers, and also
those of any of their relatives and friends whom, on
her invitation, they dared recommend to Their Majes-
ties. " If we have the grief to lose you," said Marie
Antoinette afterwards, "and if we do not succumb
ourselves beneath the blows of our enemies, be cer-

208 MABIE ANTOINETTE.

tain that our benefits will search out your families.
I myself will apprise them of their misfortune, and
at the same time I will let them know the sentiments
toward you which can never leave our hearts."

They left Meaux June 25, at six in the morning.
It was the last day of the fatal journey. " Never,"
says Potion, " was a day longer and more fatiguing.
The heat was extreme, and we were enveloped in
clouds of dust. The King offered me something to
drink several times, and poured it out himself. We
were twelve whole hours in the carriage without
quitting it for a moment."

A little above Pantin the grenadiers of the National
Guard made their appearance. They disputed with
the cavalry of the escort on the subject of the places
they were to occupy. The grenadiers obliged the
cavalry to fall back, and rough words passed between
them. An affray seemed imminent. Bayonets were
brandished around the carriage, the windows of which
were kept down. According to Potion there was
reason to fear for the Queen's life. The most ignoble
insults, the most infamous epithets, the entire vocab-
ulary of Billingsgate, were emptied on her. She was
treated as one would not treat a street-walker, a
prostitute. " She need not show us her son," cried
one; "he is not her husband's." The Dauphin,
frightened by the noise and the glitter of the weap-
ons, began to cry with fear. Marie Antoinette, who
was in tears, tried to reassure him. At the same
time, the crowd were furiously demanding the death

PETION'8 ACCOUNT. 209

of the body-guards. " Down with the yellow coats I "
was shouted on all sides. Some proposed tying them
to the wheels; others, to cut them in pieces; still
others, to bum them alive. The carriage was stopped,
and the body-guards were about to perish under the
blows of the assassins. The energetic intervention
of Barnave saved them. " Drive on," said he to the
postilions ; " drive on, I tell you I I am in command
here." They started on again, the horses going at
a foot-pace ; the crowd, which constantly increased,
became still more hostile. At last they entered Paris.
There lay the greatest danger.

xn.

THE BBTUBN TO THE TUILEBIBS.

ON this 25th of June, 1791, all Paris is afoot.
It is six o'clock in the evening. The berlin
containing the royal family arrives at the Barri^re de
rEtoile, and goes down the Champs-Elys^es to re-
enter the Tuileries. Hundreds of thousands of spec-
tators are looking on at the humiliation of royalty.
The carriage makes its way slowly between a double
row of National Guards. The entry is still more
sinister than that of October 6. The monarchy is
more vanquished, more cast down. They had set off
in the night of Monday and Tuesday, June 20-21.
They returned the following Saturday in broad day-
light, but this light is more melancholy than that
darkness. At the moment of departure, night meant
hope. At the hour of return, day meant despair.
Ah I that Palace of the Tuileries, how menacing it
rises in the distance, with its architecture grandiose
and severe ! In vain the setting sun illumines it
with its ardent flames ; it is sombre, forbidding, fatal.
In former days the solemn entries into the good city
of Paris, the superb capital, were so brilliant, so tri-
210

THE RETURN TO THE TUILERIE8. 211

umphant ! There were such joyous shoutff, such ac-
clamations all along the way! The crowd then
regarded the august family with looks of love, ten-
derness, admiration, and rapture ! And Marie Antoi-
nette, happy in being loved, thanked them with such
a charming smile! The soldiers presented arms.
Mothers took their little ones in their arms, and
pointed out to them the King, the Queen, the Dau-
phin, the young Madame Royale. The drummers
beat the general alarm. The military bands played
Vive Henri IV, The flags were respectfully inclined
before the sovereign. The body-guards with their
brilliant armor, the Swiss in red uniforms, the civil
and military households of the King and Queen, the
Princes and Princesses, the great lords with their blue
ribbons, the great ladies in dazzling toilets and spar-
kling with precious stones, — -all this resplendent
spectacle and pomp of luxury and power ravished a
faithful people and filled them with enthusiasm.

How all is changed to-day ! What a doleful scene
is shone on by this sun of June ! Scorn in the place of
respect ; hatred in the place of love. Truly funereal
procession ! Supreme humiliation of the King and
of royalty ! Placards have been posted up on which
is written : " Any one who applauds the King will be
beaten; any one who insults him will be hanged."
Such is the change in men's ideas that a proclamation
like this is considered an act of magnanimity.

At first the regulation is obeyed. At the Barri^re
de I'Etoile the populace is malicious rather than furi-

212 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

ous. Thfliigh eyes glow with a savage flame, mouths
are silent. Something like cool indifference modifies
the hatred. But as they draw nearer to the Tuileries,
the order to keep silence is violated. Curses and
insulte resound on every side. The heat is oppres-
sive. The clouds of hot dust raised by the tramp of
such a multitude envelops them like a mourning
veil. The royal berlin winds through a forest of
bayonets. Do you see all these faces, made savage
by anger and disdain, — these hats kept on in token
of insolence and rebellion ? Do you see the National
Guards reversing their arms as at a funeral? Through
these billows of dust do you see the great captive,
the vanquished man, the King ? The King, who like
one accused, — like a criminal, — will be forced hum-
bly to bow his head and implore pardon from his
subjects I Do you recognize the woman who, for her
part, never lowers her head, who is pursued by fate,
who sees misfortune hovering about her like a raven-
ing vulture ; but who, amid the most horrible crises
and the most terrifying dangers, never loses that
lofty courage which is her ancestral heritage, and
which is like the very foundation and essence of her
soul?

If Marie Antoinette alone had been in danger, she
would have been as unmoved now in crossing the
Place Louis Quinze as she will be two years later
when she crosses the same accursed spot on her way
to the scaffold. What occupies her is not her own
safety, but that of her husband, her children, her sis-

«\.

THE RETUBN TO THE TUILERIE8. 218

ter-in-law, and her attendants. For herself, nothing
moves her, nothing makes her turn pale. She soars,
intrepid sovereign that she is, above danger, above
suffering, above death. This cruel throng whose
cries she hears, inspires her not with anger, but with
pity. If she does not remain absolutely unmoved, it
is because she is thinking about her children. The
Dauphin's forehead is dripping with sweat. He can
hardly breathe. " See, gentlemen," says the unhappy
mother to the National Guards, who march on either
side the carriage, " see what a state my poor chil-
dren are in; they are choking." "We will choke
you in another fashion ! " mutters an infamous voice.
The carriages arrive at the revolving bridge at the
end of the Place Louis Quinze, opposite the Tuileries.
It is closed as soon as they cross it. But the garden
is packed with an innumerable crowd. The danger
increases as they come nearer to the palace. It is
a question whether they will reach it safe and sound,
and the same emotions are caused by the thought of
re-entrance as had been by that of going away. An-
guish at the departure, anguish at the return. The
greatest perils are incurred by the three body-guards,
who have remained on the box of the royal berlin.
The exasperated crowd clamor loudly for their death.
Is the blood of these faithful companions of the fatal
journey to spurt out on the Queen's robe ? Are these
three devoted servants to be the victims cast to the
tigerish rabble? The carriages which have slowly
and with difficulty opened their way, arrive at last

214 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

before the three steps of the terrace which separates
the palace from the garden. At once the assassins
spring towards the three body-guards, anxious to
seize their prey. The royal family are requested to
alight at once so as to avoid the sight of the murders
about to be committed. But in spite of the danger
they incur themselves, they will not stir, hoping that
their presence may save their wretched servants.
The murderers, in redoubled rage, begin to scramble
up to the coachman's box, where MM. de Moustier,
de Maiden, and de Valory still remain. Fearing lest
the prolongation of the struggle may imperil the lives
of the King and his family, the three victims resolve
to end it by voluntarily coming down and delivering
themselves to the assassins.

Madame Elisabeth, perceiving this movement,
passes her arm through a window in the front of
the berlin and seizes the skirt of M. de Valory 's
waistcoat, to prevent him from jumping down. But
he and his comrades reach the ground, and offer-
ing themselves as holocausts to the crowd, advance
heroically into the midst of their murderers. They
are seized and thrown down, dragged about by the
hair, and covered with blows. Fortunately, some
honest National Guards intervene, and, wresting the
three body-guards from the savages, conduct them,
but not without great difficulty, into the palace.

The royal family then leave the carriage. The
distance is short between the three steps of the ter-
race where the carriage had stopped and the door

THE RETURN TO THE TUILERIE8. 215

of the Pavilion of the Horloge. But the terrace,
like the garden, is thronged by an immense crowd,
whose manner is so threatening, especially toward the
Queen, that the passage, short though it be, is dan-
gerous enough. The King is the first one to alight.
The people are silent, but keep their hats on. Only
one man, M. de Guilhermy, a member of the National
Assembly, uncovers respectfully. " Put your hat on
again ! " is shouted from all sides. But he throws it
into the midst of the crowd, too far to be brought
back to him, and cool and fearless, remains respectful
amidst universal insult, his face calm and his head
bare.

Marie Antoinette next leaves the carriage. At
sight of her, hostile mutterings become audible.
During all this time the National Assembly is in
session close to the Tuileries. It does not choose to
interrupt its business on account of a king. A king
is such a small affair nowadays. Still, a few deputies,
some through respect, and others through curiosity,
have come to the terrace to witness the arrival of
the royal family. Among them is one who favors
the new ideas, the Vicomte de Noailles. He hastens
to approach the Queen and offer her his arm. Marie
Antoinette refuses the protection of an adversary,
and asks that of a deputy of the right, whom she
has just recognized. "The dignity of the empire,"
as M. de Lamartine has said, " is found entire in the
gesture and the heart of a woman."

One of the officers of the King's bedchamber, M.

216 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

Hue, manages to reach the carnage, and holds out
his arms to receive his master's son. The eyes of
the little Prince fill with tears on perceiving this
faithful servant. But in spite of all M. Hue's efforts
to seize the Dauphin, an officer of the National Guard
takes possession of the child, carries him quickly into
the palace, and sets him down on the table in the
council hall of the Ministers.

Separated from her son, Marie Antoinette has a
moment of great anxiety concerning the child's fate.
She enters the palace with the King, Madame Elisa-
beth, and Madame Royale. Oh ! what a doleful re-
entrance. Never has a dungeon seemed more fatal
to prisoners. No; this is no longer a palace, it is the
vestibule of the scaffold. One might say the royal
family passed under the Caudine Forks in entering
the Pavilion of the Horloge. They ascend the great
staircase to the first story. Before reaching their
apartments they cross the hall, where the three body-
guards are already prisoners, and make signs testify-
ing their emotion and their joy at seeing them still
alive. M. de Maiden had received several bayonet
thrusts. M. de Moustier had been struck in the
neck with the blade of an axe. M. de Valory,
knocked down with the butt end of a musket and
dragged around by his hair, had been extremely
bruised. They were rejoiced to have suffered for
their King and Queen. "What masters!" exclaimed
M. de Valory in his narrative, " and how well they
merited that one should die for them 1 "

THE RETURN TO THE TUILERIES. 217

At last, behold Louis XVI. once more within the
palace of his fathers. He reappears there a van-
quished man, whose crown is no longer anything
but a derisive bauble. This is not a real monarch ;
it is only the phantom of a king. And yet the force
of habit is such that the old etiquette machine works
still, as if its momentum were not quite exhausted.
Louis XVI. finds himself in his apartments as if
nothing had happened since the beginning of the
week. He is served as usual; it seems as though
he might have just returned from a hunting excursion.
The reception in his bedchamber will take place with
all customary ceremony.

Camille Desmoulins, in Number 88 of his journal,
the Revolutions de France et de Brabant^ thus at-
tempted to cast ridicule upon the King's return to
the Tuileries: "When Louis XVI. re-entered his
apartment, he threw himself into an armchair, say-
ing, ' It is devilish hot.' Then, ' I made a wretched
journey there. But it had been running in my head
this long time.' Afterwards, looking at the National
Guards, who were present, * It was a foolish thing I
did ; I grant it. But why shouldn't I play tricks as
well as any one else? Let some one bring me a
chicken!' One of his valets-de-chambre came in.
' Ah ! you're there, are you ? And I too, I'm here ! '
The chicken was brought. Louis XVI. ate and
drank with an appetite that would have done honor
to the King of Cocagne."

In Number 84 of his journal, Camille Desmoulins

218 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

complained that the National Assembly treated the
King, now become a prisoner, altogether too well.
" It will not do to dance attendance," he said, " to
suffer a criminal to get into a bath on the arrival of
the commissioners. It will not do to wait until he is
in his bath-tub, and rings a bell to admit the National
Assembly like a bath-waiter. Did any one ever hear
of judges writing down their names, and sending
them up by a prison porter, to ask humbly for an
interview with a criminal, and his hour for being
interrogated ? Never was there such a contemptible
action."

If anger and irony like this is what the revolu-
tionists feel, the royalists experience profound sad-
ness and compassion. In order to get an idea of it,
read this passage from the Memoirs of the Marquis
de Ferridres, describing a scene that took place as
Louis XVI. was re-entering his capital in humilia-
tion: "An old military man, a chevalier of Saint
Louis, was wandering from one place to another, the
prey of a most tormenting anxiety. Reaching a
retired spot, he was surprised to see one of the
Parisian horse-guards, who was weeping. The old
military man approached him. * Comrade,' said he,
' who could have distressed you to such a point as
this ? ' ' Ah ! sir,' answered the horse-guard, sobbing,
'I have abandoned my post; I could not keep it.
The sight I have just seen has tortured my heart.
And I am not the only one ; for my poor horse,
which I took back to the stable, will not eat,' The

THE EETUBN TO THE TUILERIES. 219

old military man, with tears in his eyes, rummaged in
his pocket. ' My friend, I have only these eighteen
francs ; do me the favor to accept them.' The horse-
guard repelled them with his hand, crying sorrow-
fully, 'Ah! I see very well that no one believes
any longer in a soldier's honor ! ' The old soldier
threw himself into the arms of this worthy man.
Both of them, in expressive silence, mingled in this
embrace their profound despair and the lively mutual
esteem they had conceived for each other." Does
not this nai've anecdote recall the legends of the
Middle Ages?

The Assembly had passed that morning a decree,
the first article of which runs thus : " As soon as the
King shall arrive at the Palace of the Tuileries, a
guard shall be provisionally assigned him, which,
under the orders of the commandant general of the

Parisian guard, shall sftQTTrftJijj=i safftty and bftjarigwftr-

able Jgr^his^pergou," Other_articles had decreed a
similar guard for the heir-presumptive, and one for
^e Queen. Mo reover, the Assembly ordained that
all gioasjvho had accompanie3nbEe^~foyaITamiIy^li
theirjU ght s hoidd bejnt iin(| er arrest, and interro-
gated. The King was provisionally suspended fforar
the functions of royalty, and the Minister of the
Interior was ordered to proclaim the decree instantly,
by sound of trumpet, in every quarter of the capital.
Night has come. The fugitives are under a sort
of hallucination. Their ears are still deafened with
the incessant clamor of the last four days. Worn

220 MABIK ANTOINETTE.

out by fatigue and emotions of every kind, they are
going to seek repose. But the rest they will take is
a rest full of anguish. If he is still living as a man,
Louis XVI. is dead as a king. They promise him
that he shall rise again. But at what price, and
what manner of precarious life will it be which they
throw him as a bounty after galvanizing his royal
power? He no longer dares either to act or speak.
He hardly dares to breathe. If he sighs, it is
reckoned to him as a crime. A tear would be his
condenmation. Day and night he must listen with-
out complaining to the obscene and cruel talk that
goes on beneath his windows. The garden of the
Tuileries is now only a revolutionary camp, where
the hawkers of joumaLs and pamphlets cry their
wares, where conspirators plot, and the regicidal
knife is slowly sharpened. That beautiful garden,
the former meeting-place of elegance and fashion,
is as much an arena of anarchy and disorder as that
of the Palais Royal. Just beside it, on the site of the
future rue de Rivoli and rue de Castiglione, is the
Hall of the Manage, where the National Assembly,
the inheritor of the rights of the crown, holds its ses-
sions as sovereign. It is in the narrow space between
the Place du Carrousel and the Hall of the Manage
that royalty writhes and agonizes painfully. The
palace and the garden, the lanes which bound them
on the west, the place which bounds them on the
east, all are fatal, all breathe discord and rebellion.
One might say that threatening voices sound from

THE RETURN TO THE TUILERIE8. 221

every stone and tree. There is something deadly in
the atmosphere. Catherine de' Medici was right
in dreading the Tuileries as a residence foredoomed
to calamities. In this palace, or better, in this
prison, the heir of Saint Louis, of Henri IV., and
Louis XIV. is no longer a king : he is a hostage.

THIRD PART.

THE CLOSE OF 1791,

THE CAPTIVITY IN THE TUILEEIES.

THE next morning after the return from Va-
rennes, June 26, 1791, the Dauphin said on
waking: "I had a frightful dream. I was sur-
rounded by wolves and tigers and savage beasts that
wanted to eat me up." It was not the child only,
but the whole royal family, which had been violently
disturbed by the shock of the fatal journey. They
awoke captives in the Tuileries. They could form
no illusions on that head. The palace was a prison.
Wishing to assure himself if he were really a captive,
the King presented himself at a door where a t.^wy
was on guard.

" Do you recognize me ? " asked Louis- XVI.

" Yes, Sire," replied the sentry.

And the King was obliged to go back.

The master of the Tuileries was no longer the
sovereign, but M. de Gouvion, the major-general of

222

THE CAPTIVITY IN THE TUILEBIES. 223

the National Guard and the executor of M. de
Lafayette's commands. He had asked for and ob-
tained the right to take whatever precautions he
deemed necessary, and notably that of walling up
several doors in the interior of the palace. No one
could enter it without a card of admission obtained
from him. Even those engaged in the domestic
service of the royal family were searched on going
out and coming in. Madame Elisabeth wrote to
Madame de Bombelles, July 10 : " They have estab-
lished a sort of camp beneath the windows of the
King and Queen, lest they should jump down into
the garden, which is hermetically sealed and filled
with soldiers." A real camp was, indeed, to be seen
there, with tents and all else necessary to the instal-
lation of troops. Sentries were posted everywhere,
even on the roofs.

The Queen's women found the greatest difficulty
in getting access to her apartments. It had been
resolved that she should have no personal attendant
except the lady's-juaid who had acted as a spy befoi
the journey to Varennes. A portrait of this persoii
wa$ .placed at the foot of the staircase leading to the
Queen's rooms, so that the sentinel should permit no
other woman to enter. Louis XVI. was obliged to
appeal to Lafayette in order to have this spy turned
out of the palace, where her presence was an outrage
on Marie Antoinette.

This espionage and inquisition pursued the unfor-
tunate Queen even into her bedroom. The guards

224 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

were instructed not to lose sight of her by night or
day. They took note of her slightest gestures, lis-
tened to her slightest words. Stationed in the room
adjoining hers, they kept the communicating door
always open, so that they could see the august cap-
tive at all times. One day, Louis XVI. having closed
this door, the officer on guard reopened it. " Those
are my orders," said he. " I will open it every time.
If Your Majesty closes it. Your Majesty will give
yourself a useless trouble."

Marie Antoinette caused the bed of her lady's-
maid to be placed close to hers, so that, as it could
be rolled about and was provided with curtains, it
might prevent her being seen by the officers. One
night, while the maid was sleeping profoundly, and
the Queen sitting up, the officer entered the bed-
chamber to give some political advice to his sover-
eign. Marie Antoinette told him to speak low, so
as not to disturb the sleeping woman. She awoke,
however, and was seized with mortal terror at seeing
an officer of the National Guard so near the Queen.
"Be calm," Marie Antoinette said to her, "and do
not rise. The person whom you see is a good French-
man, deceived concerning the intentions and position
of his sovereign, but whose language shows that he
has a real attachment to the King."

When the Queen went up to see the Dauphin, by
the inner staircase which connected the ground-floor
on which her apartment was situated with the first
floor where her children and her husband slept, she

THE CAPTIVITY IN THE TUILERIES. 225

invariably found his door locked. One of the oflScers
of the National Guard knocked at it, saying, " The
Queen ! " At this signal, the two officers who kept
watch over the governess of the children of France
opened the door.

It was the height of summer. If, towards evening,
the King and his family wanted a breath of fresh air,
they could not show themselves at the windows of
their palace without being exposed to the insults and
invectives of the people who were on the terrace.

Every day, deputations from different quarters of
the city, suspicious and determined to see for them-
selves what precautions were taken and what vigi-
lance exercised, would arrive at the Tuileries. At
night the King and Queen would be awakened to
make sure they had not taken flight. M. de Lafay-
ette or M. de Gouvion were roused up also, to warn
them of pretended attempts to escape. The alarms
were continual. August 25, Madame Elisabeth wrote :
" To-night a sentinel who was in a corridor up stairs
fell asleep, dreamed I don't know what, and woke up
screaming. In an instant, every guard, as far as the
end of the Louvre gallery, did the same. In the
garden, also, there was a terrible panic."

The precautions taken were so rigorous, that it
was forbidden to say Mass in the palace chapel, be-
cause the distance between it and the apartments of
Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette was thought too
great. A corner of the Gallery of Diana, where a
wooden altar was erected, bearing an ebony crucifix

226 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

and a few vases of flowers, became the only spot
where the son of Saint Louis, the Most Christian
King, could hear Mass.

And yet, among the guards, now transformed into
veritable jailers, there were to be found some well
intentioned men who testified a respectful regard for
the royal family, and sought to lessen the severity of
the orders they had received. Such was Saint Prix,
an actor at the Com^die-Fran^aise. A sentinel was
always on duty in the dark and narrow corridor
behind the Queen's apartments which divided the
ground-floor in two. The post was not in great
demand, and Saint Prix often asked for it. He
facilitated the short interviews which the King and
Queen had in this corridor, and if he heard the
slightest noise, he gave them warning. Marie Antoi-
nette had reason, also, to praise M. CoUot, chief of
battalion of the National Guard, who was charged
with the military service of her apartment. One
day an officer on duty there spoke unjustly of the
Queen. M. CoUot wished to inform M. de Lafayette
and have him punished; but Marie Antoinette op-
posed this with her usual kindliness, and said a few
judicious and good-tempered words to the culprit.
He was converted in an instant, and became one
of her most devoted partisans.

The royal family endured their captivity with
admirable sweetness and resignation, and concerned
themselves less about their own fate than that of the
persons compromised by the Varennes journey, who

THE CAPTIVITY IN THE TUILERIE8. 227

were now incarcerated. Louis Xyi., instead of in-
dulging in recriminations against men and things,
offered his humiliations and sufferings to God. He
prayed, he read, he meditated. Next to his prayer-
book his favorite reading was the life of Charles I.,
either because he sought, in studying history, to find
a way of escaping an end like that of the unfortunate
monarch, or because an analogy of sorrows and disas-
ters had established a profound and mysterious sym-
pathy between the king who had been beheaded and
the king who was soon to be so.

The sister of Louis XVI. was like a good angel
near him. Gentler, more pious, more resigned than
ever, she possessed that supreme energy which comes
from a good conscience and a fearless heart.' July 4,
she wrote to the Count de Provence, the future
Louis XVIII., who, having taken refuge abroad, was
out of danger : " Heaven had its own designs in pre-
serving you. God at least wills your salvation. That
is what I most desire. You know whether my heart
is sincere when it wishes for your eternal welfare
before all things else. We are well, and we love
you; but I count myself chief in that respect. . . .
Never think lightly of those whom the hand of God
has stricken hard, but to whom He will give, I hope,
the means to endure the trial. I embrace you with
all my heart."

July 23, Madame Elisabeth wrote to Madame de
Raigecourt : " I am still a little stunned by the vio-
lent shock we have experienced. I should need a

228 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

few tranquil days, far away from the bustle of Paris,
to restore me to myself. But as God does not permit
that, I hope He will make it up to me in some other
way. Ah, my heart ! happy is the man who, holding
his soul always in his hands, sees nothing but God
and eternity, and has no other aim than to make the
evils of this world conduce to the glory of God, and
to profit by them, in order to enjoy in peace an eternal
recompense."

It was in religion that the saintly Princess ever
found strength, hope, and consolation. " You cannot
imagine," she wrote to the Abb^ de Lubersac, July
29, " how fervent souls redouble their zeal. Perhaps
Heaven will not be deaf to so many prayers, offered
with so* much confidence. It is from the heart of
Jesus that they seem to expect the grace that is
needed. The fervor of this devotion seems re-
doubled." Madame Elisabeth, although not renounc-
ing hope, probably comprehended better than any one
the extreme gravity of the situation. She had written
to Madame de Bombelles the day before : " I dread
the moment when the King will be in a position to
act. There is not a single intelligent man here in
whom we can have confidence. You know where that
will lead us ; I shudder at it. We must lift our hands
to heaven; God will have pity on us. Ah, how I
wish that others beside ourselves would join in the
prayers which are addressed Him by all the religious
communities and all the pious souls of France I "

The sentiments of the Queen were neither less

THE CAPTIVITY IN THE TUILERIE8. 229

touching nor less lofty than those of her sister-in-law.
Marie Antoinette devoted a part of every day to the
education of her children and that of an orphan
named Ernestine Lambriquet, whose mother had been
one of Madame Royale's servants. The hapless sov-
ereign adduced herself as an example of the insta-
bility of worldly grandeur. She taught her pupils
to deprive themselves voluntarily, every month, of
part of the money intended for their pleasures, in
order to give it to the poor ; and the children, worthy
of their mother, considered this privation as a hap-
piness. Marie Antoinette bore her griefs with a
courage which was all the more meritorious, because
the emotions of the fatal Varennes journey had made
her suffer immensely in body, and still more in mind.
Madame Campan, who had been away from her sev-
eral weeks, and returned in August, describes her
thus : " I found her getting out of bed. Her counte-
nance was not extremely altered ; but after the first
kind words she addressed to me, she took off her cap,
and told me to see what effect grief had produced on
her hair. In a single night it had become as white
as that of a woman of seventy. Her Majesty showed
me a ring which she had just had made for the Prin-
cess de Lamballe. It was a sheaf of her white hair,
with this inscription : ' Whitened by misfortune.' "

Alas! the Queen of France and Navarre is no longer
the dazzling sovereign who triumphed like a goddess.
She is no longer the radiant Juno of the royal
Olympus, the superb beauty whose charm is equalled

230 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

only by her prestige. She is no longer followed by a
train of adorers, who fall into raptures as she passes
by. No one celebrates the splendor of her royal
person, the luxury of her toilets, the sparkle of her
jewels and her diadem. No. But in this palace which
is now only a prison, in this captivity full of anguish
and of tears, there is something venerable, august,
sacred; something which is graver, more imposing,
and more majestic than supreme power : it is sorrow.
Ah ! now is the moment when souls truly chivalrous
can and ought to devote themselves to this woman.
This is the hour when her courtiers honor themselves
more than they honor her. O Queen ! you are per-
secuted. For you the Hosannas are changed into
Crucificatur ! Under the very windows of your palace
you are calumniated, threatened, insulted. Hither,
then, ye courtiers of misfortune ! Hasten, one and
all ! Here your zeal will be well placed. Here no
one comes to seek favors, money, earthly goods.
Here there is peril, sacrifice, and death. Come ! the
Queen will honor you. She will write your name in
the golden book of the faithful. Come ! the cloud
which overshadows her beautiful forehead renders it
still more noble. Her glances are less animated than
of old, but they are more affecting. There is some-
thing austere and melancholy in her whole aspect
now, which even the most ardent revolutionists can-
not contemplate too closely without profound and
inexpressible emotion. Come all ! and if you feel no
pity for the Queen, you will bend before the woman,
before the wife, before the mother.

II.

PARIS DURING THE SUSPENSION OF ROYALTY.

UNTIL further orders, Louis XVI. is a dispos-
sessed sovereign. During this interregnum
Paris' presents all manner of contrasts. It is a
medley of optimism and sinister previsions, of mo-
narchical relics and republican germs. According to
some, all evil is at an end and good has begun ; the
age of gold is following the age of iron ; order and
liberty are united forever. According to others, a
series of terrific tempests is setting in. Behold ! say
they, what black clouds hang on the horizon: riot,
revolution, famine, religious war, civil war, foreign
war, invasion, dismemberment, calamities of every
kind. Meanwhile there is contention everywhere.
On this side the Jacobins, more revolutionary than
the Revolution itself ; on that, the conservatives,
more royalist than the King. Lack of discipline in
the army ; schism in religion ; in the salons, no less
than in the public resorts, quarrelling, hatred, in-
vective. At the theatres every play gives rise to
allusions and conflicts : at the Fran^ais the Saint
Bartholomew scenes of Joseph Ch^nier's Charles IX.

231

232 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

carry public fury even to convulsions ; at the Opera,
the royalists enthusiastically applaud, while the re-
publicans hiss with rage, Jthis line from Castor et
Pollux : —

" Reign over a faithful people

at the Nation, Athalie with Gossec's choruses, the
partisans of throne and altar gfi'owing ecstatic over
the monarchical passages of Racine's masterpiece, and
the revolutionists applying to Marie Antoinette the
anathemas against the daughter of Jezebel. In every
street and square are gatherings, seditious propositions,
public criers, who hawk about calumny and lies; in
the galleries of the Palais Royal, the abode of anarchy
and debauch, the ever-increasing and impure stream
of ruffians and prostitutes ; in the journals a torrent
of diatribes, an avalanche of false news, a deluge of
infamies. It is Camille Desmoulins who says : " Now-
adays, journalists exercise the public ministry. They
denounce, decree, absolve, or condemn daily ; they
ascend the orator's tribune, and there are stentorian
lungs among them which make themselves heard
by the eighty-three departments. The journals rain
every morning like manna from heaven, and fifty
sheets come like the sun every d^y to light up the
horizon."

The press is furious, insane. In order to get
readers it must dip its pen in vitriol and filth, before
dipping it in blood. Wisdom, decorum, moderation,
what chimeras are those ! We are not in the Acad-

PARIS DURING SUSPENSION OF ROYALTY. 233

eray. We are in the fish-market, at the cross-roads,
in the kennels. What pleases is obscene language,
the ribaldry of clowns at the fair, mean and cruel
jests, and the savage cries of cannibals. Violence,
rage, and frenzy are the fashion. Carra, in the
Annales patriotiques ; Fr^ron, in the Orateur du
peuple ; Camille Desmoulins, in the Revolutions de
France et de Brabant; Condorcet, in the Chronique
de Paris ; Fauchet, in the Bouche de fer; Marat, in
the Ami du peuple ; Brissot, in the Patriote frangais;
Laclos, author of the Liaisons dangereuses^ in the
Journal des Jacobins^ contend with each other which
shall bawl longest and loudest. What agitations,
what follies, what unhealthy ambitions, what ridicu-
lous vanities, what stupid or criminal chimeras there
are in this ant-hill, which sooner or later the heel of
a despot will trample down.

Lafayette is no better treated than Louis XVL
Camille Desmoulins thus apostropliizes the famous
general : " Liberator of two worlds, flower of janiza-
ries, phoenix of chief-constables, Don Quixote of Capet
and the two Chambers, constellation of the white
horse, my voice is too feeble to rise above the clamor
of your thirty thousand spies and the noise of your
four hundred drums." The same journalist calls the
King, " Our crowned Sancho Panza." Paid colpor-
teurs distributed in public places the pamphlet enti-
tled: Grand jugement rendu par le peuple contre
Louis XVL " O day of triumph ! " is said in it, " O
Frenchmen, how happy you are! The perjurer is

234 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

arrested. Frenchmen, this fall should be an example
to you. The traitor Louis should suffer his punish-
ment." The Bouche de fer thus expresses itself:
" There is no room for deliberation ; the free people,
the sovereign people, have put their hats on while
looking contemptuously at the ci-devant King. Be-
hold at last a plebiscite ; the Republic is sanctioned."

Every possible means of making the King odious
and ridiculous is sought for. He is represented in
caricatures with the body of a swine and the forehead
of a ram. If the Orleanists and republicans are to
be believed, he has lost his reason. He demands
post-horses, he wants to put himself at the head of
his troops and fight his enemies ; at another moment
he proposes to abdicate ; the next instant he gets into
a rage, seizes stools and throws at the mirrors in his
apartment, and breaks the china vases. These stupid
fables are repeated all over Paris. The people have
lost completely all sentiment of respect.

Even the churches are no longer places of consola-
tion. There is discord there as elsewhere. In the
eyes of the faithful, the constitutional priests who
officiate are apostates and intruders. Each religious
ceremony celebrated by them is a profanation, a sac-
rilege. The Pope has struck the ecclesiastical rebels
with his thunderbolts. It is the abomination of deso-
lation. The pious people who still enter the churches,
shudder there with grief and sacred anger.

At the National Assembly the discussions become
more a»d more tumultuous. Republican sentiment

PARIS DURING SUSPENSION OF ROYALTY. 235

no longer hides itself ; Robespierre is the idol of the
day. " That man bears me great ill will," says Louis
XVI. ; " for me, I bear him none ; for I do not know
him." The party of order might confide in Bamave,
Duport, and Malouet, and with their aid modify the
Constitution on monarchical principles. But the
members of the Right are not willing to do this. In
their view, to recognize the Constitution, even by
correcting it, would be to sanction revolt. To join
hands with the seditious would be to become seditious
themselves. " Our hopes," say they, " have not fallen
so low that we see nothing left but to accept a part
in a comedy of frightened revolutionists. No con-
cessions, no transactions. Good will spring from the
excess of evil. The trial must be made, and made
thoroughly, so that the democrats may display the
full extent of their rascality and folly ! " Developing
this thesis, which is the excuse alleged by all com-
promised causes when it is sought to justify their
inaction and their decay, the royalists systematically
abstain from voting ; they sulk, they give a paltry,
impotent, and peevish character to their opposition.

Paris has become a pandemonium. What moder-
ate man could make himself heard in the midst of
such a howling storm ? It would need the trump of
the last judgment to drown this noise, to dominate
this tumult. Who, then, could have the audacity to
seize the helm? Who would have suflScient moral
and material force to inspire the passengers with con-
fidence and restore discipline among the mutinous

236 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

crew? There is no pilot. The vessel is about to go
to pieces on the reefs. The sky is furrowed with
Ughtning.

The month of July, 1791, did not fail to please
people thirsting after spectacles and emotions : the
12th, the removal of Voltaire's remains; the 14th,
the FSte of the Federation in the Champ-de-Mars;
the 17th, a riot where blood flowed in torrents: cer-
tainly a well-filled month 1

Rejoice, free-thinkers ! Behold the triumph of
philosophy, the apotheosis of your patriarch of Fer-
ney! When he died, his body was taken by his
nephew, furtively and by night, to the church of the
Abbey of SelliSres, in Champagne. But now the
city of Paris desires that the illustrious dead shall be
placed in the Pantheon, that cathedral of philoso-
phers. The revolutionists burn incense to Voltaire,
who was the sworn enemy of the Revolution; to
Voltaire, the guest of all great nobles, the courtier
of all kings. The procession starts from the Place
de la Bastille. The coffin is raised up so that the
crowd can see it, and the pedestal for it is built of
stones torn from the foundations of the fortress of
the old regime. On one of the stones the following
inscription was engraved: "Receive, in this place
whither thou wert dragged by despotism, the honors
thy country decrees to thee."

Forty market porters, vested in white albs, their
arms bare, and their heads crowned with laurels,
represent the ancient poets, and carry on a stretcher

PABI8 DURING SUSPENSION OF BOTALTT. 237

a statue of the demigod in gilt pasteboard. A golden
casket in the form of an ark contains the seventy vol-
umes of his works. The coffin is placed on a car
drawn by twelve white horses, whose manes and
bridle reins are braided with flowers. Porters cos-
tumed as priests of ApoUo, and harlots in more or
less dingy robes, figuring as nymphs and mnses, sur-
round the car. All the actors and actresses of Paris
walk behind it. It halts before the principal thea-
tres and the house of M. de Villette, where Voltaire
died, and where his heart is preserved. Wreaths and
garlands ornament the facade on which is the inscrip-
tion: ^^His mind is everywhere, and his heart is
here."

The Th^&tre Fran^ais has converted its peristyle
into a triumphal arch. A statue of the author of
MSrope is erected there. On its pedestal one reads :
" He wrote Irine when he was eighty-three; at seven-
teen he wrote (Edipe.^^ Notwithstanding the eager-
ness of the crowd, this mythological and pagan pomp,
this funeral ceremony without a cross, without priests,
and without prayers, excited nothing but curiosity.
These strange white-robed priestesses, these would-
be vestals, whose mission it is to keep aUve the
sacred fire of poesy, create a smile. It is not an
easy thing to accord to a man, without becoming
ridiculous, the honors due to God alone. Do what
you can, say what you will, the Voltaire cult will
never be a religion.

A pouring rain suddenly disturbs the procession..

238 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

Poets, muses, nymphs, municipal officers, all run to
seek a shelter. The ceremony is not over until half-
past ten at night. The body is deposited in the
Pantheon between those of Descartes and Mirabeau.
The royalists complain because a public fSte has
been celebrated while the King and his family are
captives in the Tuileries. Charitable persons regret
the sums expended on a theatrical display while the
people lack bread. All those who figured in the
procession are tired out and covered with mud. The
rain has chilled enthusiasm. The gilt pasteboard of
the statue is soaked into fragments. To-morrow no
one will give another thought to the patriarch of
Ferney. Sic transit gloria mundi !

Two days after the translation of Voltaire's remains
comes the F^te of the Federation in the Champ-de-
Mars. The sequestrated royal family is not present.
The optimism and the illusions of the preceding year
are already long gone by. People perceive that the
age of gold is not quite so near as they supposed.
The acclamations are less enthusiastic ; the blare of
the trumpets wakes different echoes.

The epilogue of the fSte of July 14 is the bloody
scene of July 17. Men's minds are too excited. An
address to Frenchmen, signed by Achille du Ch&te-
let, afterwards colonel of a regiment of chasseurs,
had been placarded on all the walls of Paris, and
even in the corridors of the National Assembly.
"Citizens," it is said in this address, "the perfect
•tranquillity, the mutual confidence which reigned

PARIS DURING SUSPENSION OF ROYALTY. 289

among us during the flight of the ci-devant King,
and the profound indifference with which we saw
him brought back, are unequivocal signs that the
absence of a king is better than his presence, and
that he is not merely a superfluity, but an over-
heavy burden which' weighs down the whol^ nation.
The history of France presents nothing but a long
succession of the sufferings of the people, the cause
of which may always be traced back to the Kings.
We have not ceased to suffer for them and by them.
The catalogue of their oppressions was full. But
to their crimes treason alone was lacking. To-day
nothing is lacking ; the measure is complete ; there
is no crime remaining to be committed. Their reign
is ended. ... As to the individual safety of M.
Louis 'Bourbon, it is all the more assured, seeing that
France will not dishonor itself by resentment against
a man who has accomplished his own dishonor."

The Orleanists and the Jacobins unite. In a peti-
tion in which it is declared that " it is as contrary to
the majesty of the outraged nation as it is to its inter-
ests, ever again to confide the reins of empire to a
perjured, traitorous, and fugitive man." Brissot and
Laclos demand another king. The petition is posted
on all the walls. Public notification is given that all
those who wish to sign the original go to the Champ-
de-Mars, where it lies on the Altar of the Country,
left standing since the FSte of the 14th. Sunday,
July 17, is fixed for these signatures. The advocates
of the deposition arrive in crowds at the Champ-de-

240 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

Mars at three in the afternoon; but Lafayette and
Bailly oppose the manifestation. The municipality
has decided to display the red flag and proclaim mar-
tial law. The rioters shout: "Down with the red
flag! down with the bayonets!" A hail of stones
follows these vociferations. The National Guards
fire several times in the air. Some of the people take
to flight. But the leaders, recovering from their
first fright, on seeing that no one is wounded rally
the flying. They begin to throw stones again. La-
fayette orders a second discharge, which this time
is real. The ground is covered with dead bodies.
From the Champ-de-Mars the panic spreads in every
direction Parisians who are taking the air in ti.e
Champs Elys^es are appalled. If Lafayette chose, it
would be all up with republican outbreaks for u long
time. The demagogues think they are lost. They
tremble. But the next day they are permitted to raise
their heads; their journals reappear. They return
tranquilly to their clubs. Reassured by the hesitation
of their adversaries, they requite it by audacity, and
the Revolution goes on its way.

There are many who are deeply afflicted by these
scandals and troubles. But the greater number find
a sort of pleasure in them. This perpetual agitation,
this political fury, these violent emotions, these
shocks, these unforeseen and rapid crises which suc-
ceed each other like so many scenes in a melodrama,
please many persons greatly. They have become so
accustomed to fever that they do not desire health.

PARIS DURING SUSPENSION OF ROYALTY. 241

■ ■■■ ■■■■ ■ ' ■ ■-■■■■■-.■■I I... -■■ ■ MM ■■■ 11 ■ , ■ ■ ■■^^■M m

Repose would weary minds so eager after exciting
scenes. They are interested in parliamentary conten-
tions as Spaniards are in bull fights. It is the same
effervescence, the same shouts, the same tumult. It is
all the more agreeable to them to see the giants falling,
because, in former days, they could only be looked at
kneeling. The instinct of equality finds satisfaction
in the levelling of the throne. The sufferings of roy-
alty, of the clergy, and of the nobility are the delights
of the common people. Honest citizens and National
Guards rejoice in the lessons administered to power,
and the future Septembrists already scent an odor of
blood in the air.

THE EMIGEATION.

WE have just looked at Paris. Now let us cast
a rapid glance at foreign parts.

The tidings of the flight of the King and his family
had awakened delirious joy abroad. The 6migr&
began to entertain the most flattering hopes. T^liey
felicitated, they embraced each other. At Brussels
great entertainments were preparing in expectation
of the courier who should announce that Louis XVI.
had happily crossed the frontier. The disaster at
Varennes came to chill this overflow of joy.

The emigration which, thus far, had not been very
extensive, now became almost general among the
nobility, the clergy, and even the upper middle class.
In Paris and the chief provincial cities, committees
were appointed to facilitate this universal flight.
Wild enthusiasts urged the nobles to abandon their
families and their estates, and fly like exiles to a
foreign country. It was a grand mistake ; the place
for the nobility was beside the King, not elsewhere.
That a loyal aristocracy should follow an exiled
sovereign is comprehensible; but that it should

242

THE EMIGRATION. 243

abandon him to the gravest perils in his own domin-
ions, and go wandering from court to court instead
of remaining where it belongs and playing a national
part, seems inadmissible. If the ^migr^s had em-
ployed at home half the energy and the efforts which
they fruitlessly employed abroad, the throne would
have been saved. But passion does not reason. It
is only a question of a little trip to the borders of the
Rhine, said they. In five or six weeks we shall come
back triumphant. All one has to do is to show his
crest, a white handkerchief, the Prince of Condi's
boot, and six francs' worth of cord to hang the revo-
lutionary chiefs with.

Exasperated by the failure of the Varennes jour-
ney, the Marquis de Bouill^ anathematized the
National Assembly. A new Coriolanus, he threat-
ened his country with the thunderbolts of his wrath
and vengeance. He wrote a letter from Luxembourg
to the Assembly. " The King," he says in it, " has
just made an effort to break the chains in which you
have so long detained him and his unfortunate family.
But a blind destiny which governs empires, and
against which human prudence avails nothing, has
determined otherwise. He is still your prisoner. His
life and that of his Queen are — I shudder at the
thought — at the mercy of a people whom you have
rendered ferocious and sanguinary, and who have
become an object of scorn to the universe." The
irascible general thus accentuates his threat: "I
know better than any one what means of defence you

244 MARIE ANTOINETTE,

have at command; they amount to nothing. Your
chastisement will serve as an example to posterity.
. . . You will answer for the safety of the King and
his family, I do not say to me, but to all kings, and I
declare to you, that if a single hair of his head is
touched, not one stone of Paris will be left upon
another. I know the roads; I will drive invading
armies through them. This letter is but the herald
of the manifesto of all European sovereigns. They
will teach you, in more emphatic style, what you
have to do and what you have to fear. Adieu,
gentlemen; I end without compliments. My senti-
ments are known to you."

During this time the King's two brothers, the
future Louis XVIII. and the future Charles X., were
seeking to form a European coalition against the
Revolution. Their uncle Louis Wenceslas, Elector
of Treves, had received them at Coblentz with cordial
hospitality. Coblentz was at this time the Paris of
Germany. The head of the house of Cond6 organ-
ized there the staffs of the Princes' army ; plenty of
officers, no soldiei's ; a head, but a head separated from
the trunk. Calonne had the administration of finances,
which was very like a sinecure. Marshal de Broglie
was Minister of War. They allotted all the offices of
State in advance, as Pompey's Roman knights did
on the eve of Pharsalia.

The hero of the emigration was the King of
Sweden, whose portrait has been so well drawn by
M. Geffroy in his admirable work, O^ustave III. et la

THE EMIGRATION. 245 *

cour de France, On his arrival at Aix-la-ChapeUe,
Gustavus did not wholly share the illusions of the
French ^migr^s. June 16, 1791, he wrote: "I
have found here nearly all the chief nobility of
France. These illiistrious exiles form a very agree-
able society. They are all animated with equal hatred
against the National Assembly, and have, besides,
such exaggerated notions on all subjects as you can
form no idea of. It is really both sad and curious to
listen to and observe them." But the Swedish mon-
arch soon felt the influence of his environment. The
imprisonment of Louis XVI. in the Tuileries made
him indignant.

Very proud of the golden sword Marie Antoinette
had sent him, with this device. For the defence of
the oppressed^ the King of Sweden held court at Aix-
la-Chapelle, with Fersen, d'Escar, Breteuil, Calonne,
M. and Madame de Saint Priest, the Marquis de
Bouill^, and Mesdames d'Harcourt, de Croy, and de
Lamballe.

Of a bold and chivalrous spirit, fond of adventure,
and burning with the desire to attract public atten-
tion and make himself talked about by kings and
peoples, Gustavus became intoxicated with the self-
seeking flatteries with which the French nobles plied
him. To them he was not merely a paladin and a
protector, but a host. Three times a week he invited
a hundred of the ^migr^s to dinner, — a courtesy
particularly welcome to gentlemen whom the lack
of money sometimes reduced to a diet of potatoes i

246 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

and milk. When he walked out, he was met by
women and children who held out their arms, en-
treating him to take them back to their country. His
imagination became overheated. He said proudly
that his coup d'Stat of 1791, in France, would not
succeed less brilliantly than his coup d'Stat in Sweden,
in 1772. He admired in himself the champion of
crowns, the Godfrey de Bouillon of some crusade
on behalf of authority and monarchy, the magnani-
mous sovereign who, having once been protected
by the court of France, was now going to pay his
debt and overpay it. It seemed to him as if he
had already made his entry into Versailles ; as if his
valiant troops, with music and waving banners, had
encamped proudly upon that famous Place d'Armes,
so odiously profaned by the lamentable scenes of the
October Days ; as if, crowned with laurels, like the
great Cond^, he had ascended the marble staircase
amidst acclamations, and that the uniforms of his
Swedish officers, the liberators of the King of France
and Navarre, were repeating themselves in the daz-
zling Gallery of the Mirrors. In fact, Gustavus was
the almost unique subject of conversation in Germany,
where he figured, not simply as the defender of the
Most Christian King, but as that of all the princes of
the Holy Empire. Open the Almanack de Qotha for
1791. The illustrations are devoted almost exclu-
sively to Sweden and its sovereign. He carried things
with a high hand in those petty German courts where
a perfume of feudalism still lingered and the old

THE EMIGRATION. 247

regime hedged itself about with all the trappings
of absolutism in miniature. He returned to Stock-
holm at the beginning of August, 1791, and when
holding a grand review there, said he was rehearsing
his future solemn entry into Paris.

Meantime the emigration is redoubling its activity.
It knocks at every door; it turns its steps toward
every capital. A periodical published at Coblentz
under the title. Journal de la Contre-RSvolution^ seri-
ously maintains that two millions of men are advanc-
ing to the assistance of the ^migr^s. If any one
ventures to express a doubt about it, the initiated
whisper in confidence that the troops only march by
night, so as to take the democrats more readily by
surprise. How active these nobles are, so brilliant,
brave, and witty, yet so frivolous and vain, who
turn all things into jest, and who, seeing France
only from a distance, see it badly and make boasts to
which events always give the lie ! Let us follow M.
d'Escars in his peregrinations among the petty prince-
doms of Germany, where he finds Versailles and the
CEil-de-Boeuf again, seen through the big end of the
lorgnette. How he enjoyed himself at the court of
the Cardinal Prince-Bishop of Passau ! " Come, Mon-
seigneur,'' he said to him, " the Opera yesterday ; to-
day a ball. Who could deny himself such an easy
life ? . . . Hardly had the Cardinal and I taken our
places at the end of the hall, when the waltzing began
with a swiftness, the like of which I had never seen
except there and at Vienna. Each lady, after receiv-

248 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

ing a favor and a compliment from His Eminence,
continued her waltz. It was with a heart penetrated
with gratitude and a lively regret that I took leave
of such a worthy prelate."

The Prince de Cond^, the Comte d'Artois, and the
Comte de Provence has each his diplomacy and his
court. Negotiations from every quarter weave in and
out incessantly. The projected coalition elaborates
itself but slowly. The lack of confidence of Louis
XVI. in his brothers, the rival influences, mutual
jealousies, and conflicting ambitions of the larger
courts ; the financial embarrassments of the King of
Sweden ; the difficulty of rousing the great German
people to shake off their torpor ; the delays and hesi-
tations of England, Catherine II., the Emperor, and
the King of Prussia, — all these causes combine to
retard the realization of the wishes of the ^migr^s.
But the declaration of Pilnitz comes of a sudden to
revive their hopes. After that they think success is
certain.

On August 25, 1791, the Emperor Leopold and
Frederic William IL, King of Prussia, meet at
Pilnitz, the summer residence of the court of Sax-
ony. Splendid fStes are celebrated in their honor.
In the midst of a banquet the unexpected arrival of
the brilliant Comte d'Artois is announced. Accom-
panied by Calonne and the Marquis de Bouill^, he
comes to plead what he calls the cause of thrones.
By force of persistence he attains the famous decla-
ration which, signed on August 27, 1791, was the

THE EMIGRATION. 249

cause of a war lasting twenty-two years. It is thus
expressed : " The Emperor and the King of Prussia,
having listened to the desires and representations of
Monsieur (the Comte de Provence) and of M. the
Comte d'Artois, jointly declare that they consider the
present situation of the King of France as a subject
of common interest to all European sovereigns. They
hope that this interest cannot fail to be acknowledged
by all the Powers whose aid is sought for, and that,
consequently, they will not refuse to employ, con-
jointly with the Emperor and the King of Prussia,
the most efficacious means, in proportion to their
ability, to put the King of France in a condition to
consolidate, in perfect freedom, the bases of a mo-
narchical government equally consistent with the
rights of sovereigns and the welfare of the French
people. Then, and in that case, the aforesaid Majes-
ties have decided to act promptly and in mutual
accord to attain the proposed and common end.
Meanwhile they will give their troops the neces-
sary orders so that they may be in readiness for
action."

The ^migr^s are beside themselves with joy. They
triimiph, they proclaim victory. To listen to them,
foreign armies are about to invade France immedi-
ately. There will be fifty thousand Austrians in
Flanders, forty thousand Swiss and as many Pied-
montese in Provence and Dauphiny, fifty thousand
Prussians on the Rhine; Russia and Sweden will
send their fleets under command of M. de Nassau

250 MABIE ANTOINETTE.

and GustavTis III.; Holland will furnish two mil-
lions ; Spain and the Two Sicilies will join the
coalition. France, add the ^migr^s, is no longer a
military power ; its army is without oflBcers, its fron-
tier towns defenceless, its arsenals empty, its maga-
zines unprovisioned.

Near Louis XVI. there is a woman deeply opposed
to the Revolution, and sincerely attached to the old
regime, but whose sentiments, nevertheless, are far
more French than this. It is the pious and cour-
ageous Madame Elisabeth. August 5, 1791, she
wrote to Madame de Bombelles: ^'People retail a
thousand scraps of news, each of them still more
foolish than the others. They say that Russia, Prus-
sia, Sweden, aU Germany, Switzerland, and Sardinia
are to fall upon us. . . . But rest easy, my Bombe ;
your country will acquire glory, and that is all.
Three hundred thousand National Guards, perfectly
organized, and every one a hero by nature, line the
frontiers, and will not permit a single Uhlan to come
near. The malicious say that near Maubeuge eight
Uhlans made five hundred National Guards, with
three cannons, beg for mercy. We must let them
talk, — it amiises them ; our turn will come tcJ mock
at them."

As to Marie Antoinette, she said to M. FrauQois
Hue : " The sudden invasion of foreign troops would
cause inevitable disorders. The King's subjects, both
good and bad, would infallibly suffer by it. The
assistance of foreigners, no matter how friendly they

THE EMIGRATION. 251

appear, is one of those measures which a wise king
should not employ save at the last extremity." But,
alas! there were moments when this last extremity
seemed inevitable to her. She spoke of the ^mi-
gr^s with more bitterness than confidence. She
complained of the insubordination of the King's two
brothers. It would have been painful to Louis XVI.
to feel himself indebted to them for the restoration
of his authority. The idea of a regency under the
Comte de Provence seemed to him an attack against
the rights of the crown. He condemned the exag-
gerations of the ^migr^s, more royalist than the King
himself, and imderstood better than any one the
futility and frivolity of what went on at Coblentz.
But the situation was becoming so serious, the revo-
lutionary spirit made such progress, and the hapless
sovereign found so much ill-will and ingratitude
among his subjects, that he often cast a glance across
the frontiers. As M. de Lamartine has said, it was
not the King who conspired ; it was the man, the hus-
band, and the father, who sought the aid of foreigners
to secure the safety of his wife and children.

It must not be forgotten, moreover, that the
national idea was not so strongly accentuated then
as now. Throughout the entire history of France
we behold sometimes the kings, and sometimes their
subjects, invoking without shame the aid of foreign
armies. The leaguers called in Spanish troops.
Henri IV. conquered his realm by the aid of Eng-
lish troops. Under Louis XIII. the Protestants of

252 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

Rochelle were England's allies. At the time of the
Fronde, the great Condd fought against France under
the standards of Spain. After the revocation of the
edict of Nantes the French refugees took service in
the Prussian army. The English in America had
just been asking for French assistance against their
mother country. The monarchical and religious sen-
timent took precedence of the national sentiment
among the nobility at the end of the eighteenth cen-
tury. The idea of the throne and the altar out-
weighed that of country. The men at Coblentz did
not consider themselves as compatriots of the Jaco-
bins who were threatening their property, their honor,
and their life. Shall we not see, even in the nine-
teenth century, the heroic soldier of Valmy, the
future Louis-Philippe, asking a commission from the
Spanish Cortes, in the hope of bearing arms against
France ?

IV.

ACCEPTANCE OF THE CONSTITUTION.

THE acceptance of the Constitution was like a
clear spot in a cloudy sky, though a very brief
and not very luminous one. Marie Antoinette pre-
tended to revive to hope. July 30, 1791, she wrote
to her brother, the Emperor Leopold, that the influ-
ential men of the Assembly had pronounced for the
re-establishment of the royal authority, and that
everything seemed tending toward the termination of
disorder. "It is necessary, therefore," she added,
" that nothing shall be done abroad to hinder a salu-
tary tendency. An attempt at armed intervention
would be particularly, and from all points of view,
to be dreaded." But next day the Queen thus ex-
pressed herself in her correspondence with Count
Mercy- Argenteau : " I wrote a letter to the Emperor
yesterday (the 30th) ; I should be ashamed of it, if I
did not hope that my brother would understand that,
in my position, I am obliged to do and to write all
that is required of me. It is essential that my
brother should send me a circumstantial letter in
repfly, which might answer as a sort of basis for

263

254 MAltlE ANTOINETTE.

negotiations here. Send a courier at once to warn
him of this." The Abb^ Louis (the future Baron
Louis, Minister of Finances under the Restoration)
went to Brussels with the messages, dictated by
Barnave, inviting the ^migrds to moderation. The
Abb^ Louis, who was one of the Constitutional
group, was apparently the Queen's envoy. But on
August 1, she wrote to Count Mercy-Argenteau :
" The Abb^ will say that he has been accredited by me
to talk with you. It is essential that you shall seem
to listen to him and to be prepossessed; but do not
allow yourself to be influenced by him. I am obliged
to be extremely cautious with him and his friends.
They^ have been useful to me, and at this moment
they are so still; but, however good may be the
intentions they manifest, their ideas are exaggerated
and could never suit lis." Even while hoping for
something from abroad, Marie Antoinette did not
desire an invasion. What she wanted was diplomatic
action, an armed Congress. " I always persist," she
added, "in wishing that the Powers should treat with
an army behind them, but I think it would be ex-
tremely dangerous to seem to wish to enter France."
The unhappy Queen, even while simulating confi-
dence, knew very well what to think about the
schemes for public regeneration and felicity, from
which so much was promised. She had seen the men
at work who were going to make France so rich and
prosperous. She was edified by what certain people
call liberty. She understood the greatness of soul of

ACCEPTANCE OF THE CONSTITUTION. 265

these philosophers who boasted that they would bring
back the age of gold. " These people," said she to
Madame Campan, "have no desire for sovereigns.
We shall succumb to their perfidious but consistent
policy. They are demolishing the monarchy stone by
stone."

Meanwhile the rigors of the captivity in the Tuile-
ries were gradually diminishing. Louis XVI., who
had been put under arrest like a simple oflBcer, little
by little became King again. Certain persons went
so far as to claim that he was about to become so
altogether. There was talk of creating a guard for
him. It was said that he was to be a monarch after
the English pattern. The advocates of a parliament-
ary system were delighted. September 3, 1791, a
deputation from the National Assembly came in great
pomp to bring to the King, who was still a captive,
the Constitutional Act. They set out at seven in
the evening, preceded by ushers and torches and
marching between a double row of National Guards,
and entered the Tuileries by way of the Carrousel.
Next day Madame Elisabeth wrote : " The Constitu-
tion is finished, and has been in the King's hands
since yesterday. To-day the doors were opened.
There were many cries of ' Long live the King and
the Queen.' At Vespers there was applause when
the King entered and went out. He has decided
that those who have been guarding him, and also
the Queen and his son, shall continue to act as his
guard of honor, until the formation of his household.

256 MABIE ANTOINETTE.

There are some honest men among them. Neverthe-
less, the palace is surrounded as usual by four or five
hundred National Guards. Paris is not in commo-
tion. Enormous crowds come to the Tuileries. But
they are all people who make a good enough appear-
ance. Now and then we can see that some of them
are well affected towards us. The others are quiet,
and all seem glad to see their former master, hoping
that he will promptly sign this superb document with
which all their heads are turned, and which they
think was made for their happiness." At the same
time, Marie Antoinette wrote to Count Mercy- Argen-
teau: " You must surely have received the charter;
it is a tissue of impracticable absurdities. With time
and a little wisdom, I still hope that we may at least
prepare a happier future for our children."

September 13, Louis XVI. addressed to the Na-
tional Assembly a message, concerted with Barnave,
in which he accepted the new Constitution. " In
order to extinguish animosities," said he in this doc-
ument, " let us agree to a mutual f orgetf ulness of the
past. Let the accusations and prosecutions which
have arisen solely from the events of the Revolution
be extinguished by a general reconciliation. I wish
to swear to the Constitution in the very place where
it was made, and I will come to the National Assem-
bly at noon to-morrow." Upon the motion of Lafay-
ette, the Assembly unanimously adopted the general
amnesty asked for by the King, and a numerous
deputation went to carry him this decree, which set

ACCEPTANCE OF THE CONSTITUTION. 257

at liberty all who had taken part in the Varennes
journey. In the morning of September 14, Madame
Elisabeth wrote to Madame de Raigecourt: "I am
going to the Assembly at noon, to attend the Queen.
If I were the mistress, I certainly would not go.
But, I do not know, all this will not cost more to me
than to many others, although assuredly I am far
from being a Constitutionalist."

The firing of cannon and popular joy announced
the arrival of the royal cortdge in the Hall of the
Manage. Louis XVI. wore no order but the cross of
Saint Louis, in deference to a decree of the Assembly
which had just abolished all other decorations. It
was a curious symptom that the Most Christian King
should no longer dare to wear the order of the Holy
Spirit. He mounted slowly to the armchair intended
for him. At his left, and on the same level, was the
seat of the President of the Assembly, de Thouret,
who, like the King, was to perish on the scaffold.
The Queen, the Dauphin, Madame Royale, and
Madame Elisabeth took places in one of the boxes.
Hardly had Louis XVI. taken the oath, when the
President, in an affected manner, hastily sat down.
Louis XVI., who noticed this, also resumed his seat
without delay. Subjects sitting down in advance of
their sovereign was in the eyes of Louis XVI. and
his family the highest pitch of insolence and scandal.

The Assembly reconducted the monarch to his
palace. Acclamations resounded on all sides. Salvos
of artillery and enthusiastic applause announced the

258 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

opening of a new era. But Louis XVI. and his
Queen were sad unto death. On returning from the
Tuileries, the King, looking very pale, entered Marie
Antoinette's apartment. His countenance was ex-
tremely altered. Throwing himself into an arm-
chair, he cried, " All is lost ! " Then, turning toward
Madame Campan, "Ah! Madame," said he, "you
were a witness of this humiliation. What! you
came to France to see. ..." And sobs impeded
his utterance. The Queen fell on her knees before
him and clasped him in her arms. " I stayed," adds
Madame Campan, " not through blamable curiosity,
but because I was so stupefied that I could not tell
what I ought to do. The Queen said to me, ' Ah !
go away I go away I ' with an accent which meant,
'Do not stay to be a spectator of your sovereign's
prostration and despair.' "

While the republicans and Orleanists were cele-
brating the new Constitution, the royalists who were
faithful to Louis XVI. amused themselves by snatch-
ing some ephemeral triumphs in the theatres. At
the Nation Theatre they got Gaston et Bayard and
La Partie de chasse de Henri IV. produced on Sep-
tember 16. After having frantically applauded the
passages which make allusion to the ancient love of
the French people for their king, they went every-
where repeating, "Public opinion is changed; the
Constitution will not last." They paid men and
women of the people to cry "Long live the King!"
"Long live the Queen I " beneath the windows of the

ACCEPTANCE OF THE CONSTITUTION. 259

Tuileries. And they assured Louis XVI. that, the
Assembly once dissolved, the monarchical sentiment
would at once resume its vigor.

The Constitution was solemnly proclaimed on Sep-
tember 18, in the midst of a magnificent fSte in the
Champ-de-Mars. The citizens embraced each other
like brethren. The new Constitution was read from
the summit of the Altar of the Country. Balloons
displaying patriotic inscriptions were sent up in the
Champs-Elys^es. The aeronauts threw down pam-
phlets of the Constitution on the heads of the crowd.
In the evening the illuminations were superb. Gar-
lands of fire, reaching from tree to tree, outlined a
sparkling avenue from the Barri^re de I'Etoile to the
Tuileries, in which numerous bands played joyous
music. At eleven o'clock, Louis XVI. and his fam-
ily drove in a carriage through this radiant avenue.
The acclamations were enthusiastic. The ungrateful
nation could not get over its habit of crying, " Long
hve the King ! " For one moment the bitterest revo-
lutionists, the most enthusiastic republicans, became
royalists in spite of themselves. The same Champs-
Elys^es which three months before had been a road
of humiliation and of anguish was transformed into
a triumphal way. It was like a magic souvenir — an
evocation of the happy days. The lamp-posts were
alight, and this time no victims were hanging from
them. Marie Antoinette could not believe that they
were the same people. What ! they had still homage
and benedictions for her ? What ! cries of " Long live

■A

260 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

the Queen ! " resounded once more ? But, like the
slave in ancient triumphs, there was a man of the peo^
pie who disturbed the joy of this ovation. Every time
that the acclamations ceased, this man, who never
quitted the door of the royal carriage for an instant,
cried out alone, and with the voice of a stentor : " Do
not believe them. Long live the Nation ! " And
this sinister personage froze Marie Antoinette with
terror.

However, there was a few days' lull in the storm.
The royal family reappeared in the theatres and were
applauded as of old. "We have been at the Op^ra,"
wrote Madame Elisabeth, September 25. " To-mor-
row we are going to the Com^die. I am enchanted
about it ; and to-day we had a Te Deum during the
Mass. There was one also at Notre Dame. Mon-
seigneur the intruder (Gobel, the Constitutional
Bishop of Paris) was very anxious that we should go
there. But when one is sung at home, one is dis-
pensed from going to find another elsewhere. We
kept quiet, therefore. This evening we are to have
another illumination. The garden will be superb,
all hung with lamps and those little glass things
which for two years no one has been able to name
without horror."

September 30, Louis XVI. went to the Hall of
the Manage, to be present at the closing session of
the Constituent Assembly. Bailly, in the name
of the municipality, and M. de Pastoret, in the name
of the departments, congratulated it on the achieve-

ACCEPTANCE OF THE CONSTITUTION, 261

ment of its task. "Legislators," said Bailly, "you
have been armed with the greatest power with
which men can be invested. To-morrow you will
again be nothing. It is neither interest nor flatteiy,
then, which praises you. It is your works. We
announce to you the benedictions of posterity, which
for you begin to-day." " Liberty," said M. de Pas-
toret afterwards, " had fled over seas, or taken refuge
in the mountains. You have raised up again its
shattered throne. Despotism had effaced all the
pages of the book of Nature. You have established
anew the Decalogue of free men." The King left
the hall amid the huzzas and acclamations of the
Assembly and the galleries. The President then
said, " The National Constituent Assembly declares
that it has fulfilled its mission, and that all its ses-
sions are over." It was four o'clock in the after-
noon.

When Robespierre and Potion went out, the crowd
crowned them with oak leaves and took the horses out
of their carriage to drag them in triumph. They
called one of them the Incorruptible, and the other
the Virtuous. This ovation to the two tribunes
presaged the future, and through '91 pierced already
'93.

In reality, nobody laid down his arms. All Paris
was joyful. The bells rang. FStes were given.
They sang. They illuminated. But none of these
demonstrations of gaiety deceived the sagacious ob-
server. As a matter of fact, the acceptance of the

262 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

Constitution, far from reuniting minds, divided them
more than ever^ The journals redoubled their vio-
lence. The caf^s were like fields of battle. The
reactionists who said, " Out of the old regime there
is no salvation," considered the new Constitution a
miserable scrap of paper, a tissue of criminal absurd-
ities. Those who thought that Louis XVI. might
have accepted it in good faith, regarded him as a
ridiculous sovereign, the phantom of a king, pro-
nouncing his own deposition. An officer of di'agoons
at a table d'hSte cried, as he shivered his glass, " I
am a royalist, but I am not a Louis seizisteJ*^

But, to the majority of the King's partisans, his ac-
ceptance was merely a feint, a means of gaining time.
"It is necessary," said they, " that Louis XVI. should
pretend to be pleased with everything, that he should
sign whatever is presented to him, that he should aston-
ish the Constitutionals by his submission and docil-

ity."

They added that if Monsieur were declared regent
and the Count d'Artois lieutenant-general of the
realm, the King ought to be, as in effect he was,
absolutely null, eclipsed, annihilated, for the time
being. Otherwise, the attitude of the Princes could
not be justified. And again they said : " Things will
right themselves. The parliamentary phantasma-
goria will disappear in an instant. It is a soap
bubble which will vanish into air."

" Distrust ! Distrust ! " shrieked the Jacobins.
They were more suspicious, more atrabilious than

ACCEPTANCE OF THE CONSTITUTION. 263

Qver. Louis XVI. is going to essay in good faith
his r81e as a constitutional sovereign. But the eon-
tract is synallagmatic, two-sided. That the King
may be loyal to the Constitution, it is necessary that
his subjects shall be loyal to him ; the royal preroga-
tives, and notably the right of veto, must be re-
spected ; the Constitution must be something different
from an instrument of anarchy and disorder. The
Constitutional party, honorable men in spite of their
illusions, would like a fair and honest trial. But the
Constitutionals are already out of the running. Bar-
nave, who was in advance of Mirabeau, is now dis-
tanced by a swarm of democrats, who see in him
nothing but a belated conservative. It is all over
with moderation. There is no place for anything
but violence. The drama which was supposed to be
finished, has just begun. The Constitution is not
the epilogue ; it is the prologue ; and Louis XVI. and
Marie Antoinette are covered with flowers only to
make them resemble the victims of antiquity before
leading them to the sacrifice.

MARIE Antoinette's last evenings at the

THEATRE.

WHEN I was at the Od^on, watching a play
in which Marie Antoinette comes on the
scene, I looked at the place where the Sovereign
often made her appearance in this hall where the
Th^&tre Fran5ais was installed at the end of the old
regime, and where the first representation of the
Mariage de Figaro was given. I saw again the splen-
did toilets, the high coiffures, and precious stones ; I
breathed that perfume of elegance which is found
no more. It seemed to me that I saw the Queen,
not on the stage where they were trying to repre-
sent her, but in her box, surrounded by her maids
of honor and her chamberlains, saluted on coming
in and going out by acclamations from the whole
theatre, and giving with her own royal hand through-
out the play the signals for applause.

In 1791 the appearance of the Queen still pro-
duced a great effect upon the public. But there
was no longer the same unanimity of enthusiasm.
The Revolution had insinuated itself everywhere,
in salons and theatres as well as in the streets and

264

LAST EVENINGS AT THE THEATBE. 265

public places. The Jacobins sent emissaries to the
pit as well as to the galleries of the National As-
sembly. Dramatic representations gave perpetual
opportunities for insults and contests between par-
ties. Marie Antoinette, who had great courage, was
not afraid to brave the popular tiger. In appearing
before the crowd, where she found so many enemies,
she accustomed herself to face her persecutors, soon
to be her tormentors. She tried to avail herself once
more of that prestige which not long ago had pro-
cured her so much reverence. She wanted to see
whether the power of her beauty, joined to the new
majesty of her sorrow, would not still affect an un-
grateful people. Every evening spent at the theatre
was like a battle given courageously to calumny and
insult. When she set her foot in one, she did not
know whether she should leave it without hearing
criticisms or curses levelled at her; and when her
coming was again greeted with applause, when she
beheld traces of emotion and respect on different
faces, she returned to the Tuileries with a smile on
her lips and gratitude in the depths of her heart.

She had not been to the theatre in a long time,
but in September, 1791, she decided to go as a sort
of proof of her confidence in the Parisians. At this
time, Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette gained a
renewal of popularity. The National Assembly in
its session chamber might fail in respect toward the
Sovereign ; but the people followed him with huzzas
in the streets. " With the disposition of the French

266 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

people to idolatry," said Prudhomme at this time, in
his Jotimal des RSvolution% de Paris^ "such a king
would soon be only the father of the subjects of the
State, and from such paternity to despotism is only
a step. Let us avoid enthusiasm." At the fSte
given on September 18, 1791, the affection of the
people for Louis XVI. approached delirium, and at
the one given in the garden of the Tuileries on the
25th of the same month it rose to ecstasy. " It was
useless for the orchestra to play the favorite air Ca
ira^^ said Prudhomme again ; " it would not do ; they
had to repeat royalist ditties."

Madame Elisabeth wrote to Madame de Raige-
court, September 26 : " We have been to the Op^ra,
and to-morrow we are going to the Com^die. What
pleasures I I am perfectly enchanted with them."
Madame Campan has said of these two represen-
tations: "Their Majesties were at the Op^ra. The
assembly was composed of all those who adhered
to the King's party, and on that day one could
enjoy the happiness of seeing him surrounded by
faithful subjects: the plaudits were sincere. At
the Fran5ais the play chosen was the Coquette cor-
rigSe^ simply because Mademoiselle Contat made
her greatest success in it. Nevertheless, as the title
of the piece continually suggested to my mind the
opinion which the Queen's enemies had spread con-
cerning her, I found the selection injudicious without
knowing how to say so to Her Majesty. But sincere
attachment gives courage; I explained myself; she

LAST EVENINGS AT THE THEATBE. 267

took it kindly, and requested a different play: they
gave La Crouvernante. The Queen, Madame the
King's daughter, and Madame Elisabeth were all
very well received. It is true that the opinions and
sentiments of the spectators could not but be favora-
ble ; care had been taken, before each of these repre-
sentations, to fill the pit properly."

On October 8 the royal family went to the Th^&tre
Italien. This theatre was on the boulevard which has
borrowed its name, just opposite the rue de Riche-
lieu. It was built in 1783, on the site of the H8tel
Choiseul, for the so-called actors of the Com^die
Italienne, who had been united, since 1762, with
those of the Op^ra Comique. They were to repre-
sent there "French comedies, comic operas, and
musical performances, whether vaudevilles, ariettas,
or burlesques." The evening of October 8, 1791, was
particularly touching. The theatre resounded more
than once with acclamations, blended sometimes with
sobs ; tenderness united with respect. Nor was the
enthusiasm less in the approaches to the theatre than
within the walls. The populace became itself again ;
that is to say, gentle, compassionate, full of venera-
tion for the King and his family. Louis XVI. and
Marie Antoinette were happy to be able to show the
Dauphin and his sister this crowd whom the two
children had seen so hostile through the dust of the
tumultuous return from Varennes. Madame Elisa-
beth wrote Madame de Raigecourt, October 12: "All
is tranquil here; but who knows how long it will

268 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

last ? I think it will be long, because, as the people
do not meet with any resistance, they have no reason
to become exasperated. At this moment the King is
the object of public adoration. You can form no
idea of the uproar at the Com^die Italienne last
Saturday; but it remains to be seen how long this
enthusiasm will last ! "

At this time, Marie Antoinette, usually so calum-
niated, herself regained popularity. The Correspoii-
dance secrete 8ur la cour et la ville^ from 1777 to 1791,
published by M. de Lescure from manuscripts in the
imperial library of Saint Petersburg, contains a very
curious passage on this change of opinion : —

^^ December 30, 1791. — The King makes every
effort to recover his popularity. He often walks in
the city, and especially in the suburbs, but it is suffi-
ciently remarkable that he has never received as
much applause as was given to the Queen yesterday
at the Op^ra.^ The people shouted a thousand times,
the women above all, ' Long live the Queen ! ' after-
wards, ' Long live the Nation ! ' and very seldom,
'Long live the King!' It begins to dawn on the
public that this Princess, whose will and whose reso-
lutions are firm and decided, has resolved in good
faith to adhere to the Constitution, which assures us
of the neutrality of the Emperor, while Louis XVI.
regrets the old regime."

But the good dispositions of the multitude toward

1 The Op6ra was at this time installed in the boulevard, in the
hall which was afterward the theatre of the Porte Saint Martin.

LAST EVENINGS AT THE THEATRE. 269

the Queen were not to be very lasting. The Jacobins
especially feared public sympathy. They were not
slow in organizing counter-demonstrations. Yet Marie
Antoinette was once more applauded at the theatre :
it was at the Italiens, on February 20, 1792. But
on that evening the ovations were contested. There
was a struggle, and, in order to triumph, the partisans
of the royal family were obliged to display all their
zeal and devotion.

The play was one which lent itself to allusions to
monarchical faith and fidelity : Gr^try's comic opera,
Le9 EvSnements imprSvuB^ in which the charming
cantatrice, Madame Dugazon, was then performing
wonders. She was royalist at heart. She wished to
try the public that evening. According to Madame
Campan's account, she was seen to bow towards the
Queen when singing these words in a duet : " Ah, how
I love my mistress ! " At once, more than a score of
voices shouted from the pit: "No mistress! no mas-
ter! Liberty ! " A number of men in the boxes and
balconies responded : " Long live the Queen ! Long
live the King ! May the King and Queen live for-
ever!" The pit answered: "No master! no Queen!"
The quarrel grew hotter, the pit divided into two
parties which fought together, and the Jacobins got
the worst of it. Tufts of their black hair were flying
all over the theatre. (They alone, at this epoch, had
abandoned the custom of powdering their hair.)

A large number of the guards arrived. The
Faubourg Saint-Antoine, apprised of what was going

270 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

on at the Italiens, had assembled and were already
talking of marching toward the theatre. The Queen
preserved the noblest and most calm demeanor ; the
officers of the guard surrounded and reassured her.
Their behavior was active and prudent, and no bad
result followed. On going out, the Queen was
greatly applauded. It was the last time that she
entered a theatre. During the whole evening her
attitude had been profoundly touching. With the
exception of the Jacobins, all the spectators sympa-
thized with her. More than once she dried her eyes.
Even the applause saddened her. The Dauphin, who
sat on her lap, seemed to be asking why she wept.
And she seemed to be answering and seeking to
tranquillize him.

This evening of February 20, 1792, was to be the
Queen's last ovation. Madame Elisabeth wrote to
Madame de Raigecourt on February 22 : " The
Queen and her children were at the Commie yester-
day. There was an infernal racket of applause.
Jacobins wanted to make an uproar, but they were
beaten. The duet in the EvSnements imprSvus be-
tween the valet and the chambermaid, concerning
their love for their master and mistress, was encored
four times ; and when it came to the words, ' We
must make them happy,' nearly the whole theatre
cried, ' Yes ! yes ! ' Can you understand our nation ?
It must be owned, it has charming moments. Where-
upon I wish you good night, and beg you to pray God
well during this Lent that He may look mercifully

LAST EVENINGS AT THE THEATRE. 271

on us. But, my heart, take care to think only of
His glory, and put aside all which relates to the
world. I embrace you."

Madame Elisabeth spoke of the same evening in
a letter which she wrote on February 23, to her
brother, the Count d' Artois : " Paris is almost tran-
quil. The other day at the Com^die, when the
Queen was there with her children, there was an
infernal racket which ended in an astonishing scene
by which a great many persons were affected. The
majority of those present shouted, 'Long live the
King ! Long live the Queen ! ' enough to bring the
roof down. Those who were of a different mind were
beaten, and a duet which suggested a reconciliation
was repeated four times. But it was only a moment,
one of those gleams which the nation has sometimes,
and God knows whether it will continue."

No ; it will not continue. On the next day after
that evening of February 20, the Orateur du peuple
newspaper wrote: "The Queen shall be flogged in
her box at the theatre. The Queen is playing the
harlot." What follows is not fit to be quoted. The
Queen was never to appear in a theatre again. Her
brother's death was near, and the mourning she was
about to wear was not the mourning of the Emperor
Leopold alone, but that of the French monarchy and
its ancient and venerable glories.

VI.

THE DUKE OP OBLBANS IN 1791.

AT the close of 1791, Louis XVI. and the Duke
of Orleans were very near a reconciliation.
The Duke remembered now and then that he was a
Bourbon and a Prince of the blood. At such times
he repented of his errors ; he had an intuition of his
duties ; he thought seriously of behaving like a good
kinsman toward the King; but a sort of fatality
flung him back into his usual faults, and the first
Prince of the blood again became seditious. This
happened once again after the acceptance of the
Constitution. Thinking of conciliation and clem-
ency, Louis XVI. appointed his cousin admiral, on
September 16, 1791, and the Duke went to thank the
Minister of Marine, M. Bertrand de Molleville, who
has recounted in his Memoirs the details of his
interview with the Prince.

The Duke of Orleans assured the Minister, in a
tone of perfect frankness and loyalty, that he valued
extremely the favor the King had granted him, be-
cause it would enable him to show His Majesty how
greatly he had been calumniated. " I am very un-

272

THE DUKE OF OHLEANS IN 1791. 273

fortunate," said he, "without deserving to be so.
They have laid a thousand atrocities at my door, of
which I am absolutely innocent. I have been sup-
posed guilty, solely because I have disdained to clear
myself of crimes which I hold in the profoundest
horror. You are the first minister to whom I have
said as much, because you are the first whose char-
acter has always inspired me with confidence. You
will presently have a favorable opportunity to judge
whether my conduct gives the lie to my words."
M. Bertrand de MoUeville replied : " Monseigneur, I
so greatly fear to weaken the force of your remarks
in reporting them to the King, as you desire, that I
beg you to express your sentiments to His Majesty
yourself." "That is precisely what I desire," re-
turned the Duke ; " and if I could flatter myself that
the King would receive me, I would go to him
to-mon*ow."

That very evening, at the council, the Minister
gave the King an account of the visit of the Duke
of Orleans. Louis XVI. concluded to receive his
cousin ; and on the following day had a conversation
with him for more than half an hour, with which he
appeared satisfied. He said afterwards to M. Ber-
trand de MoUeville: "I agree with you; he comes
back to us sincerely, and will do all in his power to
repair the evils done in his name, and in which it
is possible that he has had less share than we have
supposed." .

The reconciliation had seemed to be complete.

274 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

But what occurred on the following Sunday de-
stroyed all its effects, and the abyss, instead of being
covered up, yawned again as wide as ever. On that
day the Duke came to the Tuileries to be present
at the King's levee. The interview between Louis
XVI. and his cousin had not been made known, and
hence the appearance of the Prince caused general sur-
prise. The courtiers saw in it not an evidence of sub-
mission, but an act of mere bravado. In their eyes, the
Duke of Orleans was the most dangerous and guiltiest
of revolutionists. They attributed all catastrophes
and all crimes to him. His presence made them
cry out with horror ; and they pressed around him,
affecting to tread on his toes, and pushed him toward
the door. Not being able to reach the King's cham-
ber, he went to the apartment of the Queen. The
table was already laid. Some one cried out, "Let
nobody go near the dishes ! " as if to insinuate that
the Prince might poison them. Ironical whispers
and murmurs of indignation forced him to retire
without having seen a single member of the royal
family. He regained the stairway, intending to go
out. As he was descending the steps, somebody
spat, over the banisters, on his clothes and his head.
An eye-witness of this scene, Bertrand de MoUeville,
adds, in his Memoirs: "The Duke of Orleans has-
tened out of the palace, with rage and indignation in
his heart, and convinced that he owed these outrages
to the King and Queen, who were not only igno-
rant of them, but were extremely angry when they

THE DUKE OF ORLEANS IN 1791. 275

were told. From that moment he abandoned him-
self entirely to an implacable hatred, and swore to
revenge himself. Frightful oath, to which he has
been only too faithful."

Yesterday a royalist, and a republican to-day, dis-
contented with others and with himself, drawn by
the fascination of the abjrss, and sinking gradually
into the gulf of false situations, a nobleman astray,
a Jacobin prince, the tormentors will turn him to
account before making him their victim. Sad fatal-
ity of circumstances ! At another epoch the Duke,
who is amiable and witty, would be loved and hon-
ored. Why was he bom in this confused and troubled
period which destroys the very notion of right and
duty ? One might say he had a presentiment of his
faults and their expiation. Sometimes he tries to
leave the scorching arena which will be so fatal to
him, and again he comes back to it, pushed as it were
by an irresistible force. He takes the first step
toward a reconciliation with his King, and he is dis-
couraged and prevented from Tnaking the second.
Then, in vexation, he goes back into extremes. He
will seek the elements of his vengeance in the lower
depths of society. He will pick up his weapons out
of the mud. He will subsidize men who to-day will
demand his gold and to-morrow his head. Because
he cannot be the familiar of the Tuileries, he becomes
the courtier of the Jacobin club.

This used-up man, weary of enjoyment, satiated
with luxury, gold, and pleasure, finds perhaps a cer-

276 MABIE ANTOINETTE.

tain amusement in the unhealthy but violent emotions
of the revolutionary crisis. In London, with his enor-
mous fortune, he could live quietly, without danger
and without responsibility, out of the reach of tem-
pests. But though he may assure his friend, Mrs.
Elliot, that he has always envied the position of an
English country gentleman, and instead of wishing
to make himself king, as his enemies declare, he
would willingly exchange his position and his fortune
for a small estate in England and the privileges of
that agreeable country, yet he prefers, in spite of
everything, to remain on the battle-field of insurrec-
tion, in the furnace, in the crater of this volcanic
Paris, where his palace is the rendezvous of all the
revolutionary bands, and the focus of all conspiracies.
There kennels of debauchery swarm close beside the
splendors of elegance and riches. He lives there,
surrounded by the strangest of courts. Noblemen
who have come down in the world elbow, in his
salons, revolutionists starving when they ask for
money, insolent when they have received it. When
one accosts the Duke, one is tempted to say to him,
"Is it to the Prince of the blood that I address my-
self, or to the Jacobin ? "

This personage of many faces has something in
him which troubles and disquiets. His destiny is an
enigma of which one cannot find the word. Is he a
republican or a royalist, a traitor or a patriot ? Does
he act deliberately, or does he let himself drift at the
mercy of the stream? Are his morning thoughts

THE DUKE OF ORLEANS IN 1791. 277

what his evening thoughts were ? Is he not change
itself, in politics as in love? Has he not lost free
will ? Is he not all the more a slave, that his mistress
calls herself Liberty ?

Each day the spectacles presented by events are so
singular, so unforeseen; things march so fast; the
excitement is so terrible ; that it is much if the Duke
of Orleans recognizes himself, if he keeps the con-
sciousness of his identity. His new r61e resembles
the old one so little, that there is in^his very person
something like a metamorphosis, an avatar. The
time is approaching when people will ask themselves
whether citizen Philippe-Egalit^ is really the same
person as Louis Joseph, Duke of Orleans, head of the
younger branch of the Bourbons, first Prince of the
blood, descendant in the direct line of Saint Louis
and Henri IV. Yes, the time is coming when Ser-
gent, member of the Council General, will write:
" I saw the Duke of Orleans shrug his shoulders on
receiving the name of Egalit^, which was given him
by Manuel, procureur of the Commune of Paris. He
spoke to me about it with an ironical pity when, on
coming out of the H6tel-de-Ville together, where I
happened to be at the moment, I said to him, laugh-
ing: ^How well that suits you! The name of a
nymph for you, a colonel of hussars with black mous-
taches ! ' He replied : ' You will do me the justice
to believe that I did not come to the Commune to
change my names, and that this one was imposed on
me. You heard the galleries applauding that stupid

278 MABIE ANTOINETTE,

I I ■ ■ - - ■ -■- - — 1 mm^^^^^^^i^m-m-y

Manuel. What could I do or say ? I came to petition
for my daughter, who was about to be declared an
^migr^e, and I had to sacrifice to that important
affair my repugnance to this name, a burlesque for
me.

The destiny of the Duke of Orleans is a lesson
which cannot be too deeply pondered. No person in
history shows in a more striking manner what the
revolutionary gearing really is. Camille Desmoulins,
in his Fragment de Vhiatoire secrete de la Revolutions
has written : " It would be very singular if Philippe
d' Orleans did not belong to the Orleans faction ; but
the thing is not impossible." That is not a paradox.
The Prince was not the chief of his partisans ; he was
their plaything and their victim. "The Duke of
Orleans," says Mrs. Elliot in her Memoirs, "was a
very amiable man, of great distinction in manners,
and of a pliant character, but the least suitable man
that ever lived for the position of chief of a great
faction. Neither his mind, his talents, nor even his
education, rendered him fit to play such a part.
Laclos was the cause of all the crimes attributed to
the Orleans faction, and I am very sure that the
Duke knew very little about what was done in his
name."

Mrs. Elliot describes this Prince as loving pleasure
above all things ; unable to endure work or business
of any sort ; never reading, nor doing anything but
amuse himself ; madly in love with Madame de
Buffon, whom he drove about all day in an open

THE DUKE OF ORLEANS IN 1791. 279

carriage, and took to all the sights in the evenings.
"The misfortune of the Duke," adds the beautiful
Englishwoman, " was to be surrounded by ambitious
persons, who led him by degrees to their own ends,
pushing him on until he found himself too much
in their power to draw back. His partisans were
enchanted when a new insult had been oflFered him
at the court, for they saw very well that they had
nothing more to fear from that quarter." Before
that his faction was always afraid lest he might be
treated better at the Tuileries, and so might slip
through their fingers.

The Orleanist conspiracies were not the work of
the Duke of Orleans. He had only the shame and
grief of submitting to them. At the time of the
flight to Varennes, nothing would have been easier for
him than to intrigue for the crown. Instead of doing
so, he said, " So long as the King is in the country,
he alone is king." June 26, 1791, he renounced the
right to the regency given him by the Constitution.
" It is no longer permissible for me," he wrote at that
time, " to leave the simple citizen class, which I did
not enter without the firm determination to remain
in it forever ; and in me ambition would be an inex-
cusable inconsequence."

Was that the language of a hypocrite? We do
not think so. Whoever, at this epoch, should have
predicted to the Duke that he would soon be a regi-
cide, would have made him shrug his shoulders.

Unhappily, evil influences were multiplying daily

280 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

around the ill-fated Prince ; and his wife, the virtuous
daughter of the venerable Duke de Penthi^vre, was
no longer at his side to counterbalance them. This
exemplary Princess, who had married for love, and
given her husband five children, thought herself
unable to palliate by her presence infidelities which
were becoming too public and too scandalous. Quit-
ting the Palais Royal in 1784, she took refuge with
her father ; and from that time the Duke gave him-
self over, body and soul, to those degraded women
who are as fond of disorder in politics as in the
family, and who imagined that the Revolution would
avenge them for the contempt they inspired in society.
The Dantons, the Huberts, the Marats, would never
have gained a hold on a prince who had remained
faithful to such a woman as the Duchess of Orleans.
Involved, almost in spite of himself, in the dema-
gogic vortex, the Duke will sometimes wish to extri-
cate himself. A secret voice will cry to him, Go on !
He will try in vain to take precautions against his
natural impulses. Fatality will everywhere pursue
him. At the commencement of 1792 he would be
glad to take refuge, like his sons, the Dukes of Char-
tres and Montpensier, in that asylum of patriotism
and honor, the army. But hardly has he done so
when he is refused permission to remain. Then he
will ask for a naval command. The ship he wants
to embark on will not return to France until the
close of 1793. Had the request of the Prince been
acceded to, he would have been neither a member of

THE DUKE OF ORLEASS IN 1791. 281

the Convention nor a regicide. But his evil star
keeps him in this fatal Paris, where the King's scaf-
fold and his own are going to be erected. One
might say that some mysterious force is pushing him
toward the abyss. It is only by a sort of chance that
he will be elected to the Convention, in which he
is to play such a melancholy rdle. The twenty-three
first deputies of Paris were chosen on September 18,
1792. There was but one more to be elected. The
twenty-fourth wiU be the Duke of Orleans. He will
have only the strictly necessary majority. One vote
less, and he would not have been elected, and his
memory would not have borne an ineffaceable stain.
It is at this time that he will ask Mrs. Elliot if she
thinks him vile enough to be able to pass through
the streets of Paris without unhappiness. Then she
will implore him "to get out of the hands of all
these vile beings who surround him, and not allow
the wretches to use his name as a screen for such hor-
rible deeds." The Prince will answer: "That seems
a very easy thing to do in your salon ; I would be
very glad if it were as easy in reality. But I am in
the stream, and find myself obliged to follow it. I
am no longer master of myself or of my name."

VII.

THE RBTURN OP THE PRINCESS DB LAMBALLB TO

THE TUILERIES.

IT was not alone the middle classes and the people
who aflflicted Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette.
The nobility also chagrined them deeply. The very
men who had carried liberalism to all lengths, who
had been Voltairians and revolutionists of the worst
sort, who had wilfully cast off their titles and privi-
leges as out of date and worthless, bitterly reproached
the King with the destruction of the old regime.
This great lady, a fanatical admirer of Rousseau's
Contrab Social^ could not be reconciled to the slightest
changes in point of etiquette. That great lord, a
disciple of Helv^tius and Baron d'Holbach, bore
malice against Louis XVI. on account of the attacks
made on the Catholic religion. The nobles who had
done most to bring about the triumph of the new
ideas, emigrated, and left the unfortunate monarch
to bear the consequences of their own conduct.
Others remained in France only to pay court to the
Jacobins. As M. Granier de Cassagnac has said in
his Sistoire des Causes de la RSvolution franqaise :
"One of the most ignoble spectacles which it has

282

RETURN OF THE PRINCESS BE LAMBALLE. 283

fallen to history to chionicle was witnessed at this
time. Families that for a thousand years had lived
by feudal privileges, and men who for two years had
rejected with unsupportable arrogance the liberal
reforms of Louis XVI. and the equalizing of public
burdens, outdid the Jacobins, whose approbation they
coveted, by demanding that coats-of-arms and liveries
should be abolished. They had used and abused the
institutions of the old France, so long as they pro-
vided them with wealth and honors ; but now, when
these institutions merely brought them into increas-
ing disfavor with the populace, they rejected them in
cowardly fashion, and replaced the ducal mantle by
the revolutionary jacket, because they could make it
pay them better ! Why, then, had they not laid aside
their titles, destroyed their liveries, and effaced their
escutcheons two years sooner ? It was because, two
years before, their titles, their liveries, and their
escutcheons had given them precedence, honors,
and salaries at court; but now that the court was
poor and the monarchy disarmed, these beggarly
nobles decorated their ingratitude with the name of
philosophy, and made themselves courtiers of the
people, since they could no longer be profitably the
courtiers of the King." The aristocracy bewailed
the destruction which was their own work. In
spite of all the measures in which they had taken
the initiative, they were surprised that the new
Constitution suppressed what was called rank at
court, and the prerogatives belonging to it. The

284 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

Duchess de Duras sent in her resignation as lady of
the palace, because she would not yield her right to
sit down in the presence of her sovereign. Several
more great ladies deserted the Tuileries on the same
account. This conduct saddened Marie Antoinette,
who saw herself abandoned for the sake of petty
privileges at a time when the rights of the crown
were so gravely compromised and so violently
attacked. She said : " Perhaps I might have found
some excuse for the nobility, if at any time I had
had the courage to displease them ; but I have not.
When we are forced to take a step which wounds
them, I am sulked at ; no one will come to my card-
party; the King's evening reception is deserted.
They are not willing to consider political necessities ;
they punish us for our misfortunes."

When the ill-fated Sovereign found so much in-
gratitude, inconsistency, levity, and selfishness among
the nobility; when she was blamed, accused, and
abandoned by the very persons who should have
pitied and assisted her the most, it was a great con-
solation to meet a soul so pure, disinterested, devoted,
and courageous as that of the Princess de Lamballe.

The Princess had been apprised beforehand of the
journey to Varennes. It was agreed that in order to
avert suspicion, she should go to Aumale, where her
father-in-law, the venerable Duke de Penthidvre, had
been staying for some time on account of his health.
At six in the evening of June 21, 1791, a post-chaise
driven at full speed drew up before the house of the

RETURN OF THE PRINCESS DE LAMBALLE. 285

bailiff of Aumale, where M. de Penthidvre was lodg-
ing. The Princess de Lamballe, in great emotion,
hastily alighted from the carriage and was at once
met by her father-in-law and her sister-in-law, the
Duchess of Orleans, who were surprised by this un-
foreseen arrival. The Princess laid her fingers on
her lips, but as soon as they were alone she acquainted
them with the flight of the royal family, which had
necessitated her own. After a few minutes she
started on again, with fresh horses, to embark for
England at Boulogne. The ship she sailed in had
barely reached the open sea, when a discharge of
cannon from the city announced the King's flight.
A little later, and she would have been detained a
prisoner.

The Princess de Lamballe was entrusted with an
important and difficult mission in England. She
was to attempt to lessen the hostility which the
government displayed toward Louis XVI., and the
secret encouragement given by Pitt to the French
revolutionists. Madame Campan relates that Marie
Antoinette said to her : " I never pronounce the
name of Pitt without a shiver running down my
back. That man is the mortal enemy of France. He
is taking a cruel revenge for the impolitic assistance
given to the American insurgents by the cabinet of
Versailles. He wishes, by our destruction, to guar-
antee forever the maritime power of his own country
from the efforts the King has made to build up his
navy. Pitt has aided the French Revolution from

286 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

the very beginning. He will probably continue to
do so until we are completely destroyed."

With all her zeal, the Princess de Lamballe could
obtain nothing from Pitt but a vague promise not
to let the French monarchy perish, because, according
to his own admission, "it would be a great fault
against the tranquillity of all Europe to permit the
revolutionary spirit to bring about a republic in
France." Concerning this remark, Marie Antoinette
said : " Every time that Pitt hus declared himself on
the necessity of maintaining a monarchy in France,
he has kept the most absolute silence on what con-
cerns the monarch. These conversations can have
no good result."

Her mission once concluded, the Princess de Lam-
balle had no thought except that of returning to the
Queen. As she had a presentiment of the dangers
she was about to incur, she made her will. It is
dated October 15, 1791, and breathes the tenderness
of a last adieu as well as the sublime resignation of
a soul awaiting martyrdom. " I entreat the Queen,"
is said in it, "to receive a mark of gratitude from
her to whom she has given the title of her friend, —
a precious title which has formed the happiness of my
life, and which I have never abused except to give
her testimonies of attachment and proofs of my senti-
ments toward her person, which I have always loved
and cherished till my latest breath. I ask her as a
last favor to accept my alarum watch, to remind her
of the hours we have passed together."

RETURN OF TUE PRINCESS DE LAMBALLE. 287

Marie Antoinette was profoundly touched by
Madame de Lamballe's devotion. Instead of seeking
a tranquil asylum in England or Germany, she was
bent on returning to France, and throwing herself
into the furnace. But the unhappy Queen repelled
this heroic sacrifice, and begged Madame de Lam-
balle not to make it. In September, 1791, she wrote
to her: "Do not return; there would be too much
to grieve you in the present state of our affairs. I
know well that you are good, and a true friend, and
from the depths of my own affection I forbid you to
return hither. Wait for the results of the Constitu-
tion. Adieu, my dear Lamballe, and believe that
my tender friendship for you will end only with my
life." But Madame de Lamballe hastened none the
less to the post of danger. At the very moment
when she entered France, the Queen wrote to her:
" No, I repeat it, my dear Lamballe, do not return to
us at present ; my friendship for you is too greatly
alarmed; affairs do not seem to be taking a better
turn notwithstanding the acceptance of the Constitu-
tion, on which I counted. Stay with good M. de
Penthi^vre, who has such need of your attention.
. . . God grant that time may bring about a change
for the better ; but the wicked have spread about so
many atrocious calumnies that I rely more on my
courage than on events. Adieu, then, my dear Lam-
balle. Be sure that whether you are here or far
away, I love you and am sure of your affection."
But it was in vain that Marie Antoinette implored

288 MARIE ANTOINETTE,

the Princess not to throw herself into the tiger's
jaws.' The greater the peril was, the more enthusi-
astic was her haste to brave it. Madame de Lam-
balle reached her father-in-law, at Anet, November
14, 1791, and, departing on the 18th, yent straight to
Paris. The Duke de PenthiSvre said at the time:
" I praise greatly the attachment of my daughter-in-
law for the Queen, She has made a very great sacri-
fice in order to return to her. I tremble lest she fall
a victim to it."

The merit of the Princess de Lamballe was all the
greater, since it was not honors, but danger, she was
seeking. It was only out of kindness that she per-
formed her functions as superintendent. The oflSces
of the court were suppressed, and the King was put-
ting off indefinitely the formation of his new civil
household. He was reluctant to choose among those
proposed to him, and to surround himself with persons
devoted to the Revolution. " I know very well," he
said to M. Bertrand de Molleville, " that the Queen
cannot advantageously retain the wives of ^mi-
gr^s near her person, and I have already spoken
to her about it ; but on the other hand, it cannot be
expected that she should associate with Mesdames
Potion, Condorcet, and others of that sort. As for
me, the majority of those whose attendance was for-
merly most agreeable, have abandoned me, and among
those who remain, there are some who are the torment
of my life." The King and Queen did not desire a
civil household, lest the new names given to the

RETURN OF^ THE PRINCESS BE LAMBALLE, 289

offices should make evident the abolition of the old
ones ; they disliked, moreover, to admit to the most
distinguished employments people who were not
capable of fulfilling them. " If this Constitutional
establishment were formed," said Marie Antoinette,
" there would not be a single noble left near us ; and
if things should change, it would be necessary to dis-
miss the people whom we had admitted in their
places."

The court was no longer more than the shadow of
itself. The abode of pleasure was transformed into
a place of anxiety, deception, and grief. It was
feared that the King and Queen might be poisoned,
and a multitude of precautions had to be taken at
each of their meals. Madame Elisabeth wrote to
Madame de Raigecourt, November 16, 1791: "A
droll thing happened during the last few days. A
corporal invented an order to confine the King and
Queen in their apartments from nine o'clock at night
until nine in the morning. This confinement had
lasted for two days before any one heard of it ; finally,
on the third day, a grenadier told his captain. The
entire guard was furious; there was going to be a
council of war. According to rule, the corporal ought
to be hanged ; but I do not think he will be, and I
should be very sorry if he were. The King was to go
out riding the other day ; it was villainous weather,
and he stayed at home ; hence, a rumor throughout
Paris that he is again under arrest." This is what
the heir of Louis XIV. had come to. Was it not very

290 MARIE ANTOINETTE.

praiseworthy, then, in the Princess de Lamballe to
come and shut herself up in this Palace of the Tuile-
ries, where the year 1791 was ending so dismally?
She occupied the ground-floor of the Pavilion of
Flora, below the apartment of Madame Elisabeth.
To the Queen these two admirable women were
friends who pushed sacrifice to heroism. Nothing is
more affecting than such courage united to such
sweetness. Amid the victims of the Revolution,
Madame Elisabeth and Madame de Lamballe are
lambs without spot. Their ideal suavity brings them
into strong contrast with the sanguinary hordes who
transform Paris into a pandemonium. They are two
angels of consolation in a hell.

INDEX.

Adelaide. Madame, the King's aunt,
goes to Rome, 81 et seq,

Artois, Comte d', seeks to form a
European Coalition, 244, 248.

Assembly, National, first meeting
of the, in Paris, 11; visit the
King in the Tuileries, 12; pre-
sent their respects to the Queen,
14; dissolved, 261.

Augeard, report of his conversation
with Marie Antoinette, 8 ; devel-
ops a plan for her escape, 9.

Aunts, the, of the King, their de-
parture, 81 et acq. ; their painful
journey, 84.

Baillon, M. See M. de Romeuf.

Barnave, sent by the National As-
sembly as commissioner to meet
Louis XVI., 188; his youthful
career, 190 ; enters the royal car-
riage, 191 ; influence of the Queen
upon, 192; rescues the three
body-guards of the King from
the populace, 194 ; rescues a poor
village cur^, 194; executed as a
suspected royalist, 196; saves
the body-guards at Pantin, 209 ;
Lamartine's mot concerning, 191 ;
a belated conservative, 263.

Bastille, Place de la, dancing at, at
the Festival of the Federation,
68.

B^am, Countess de, describes the
life of the royal family at Saint
Cloud, 43.

Besenval, Baron de, visited by
Count de Scgur, 22.

Body-guards, the three, their heroic
decision, 207; their danger at

Pantin, 209; attacked by the
crowd at the Tuileries, 214.
Bouille, Marquis de, in correspond-
ence with the King concerning
his flight, 125; anxiety of, 179;
informed of the arrest of the
King, 180; arrives too late at
Yarennes with the Royal-AUe-
mand, 181 ; proclamation of, 243.

Cabanis, Mirabeau's doctor, 95.

Campan, Madame, anecdote of the
Queen, 229; her account of the
King's dismay after accepting
the new Constitution, 258.

Cassagnac, Granier de, quoted, 282.

Ch&lons-sur-Marne, the royalist
sympathies of the people of, 186.

Chatelet, Achille de, address of, to
the people, 238.

Choiseul, Duke de, failure of, to
escort the King, 153;' parleys
with the populace at Yarennes,
171.

Chronique de Paris, the, on the
departure of the King's aunts,
83.

Coblenz, the headquarters of the
emigres, 244 ; manifestations at,
247.

Cond^, Prince de, scheming to ex-
cite foreign interference, 248.

Constitution of September, 1791,
acceptance of, 253 et seq,; pro-
claimed, 259; its result, 262.

Damas, Count Charles de, his ac-
count of the King's journey, 156;
prevented from following the
King, 157 ; wishes to get the King

291

292

INDEX.

away from Varennes by force,
172.

Dampierre, Marquis de, massacre
of, 184.

Danton, invectiye of, against La-
fayette, 148.

Dauphin, the, presented to the
National Assembly, 15; apart-
ments of, in the Tuileries, 16; his
grace and simple ways, 38, 115,
117; dressed as a girl for the
flight from Paris, 138; departure
of, with Madame Royale, 139; in-
cident of, on the return to Paris,
196 ; carried into the Tuileries by
a National Guard, 216; his fright-
ful dream, 222.

Deslon, M., plans an attack to save
the King at Varennes, 174.

Desmoulins, Camille, on the Feast
of the Federation, 60; on Mira-
beau, 101 ; extract from the jour-
nal of, on the flight of the King,
147; extracts from his journal,
217 et seq. ; on the journalist of
the time, 232 ; on Lafayette, 233.

Drouet, recognizes the King, 155;
arrives at Varennes before the
King, and sets an ambush for
him, 162.

Elisabeth, Madame, letters of, to the
Abb^ de Lubersac, 6, 228; mar-
ket-women climb into her apart-
ment, 7; letter of, to the Mar-
quise de Bombelles, concerning
the execution of De Favras, 29;
at Saint Cloud, 43; determined
to obey the voice of her con-
science in the matter of the
clergy, 108, 121 ; letter of, on the
subject to Madame de Raige-
court, 109, 110; letter of, on the
King's attempt to go to Saint
Cloud, 117, 122; calmness of,
before the flight, 134; Petion's
account of her, 200 ; letters of, to
Madame de Bombelles, 223, 250,
266, 267, 270; to the Count de

Provence, 227; to Madame de
Raigecourt, 227; to the Comte
d'Artois, 271.

Elliot, Mrs., on the Duke of Orleans,
278, 281.

Emigres, the flight of, 242; at Cob-
lentz, 244.

Emigration of the nobles, the, 242
et seq.

Escars, M. d', his account of the
ball of the Cardinal Prince-
Bishop of Passau, 247.

Favras, M. de, his character and
the scheme for carrying off the
King, 26 ; execution of, 28.

Favras, Madame de, at the public
dinner of the King, 31.

Federation, the Festival of the, 58
et seq. ; preparations for, 60; the
procession of, 62; scenes at, 63;
banquet at La Muette, 67 ; Fete
of the, 238.

Ferri^res, Marquis de, extract from
his Memoirs, 218.

Fersen, Count de, aids the royal
family to escape, 128 ; leaves the
royal family at Bondy and re-
turns to Paris, 143.

Flight of the King, 137 et seq. ; in-
cidents of the journey, 150 et seq.

Fr^eau, M., President of the As-
sembly, speech of, before the
King, 13; offers the respects of
the Assembly to the Queen, 15.

Frederick William II. at Pilnitz,
248.

Goguelat, M. de, fails to escort the
King and changes the programme
at Varennes, 160.

Guilhermy, M. de, his act of cour-
tesy to the King, 215.

Gustavus III. of Sweden, the hero
of the ^migr^s, 244; holds his
court at Aix-la-Chapelle, 245.

Jacobins, the, insult the aristocrats,
20.

INDEX.

293

Knights of the Poniard, the sup-
posed conspiracy of, 90.

Korff, Baroness de, passports for,
given to the royal family, 129.

Lafayette gives the signal for the
oath at the Festival of the Fede-
ration, 65; disperses the rioters
in the garden of the Tuileries,
86; disperses the rioters at Vin-
cennes, 88 ; orders the nobles to
lay down their arms, 90 ; on the
side of the priests who take the
oath, 106; attempts in vain to
overcome the resistance of the
National Guard to the King's
departure, 116; takes measures
to pursue the fugitives, 146 ; op-
poses the manifestation for a new
king, 240.

Lafayette, Madame de, attachment
of to the Catholic cause, 106.

Lagache piirsues Drouet, 155.

Lamartine, his mot concerning
Mirabeau and Barnave, 191 ; con-
cerning Marie Antoinette, 216;
remark of, concerning Louis
XVL, 251.

LAmballe, Princess de, goes to the
Queen, 6 ; her mission to England,
285 ; makes her will and returns
to France, 286.

Leopold, Emperor of Austria, will-
ingness of, to serve the King,
125; at Pilnitz, 248.

Louis XVI. returns to the Tuileries,
1 ; always an optimist, 5, 10, 17,
43 ; letter of, to the Assembly, 10;
apartments of, in the Tuileries,
12; National Assembly intro-
duced to, 12; his reply, 13; his
pious advice to his daughter on
her first communion, 36 ; at Saint
Cloud, 41 ; oath of, at the Festival
of the Federation, 66; a breach
in the ranks of his adherents,
79 ; too weak to approve or dis-
avow emigration, 80; in secret
relations with it, 80; does not

oppose the departure of his
aunts, 81; orders the dispersal
of the rioters in the gardens of
the Tuileries, 86 ; but the shadow
of a King, 87; in distress, 89; his
remorse because of his sanction
to the Civil Constitution of the
clergy, 104; receives a letter
from the Pope, 110; his experi-
ences during Holy Week, 1791,
112 et seq.; attempts to go to
Saint Cloud, 114; the National
Guards prevent his departure,
116; dismisses his most faithful
adherents, 117 ; forced to be
present at a Mass said by a rev-
olutionary priest, 118; his du-
plicity, 119 et seq,; resolves
upon flight, 122 et seq.; under
constant surveillance, 123 ; strat-
agems of , 124 ; his plan of escape,
125; gives M. de Valery direc-
tions as to the route, 132; takes
leave of the Count of Provence,
135; flight of the royal family
from Paris, 137 et seq. ; disguises
himself, 139; his flight discov-
ered, 144 ; proclamation of, read
to the Assembly, 145; incidents
of the journey, 150 et seq. ; rec-
ognized by Drouet, 155; arrival
at Varennes, 159; miscarriage
there, 160 et seq.; arrest of, 165;
a prisoner in the house of M.
Sauce, 167 ; temporizes and hesi-
tates, 168 ; speech of, to the people
of Varennes, 169 ; the decree for
his arrest arrives, 176; decides
to yield, 178 ; his return to Paris,
183 et seq.; conduct of the conn-
try people towards, 184 ; extreme
painfulness of the journey, 185 ;
met at Ch4teau-sur-Marne by
the National Guard who force
him to continue, 187; his pro-
posal to the three body-guards
at Meaux and their heroic reply,
206; his return to Paris, 210 et
seq.; decree of the Assembly

294

INDEX.

suspending the exercise of his
fanctions, 219; convinces him-
self that he is a prisoner, 222;
the life of Charles I. his favorite
reading, 227 ; caricatured hy the
press, 231; the rigors of his cap-
tivity diminish, 255; receives
the Constitutional Act, 256; ac-
cepts it, 256; his dismay there-
after, 258 ; present at the closing
session of the Assembly, 260;
distrusted by the Jacobins, 262;
the Duke of Orleans has an in-
terview with, 273.

Louis, the Abb^, goes to Brussels
to urge moderation upon the
^igres, 254.

Louis-Philippe, foreign aid invoked
by, 252.

Marat, protests against the King's
duplicity, 120.

Marck, Count de la, correspond-
ence between, and Mirabeau, 48 ;
his intimacy with Mirabeau, 49.

Marie Antoinette in the Tuileries,
2 ; shows herself to the crowd, 3 ;
remains in her own apartment,
6 ; visited by mock delegates, 7 ;
advised by Augeard to depart in
disguise, 8 ; refuses to leave the
King, 9; receives the visit of
the National Assembly, 14; her
apartments in the Tuileries, 16;
afflicted by the execution of de
Favras, 30 ; sends money to Ma-
dame de Favras, 31 ; anguish of,
33 ; as a mother, 35 ; her children,
36 et seq,; at Saint Cloud, 41;
her fearful presentiments, 44, 46 ;
letter of, to the Duchess de Po-
lignac, 45 ; describes her last in-
terview with her father, Francis
I., 46; interview of, with Mira-
beau, 48 et seq. ; her decision to
** take counsel with him, 52; the
secret interview between, and
Mirabeau, 55; at the Festival of
the Federation, 66, 68; her plans

to escape, 124 et seq. ; Count de
Fersen a favorite of, 128; reas-
sured by M. de Valory as to the
rumors concerning the flight, 132 ;
informs her daughter of the
event, 134 ; her parting with the
Count of Provence, 136; dresses
her children for the flight, 137;
loses her way and delays the de-
parture, 144; her anger at the
decree for the arrest of the royal
family, 177; her influence over
Bamave, 190; defends her hus-
band's cause with Petion, 203;
testifies her gratitude to the three
body-guards, 207 ; her lofty cour-
age, 212 ; refuses the arm of the
Vicomte de Noailles, 216; her
anxiety for the Dauphin, 216;
the espionage of her attendant,
223; under the closest surveil-
lance, 224 ; devotes herself to the
education of her children, 229;
her hair whitened by grief, 229;
fears the foreign invasion, 250;
correspondence of, with Count
Mercy-Argenteau, 253, 254, 256;
comprehends the situation, 254;
her appearance in public still pro-
duces a great effect, 264; her
courage in attending the theatre,
265; scene at the Italiens over
her, 269 ; saddened by the faith-
lessness of the ladies of her court,
284 ; urges the Princess de Lam-
balle not to return to France, 287.

Menon, Count de, ridicules the dis-
cussion over the King's aunts,
85.

Mirabeau, secret interviews of,
with Marie Antoinette at Saint
Cloud, 48 et seq. ; at bottom aris-
tocratic, 49; his career, 50; the
conditions of his allegiance, 52 ;
first letter of, to Marie Antoi-
nette, 52; his secret interview
with the Queen, 55; denies the
reality of the interview at Saint
Cloud, 71; his ideal, 72; his

INDEX.

295

double life, 73, 77; his opinion of
Paris, 74 ; of the National Gaard,
75; his advice to the court, 76;
advises the Assembly to allow
the departure of the Ring's aunts,
86 ; resists the passage of the law
against emigration, 88; lines of,
on the death of a friend, 92;
" prodigal of life,*' 92 ; his power
over the Assembly, ^; taken
sick, 95 ; scenes at his deathbed,
95 et seq. ; his death, 97 ; mourn-
ing for him, and his grandiose
funeral, 97 et seq. ; position of,
with regard to the clergy and the
Constitution, 107 ; letter of, to de
la Marck on the subject, 107 ; La-
martine's mot concerning, 191.

Mirabeav, The, Socialist journal,
72.

Moniteur, the, publishes the decla-
ration of a National Guard, 90.

Narbonne, M. de, pleads the cause
of the King's aunts, 84.

National Assembly discuss the de-
parture of the King's aunts, 84 ;
take Mirabeau's advice and allow
them to depart, 85.

Noailles, Yicomte de, offers his arm
to Marie Antoinette, 215.

Orleanist conspiracies, not the
work of the Duke of Orleans,
279.

Orleans, the Duke of, arrives in
Paris, 59; has an interview with
the King, 273; his subsequent
treatment at the King's lev^e,
274; becomes implacable, 275;
his character and destiny, 276
et seq.

Paris, return of the royal family
to, 1; at the close of 1789, 18;
aspects of the Revolution in, 19,
21, the court not prominent in,
24; occupied with the religions
question, 103; scenes in, after the

flight of the royal family, 147;
aspect of, on the return of the
royal family, 210 et seq. ; during
the suspension of royalty. 231 et
seq.

Potion, sent by the National As-
sembly as commissioner to meet
Louis XVI., 188; his attitude
towards the royal party, 198 ; his
character, 199; his account of
the journey, 199 et seq. ; his fate,
204; crowned by the crowd, 261.

Pilnitz, the declaration of, 248.

Press in Paris, furious character
of, 233.

Priests compelled to swear fidelity
to the new Constitution, 105.

Provence, Count of, his last meet-
ing with the King, 134 ; seeks to
form a European Coalition, 244,
248.

Regnard, M., entertains the royal
family, 205.

Revolution, aspects of, in Paris, 19.

Robespierre, the idol of the day,
235 ; crowned by the crowd, 261.

Romeuf, M. de, and M. Baillon ar-
rive in Varennes with the decree
for the arrest of the royal family,
176; their interview with the
King and Queen, 177.

Royale, Madame, birth of, 35 ; her
first communion, 36, 38; her
father's pious advice, 36; her
account of events preceding the
flight, 133.

Sabbats Jacobites, the, on the de-
parture of the King's aunts, 83.

Saint Cloud, the royal family at,
41, 47.

Saint Prix, courteous attention of,
to the King, while guard, 226.

Sauce, M., offers his house to the
royal fugitives after the arrest,
165.

Segur, Count de, describes the va-
rious aspects of Paris, 23.

296

INDEX.

Talleyrand, says mass at the Festi-
val of the Federation, 64, 69;
takes the oath to the new Con-
stitation, 105.

Th^itins, church of the, entrance
to, prevented hy the people, 113.

Th^&tre Fran^ais, revolutionary
scenes at, 20; at the funeral of
Voltaire, 237.

Tnileries, condition of, on the re-
turn of the royal family to, 1;
grounds of, thronged by the pop-
ulace, 3; made to resemble the
palace of Versailles, 11.

Valory, M. de, ascertains the state
of the public mind as to rumors
of the flight, 131; receives the
King's order, 132.

Varennes, journey, the, 122 et
$eq. ; situation of, 159 ; arrest of
the royal family at, 165 ; tumult
in, 170.

Victoire, Madame, the King's aunt,
81 et seq,

Vincennes, rioters at, 88.

Voltaire, funeral of, 236.

Typography by J. S. Cushinq & Co., Boston, U.S.A.
Pbbsswobk by Bbbwick & Smith, Boston, U.S.A.

FAMOUS WOMEN OF THE
FRENCH COURT.

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, PUBLISHERS.

WITHIN the past few years M. Imbert de Saint- Amand
has written a series of volumes which have made
him one of the most popular authors of France. Each has
for its nucleus some portion of the life of one of the eminent
women who have presided over or figured at the French
court, either at Versailles or the Tuileries. But though thus
largely biographical and possessing the interest inseparable
from personality, the volumes are equally pictures of the
times they describe. He is himself saturated with the litera-
ture and history of the period, and what mainly distinguishes
his books is the fact that they are in considerable part made
up of contemporary letters and memoirs, so that the reader
hears the characters themselves speak, and is brought into
the closest imaginary contact with them. Moreover, the
complexion of the mosaic thus cleverly mortised is familiar
rather than heroic. The historian is not above gossip in
its good sense, and the way in which the life of the time
and of its distinguished personages is depicted is extremely
intimate as well as vivid and truthful.

The ten volumes now issued and in press relate to Marie
Antoinette, Josephine and Marie Louise. They give a vivid
representation of the momentous times immediately before,
during and after the epoch of the Revolution. Probably no
times in any country were ever so picturesque, so crowded
with events, and so peopled with striking characters. The
characteristics of the old regime and the events of the early

FAMOUS WOMEN OF THE FRENCH COURT.

years of the Revolution are grouped effectively around the
sympathetic figure of Louis Sixteenth's queen. In the first
two books in which she figures, Josephine is taken as the
center of the new society that issued from the disorganization
wrought by the Revolution, and the third describes the
beginning of the Imperial epoch. In "The Happy Days
of the Empress Marie Louise," we are led behind the
scenes, and shown the domestic life as well as the splendid
court pomp of the world's Conqueror at the acme of his
career — a most dramatic contrast with the picture drawn
in the concluding three volumes, which describe the " De-
cadence of the Empire " owing to the Russian campaign,
the *' Invasion of 1 8 14 "and the "Return from Elba and
the Hundred Days."

FAMOUS WOMEN OF THE FRENCH COURT.
From the French of Imbert dc Saint-Amand.

Each with Portrait^ izmo, ti,2S-

Three Volumes on Marie Antoinette. -
marie antoinette and the end of the old regime,
marie antoinette at the tuileries.
marie antoinette and the downfall of royalty.

Three Volumes on the Empress Josephine.

citizeness bonaparte.

the wife of the first consul.

the court of the empress josephine.

Four Volumes on the Empress Marie Louise,
the happy days of marie louise,
marie louise and the decadence of the empire,
marie louise and the invasion of 1814.

MARIE LOUISE, THE RETURN FROM ELBA AND THE HUNDRED DAYS.

FAMOUS WOMEN OF THE FRENCH COURT.

" In these translations of this interesting series of sketches, we have
found an unexpected amount of pleasure and profit. The author cites
for us passages from forgotten diaries, hitherto unearthed letters, extracts
from public proceedings, and the like, and contrives to combine and arrange
his material so as to make a great many very vivid and pleasing pictures.
Nor is this all. The material he lays before us is of real value, and
much, if not most of it, must be unknown save to the special students of
the period. We can, therefore^ cordially commend these books to the
attention of our readers. They will find them attractive in their arrange'
ment, never dull, with much variety of scene and incident, and culmir^
ably transUited,**'^'TKE. Nation, of December ig, i8go,

Marie Antoinette and the End of the Old R^ime.

The years immediately preceding the outbreak of the Reroltttion
comprise the epoch treated under this title, which aptly characterizes the
passing away of the old order, before the tremendous social as well at
political upheaval of the Revolution.

Marie Antoinette at the Tuileries.

The vicissitudes of the Royal Family, and incidentally the political
history of the time, from the forcible removal from Versailles in 1789 to
the end of 1791, including the unfortunate attempt at flight and the
arrest at Varennes are the subject of this book.

Marte Antoinette ana the Downfall of Royalty.

Continuing the story of the preceding volume, the authoi here nar-
rates the turbulent and terrible scenes of the beginning of the Terror
and closes with the abolition of royalty, the declaration of the Republic
and the confinement of the Royal Family in the Temple.

Citizeness Bonaparte.

The period during which Josephine was called "Citizeness Bona-
parte " is the romantic and eventful one beginning with her marriage,
comprising the first Italian campaign and the Egyptian Expedition, and
ending with the coup d'itat of Brumaire.

FAMOUS WOMEN OF THE FRENCH COURT.

The Wife of the First Consul.

As wife of the First Consul, Josephine presided over the brilliant
society which issued from the social chaos of the Revolution and which,
together with striking portraits of its principal figures, is here yividly
described.

The Court of the Empress Josephine.

The events which took place between the assumption by Napoleon
of the imperial title and the end of 1807, including the magnificent
coronation ceremonies at Paris and at Milan and the wonderful campaign
of Austerlitz are here described, as well as the daily life and surrounding^
of Josephine at the summit of her career.

The Happy Days of the Empress Marie Louise.

The happiest part of Marie LfOuise's career as Empress of the
French, dating from her marriage, the festivities of which were cele-
brated with unexampled splendor, to the departure of the Grand Army
for the disastrous Russian campaign, is the subject of this book.

Marie Louise and the Decadence of the Empire.

The period covered in this volume is the intensely dramatic decline
of the French empire from the Russian campaign, when Marie Louise
"had the world at her feet," to the desperate campaign of 1814 which
concluded her brief but brilliant reign. ^

Marie Louise and the Invasion of 1814.

This volume takes the reader from the beginning of 1814 to
Napoleon's second abdication and departure for Elba. In a military
point of view this campaign, his first fought on French soil and resulting
in his downfall and that of his dynasty, ranks, nevertheless, among his
ablest, and the narrative of it is, perhaps, the most intensely interesting,
the variations of fortune being so rapid and so momentous.

Marie Louise, the Return from Elba and the Hundred Days.

The final scenes of the Napoleonic drama are here unfolded — the
imprisoned conqueror's life at Elba, his romantic escape and return to
France, his almost miraculous resumption of power, the preparations for
the last struggle and the climax of Waterloo and the definite restoration
of Louis XVIII, closing the era begun in 1789.

FAMOUS WOMEN OF THE FRENCH COURT.

CRITICAL NOTICES.

" A delightfully gossippy series." — Philadelphia Press,

'* This volume [' Marie Louise and the Decadence of the Empire ']
is as fascinating as any in the series, and the whole can be read with
great profit and enjoyment." — Hartford Courant

" Readers of the author's preceding volumes will not need to be
told that the present one is full of charm and interest, brilliant descrip-
tion, and strong and clear historical sketches." — New York Tribune.

''The volumes are even more pictures of the times than of the
anhappy occupants of the French throne. The style is clear and familiar,
and the smaller courts of the period, the gossip of the court and the
course of history, give interest other than biographical to the work." —
Baltimore Sun,

" M. de Saint-Amand makes the great personages of whom he writes
very human. In this last volume he has brought to light much new
material regarding the diplomatic relations between Napoleon and the
Austrian court, and throughout the series he presents, with a wealth of
detail, the ceremonious an^ private life of the courts," — San Francisco
Argonaut,

" The sketches, like the times to which they relate, are immensely
dramatic. M. Saint-Amand writes with a vivid pen. He has filled
himself with the history and the life of the times, and possesses the art
of making them live in his pages. His books are capital reading, and
remain as vivacious as idiomatic, and as pointed in the translation as in
the original French." — The Independent,

** The last volume of the highly interesting series is characterized
by all that remarkable attractiveness of description, historical and per-
sonal, that has made the former volumes of the series so popular.
M. de Saint-Amand's pictures of court life and of the bnlliant men and
women that composed it, make the whole read with a freshness that is as
fascinating as it is instructive." — Boston Home Journal,

FAMOUS WOMEN OF THE FRENCH COURT.

" M. de Saint-Amand's volumes are inspired with such brightness,
knowledge, and appreciation, that their value as studies in a great
historical epoch requires acknowledgement. Though written mainly to
entertain in a wholesome way, they also instruct the reader and give
him larger views. That they have not before been translated for publi-
cation here is a little singular. Now, that their time has come, people
should receive them gratefully while they read them with the attention
they invite and deserve." — N. Y, Times,

"These volumes give animated pictures, romantic in coloring,
intimate in detail, and entertaining from banning to end. To the
student of history they furnish the more charming details of gossip and
court life which he has not found in his musty tomes ; while in the novice
they must be the lode-stone leading to more minute research. The series
is of more than transient value in that it teaches the facts of history
through the medium of anecdote, description, and pen portraits ; this
treatment having none of the dryness of history per se, but rather the
brilliancy of romance/* — BosUm Times.

** The central figure of the lovely Josephine attracts sympathy and
admiration as does hardly one other historical character. We have
abundance of gossip of the less harmful kind, spirited portraits of men
and women of note, glimpses here and there of the under-current of
ambition and anxiety that lay beneath the brilliant court life, anecdotes
in abundance, and altogether a bustling, animated, splendidly shifting
panorama of life in the First Empire. No such revelation of the private
life of Napoleon and Josephine has hitherto been given to the world as
in ' The Court of the Empress Josephine.' It is the autho^'^i master-
piece. " — Christian Union .

FfT salt fy aU 6^kstiUrs, cr uni^poxtpaid &h rteHpt «f price, fy

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS,
743-746 Broadway, ----- new York.

The First American Edition

MEMOIRS OF

NAPOLEON BONAPARTE

By LOUIS ANTOINE FAUVELET DE BOURRIENNE

His Private Secretary
With 34 Pull-page Portraits and Other Illustrations

Edited by Col. R. W. PHIPPS. New and Revised Edition

ThB Set 4 ¥ol8,, 12mo, Cloth, in a Box, $5.00

Characteristic binding^ in Half Morocco and Half Calf, specially designed

for this ^vork, can now be supplied
The Set, 4 Vols., in a box, Half Morocco, gilt top, . . $8.00

" " " Half Calf, •• ... ZO.O0

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, Publishers

NEW YORK

FOR sixty years Bourrienne's "Memoirs of Napoleon"
has been a standard authority to which every one
has turned foi;^a graphic, entertaining picture of
the man as he appeared to his intimate friend and Secre-
tary. Bourrienne, who had been the friend and com-
panion of Napoleon at school, became his Secretary in
1797 and remained in this confidential position till 1802.
His ** Memoirs " has heretofore been accessible only in
the English editions. It is now proposed to publish
immediately in a popular Library Edition, in four i2mo
volumes, an exact reprint of the latest English edition.
This American edition will contain the thirty-four por-
traits and other illustrations of the original, together with
all the other features that give distinction to the work —
the chronology of Napoleon's life, the prefaces to the

BOURRIENNE'S ''NAPOLEON.''

several editions, the author's introduction, and the addi-
tional matter which supplements Bourrienne's work, an
account of the important events of the Hundred Days,
of Napoleon's surrender to the English, and of his resi-
dence and death at St. Helena, with anecdotes and illus-
trative extracts from contemporary Memoirs. The per-
sonality of one of the greatest figures in history is placed
before the reader with remarkable fidelity and dramatic
power by one who was the Emperor's confidant and the
sharer of his thoughts and fortunes. The picture of the
man Napoleon is of fascinating interest. Besides this,
the book is full of the most interesting anecdotes, bon
mots^ character sketches, dramatic incidents, and the
gossip of court and camp at one of the most stirring
epochs of history, taken from contemporary Memoirs and
incorporated in the work by the editors of the different
editions.

List of Portraits, Etc.

NAPOLEON I.

LETITIA RAMOLINO

THE EMPRESS JOSEPH-
INE

euqIne BEAUHARNAIS

GENERAL KL^BER

MARSHAL LANNES

TALLEYRAND

GENERAL DUROC

MURAT, KING OF NAPLES

GENERAL DESAIX

GENERAL MOREAU

HORTENSE BEAUHAR-
NAIS

THE EMPRESS JOSEPH-
INE

NAPOLEON I.

THE DUG D'ENGHIEN

GENERAL PICHEGRU

MARSHAL NEY

CAULAINCOURT, DUKE
OF VICENZA

MARSHAL DAVOUST
CHARGE OF THE CUIR-
ASSIERS AT EYLAU
GENERAL JUNOT
MARSHAL SOULT

THE EMPRESS MARIA
LOUISA

GENERAL LASALLE

COLORED MAP SHOW-
ING NAPOLEON'S DO-
MINION

THE EMPRESS MARIA
LOUISA

MARSHAL MASS^NA

MARSHAL MACOONALO

FAC-SIMILE OF THE EM-
PEROR'S ABDICATION
IN 1814

NAPOLEON I.

MARSHAL SOUCHET

THE DUKE OF WELLING-
TON

PLANS OF BATTLE OF
WATERLOO

MARSHAL BLUCHER

MARSHAL GOUVION ST.
CyR

MARSHAL NEY

THE KING OF ROME

GENERAL BESSIERES

,4'

3 tlQS Dll ■17D MtlM

STANFORD UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES

STANFORD AUXILIARY LIBRARY

STANFORD, CALIFORNIA 94305-6004

(650J 723-9201

salcirc@sulmail, slanford.edu

All books are subject to recall.

DATE DUE

%^tm

MAR O^^SOI

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